Asarid stood straight, breathing the cold wind rising over the crest of the hill. The scent of spring to come was in the air, that crisp smell of budding grass, the dew, the wet earth. He gave another thought to the path before him and turned his shoulder into the wind, the salty air blowing his milky hair around his face even worse than usual. He stepped back towards the edge of the thin road with short, quick steps, a staccato of precision and confidence. There on the road stood his small caravan with his handsome gypsy coachwoman. He turned back once, sure that he felt something in the air. It felt like the lines between realms were spreading, if only for a moment. Somewhere nearby someone was walking in the forbidden art of their subdued people. It could be a boon or a bane, depending... Asarid quirked a twist of a smile in the corner of his lips and squinted. His coachwoman called out to him, impatient as always. "Hold! Wait..." Asarid replied, his voice sticky sweet and somehow biting at once. "Something's a-walking..."
Wilem, Son of Nesane, walked briskly down the well worn road before him. He had quite a journey before him before he would arrive at another town of decent size and he was not one to dawdle. His rosaine jacket wrapped around him to shield from the crisp breeze, he tried to appear as just another lone traveller. No one of note, let alone accost. He carefully brushed his dark indigo hair from his eyes when he felt a shiver run down his spine. The tiny hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. The shiver hadn't been from the coolness of the air. Experience told him this was more. Much more. A well honed sense of intuition caused him to pause in his long, languid strides and raise his gaze to the road before him. In the distance he could make out a vehicle, perhaps a coach. Another shiver ran through his body as he swallowed and lowered his head once more, pressing forward with even more of the poor, lone traveller act. With a little luck, he'd avoid whatever was tingling his intuition.
Asarid let the patterns of shifting sunlight through the clouds direct his acid-green glance. Ah, sure enough, here came the one causing such ripples in the fabric of the world. Asarid strode out two steps from the side of the caravan and stood akimbo, head held high, elbows cocked out jauntily. He waited with a modest amount of patience and a quickly spinning calculating mind fast at work. He watched the figure approaching, taking note of the gait, the stride, the height, weight, gender, dress and detail. How much could he glean before having to speak to the stranger? Asarid knew he was no mastermind, but he prided himself with an artful eye and good judge of character. What could his senses tell him of this man?
Wilem tucked his ersunbe closer to his hip, trying his best to minimize it's signature beneath the folds of clothing. The matching ersun rested comfortably at the small of his back. He did not expect trouble from whomever was in his path this day, but preparation is the best tool for survival and always has been. He risked a glance up at the small caravan before him as he drew closer, his pale grey eyes noting every detail he could in such a quick evaluation. Deftly and as covertly as he could, he drew upon the magic energies his people were so adept with and cast a quick, simple subterfuge spell. It was a risk, but if this stranger intended him harm anyways, it wouldn't make much difference over all. And if he meant no harm at all, then he could kick himself later. As he drew closer, Wilem started to take notice of every shadow deep enough to use should things come to that, but he did not diverge from his course. As he drew within speaking distance of Asarid, he smiled coyly. "Greetings stranger. Are you in need of assistance, or do you bar my path for some nefarious reason instead?" There was no sense in trying to slip past them without any discourse. The stranger's studying eyes told him that much.
"Assistance... What a word..." Asarid replied cryptically. He stood still a moment longer, staring at the other, noting his bizarre eyes and detecting the faint linger of freshly cast magic. Suddenly, with a quick, sharp sweeping gesture of one nimble arm, Asarid stepped aside and the twist of a smile grew over his slender face. "Nay, p'raps, Stranger, it is you who might be assisted. You travel a lonely road, and there are few brave enough to use it in these dark times. I can make room in the cargo, if you'd like to rest your walking feet..." Asarid rested a hand lightly on the dull green paint of the side of the caravan and smiled again, ne'er blinking for a moment lest some finite movement escape him.
Wilem quirked and eyebrow, pausing where he was. He kept a certain amount of distance from the stranger and took quick note of both his driver and any significant shadows nearby. Just in case. The driver interested him. She appeared to be a gypsy, a people Wilem held great kinship for, but that alone was not enough to earn his trust so quickly. Regarding the stranger he tilted his to one side, his smile falling ever so slightly. "Excuse my caution, but I do not know you sir and I'm sure you know in these times it is better to be safe than sorry. I do appreciate the offer as my feet are beginning to grow sore, but answer me this. Why should I accept passage with a complete stranger whom, by all appearances, seems to be heading in the direction I am seeking to distance myself from?"
Asarid took in a quick breath, gambling as he was wont to do. "I answer your question with a question of my own, sir. Does the word Founderline mean anything to you?" Asarid spoke it calmly, quietly, as if this were but a casual inquiry. He pricked his senses to be aware of any probing thought that might catch up this word and take alarm. He sensed no such tumult and was thankful for the dead road to ruined Calyx. "All else in the realm of answers comes from your reply, sir."
Wilem's mind tensed at the mention of the word Founderline, though he showed no physical reaction. He might have been born a nomad, but he was still a Tirivahni. He knew what the word meant, and more importantly, he knew what it stood for. "Show me the Tirivahni who does not know what that word means sir, and I will show you a liar. I do however, fail to see what bearing such a term has in our current discourse." Straightening his form, planting his feet and preparing for the worst as he hoped for the best, Wilem awaited the next cryptic answer eagerly.
"What bearing it has sir, is your direction." Asarid replied smoothly, changing his answers to those most safe based on the answers he'd received. "You head towards dead Calyx, sir. There are very unsavory folk camping out in the ruins there. Those too bold to be frightened by ghosts, and those too desperate to consider themselves much more than the spirits haunting the fallen stones. In those moss-encrusted relics, sir, what do you hope to find? Our caravan moves towards life and possibility. Would you give me an answer worth heading to dead Calyx? Or will you see reason and head towards a future less dim?" Asarid relaxed his shoulders a little, looking more an outlaw than a travelling gypsy.
Asarid's response caused Wilem to purse his lips and quirk his brow. Navigation was never his strong suit, at least not over land, but if the stranger was correct, there was nothing in Calyx for him. Perhaps he'd been in too much of a hurry to leave the last town. He'd struck out in a hopeless direction. Wilem in turn relaxed slightly. "If what you say is true, then I am indeed heading in an unfortunate choice of directions. I have no reason to venture to Calyx, or meet up with any of it's unsavory inhabitants. So, your offer suddenly becomes more palatable. Though I would prefer another option than returning from whence I came from." He weighed his options more carefully now, but still had a question left unanswered. "I still do not see why you have brought up the term Founderline however?" He added in little more than a whisper, sure the stranger would hear him fine. "And is it not customary for someone offering another a lift to at least offer a name?"
Asarid smiled, pleased the man was reasonable, and seemingly possessed of some amount of wits and logic. "I am willing to bargain the cost of your journey with us that the destination we are headed for is not the City you've left." Asarid paused and tilted his head, as if he held back some immense knowledge that was just below the surface if one chose to scratch. "Founderline... what does the term imply? Freedom, safety, strength, tradition. There are those of our kind who long for these things, there are others who turn their backs upon all that we are. If you were one who would scoff at the term, or fear me for my use of it, I would know there was nothing I could offer you. If, however, you took pride in the word - as you have done sir, then perhaps we have more to discuss on our journey. Now then," Asarid added, turning towards the gypsy woman, "This is Naella of the Circle, our talented coachwoman, and I am Asarid Son of Iella. Welcome aboard our Ship of Dreams, sir. And who might we have the pleasure of escorting?"
"The term means to me all you have said and more. The Founderlines stand for our very people and the great loss of their numbers in the war is tragic. To speak against such people is not in my soul sir, and I would take great offense to any who did not feel similar." Wilems words carried a trace of emotion he hadn't yet shown to the stranger, a great pride, reverence and honor. As he was introduced to the coachwoman he fell into a sweeping bow before her. "I am honored to meet you Naella of the Circle. Your beauty reminds me of someone quite close to my heart." He said in Greos Tirilys with a charming smile as he straightened himself. "I have no doubt you are as skilled as friend Asarid claims." He turned once more to Asarid and nodded. "I am Wilem, Son of Nesane and I humbly accept your offer of shared passage down these perilous roads. I trust I have not made a fatal mistake." He chuckled lightly to himself as he extended a hand to Asarid, a wry smile crossing his lips.
Asarid's full lips twisted into an amused smile as he took the man's extended slim hand and grasped it firmly in the Tirivahni custom. Asarid turned to the caravan and unbuckled the back canvas and lifted it to show the inside to Wilem. "It should be comfortable enough. There are blankets there on the rack you can seat yourself on. I'll be sitting up front on the coach seat, but I can hear you well enough from there so we can continue our friendly chat en route." Asarid said nothing about the contents of the caravan, weapons tightly wrapped were strapped to the curved inner walls of the caravan, mounted racks of foods, powders, alchemical supplies and even tiny potted plants all sat bound into their shelves. Richly embroidered carpets of the Humoran style and plush Suoro brothel pillows were piled in a makeshift bed in one corner of the caravan while a set of cooking pots and barrels of preserves were stacked and strapped neatly in the other back corner. At the very back of the caravan, a small latchable window was open to the view between Naella and Asarid on the boxseat. Through this window Asarid's bright face suddenly appeared. "Make yourself comfortable back there?"
Wilem climbed into the caravan, no longer taking efforts to hide his armed status. He drew a couple of the blankets from the shelves as directed and even stole one of the brothel pillows and set up a hasty, makeshift area for his own travelling comfort. He adjusted his ersunbe as he took his seat and braced himself for the eventual start to the journey. He nodded to Asarid as he peaked in upon him. "As comfortable as I dare in someone elses space. So where is it you are heading friend Asarid? And why so interested in my opinion on the Founderlines? I fear you've opened a can of worms my friend and you'll have a difficult time in closing it again if you try to do so." He smiled, curious yet still wary enough to remain vigilant.
"Close it?" Asarid laughed, but it had a strange quality to it, a kind of insane fervor to it, but it stopped before a distinct impression could be transferred beyond a slight discomfort in the listener. "I am not one to step away from a debate, no... And this is one I wear close to my soul, indeed." Asarid paused as Naella lashed the asera into motion. The Caravan creaked and then rolled forward steadily. Then Asarid turned his face back to the window and grinned in that mildly mischievous manner of his. "I might be able to answer your remaining two questions with a single answer. Are you familiar with the encampment known as Yuellisi Stofftierre?" Asarid paused and then with a wink added lowly, "Or as the Occupants call it, Hethen's Ground?"
Wilem shook his head, not recognizing the locations name. Or at the very least not letting on that he recognized it. "Sadly I do not know of the place you speak. Is this our intended destination?" He shifted, improving his comfort level now that the caravan was moving and at the same time aligning himself to the small window all the better. There was something this Asarid was not being forthcoming about. He bore a secret within him that he had not yet deemed Wilem important enough to reveal. But while most might feel ill at ease about such secrecy, Wilem saw it as a challenge. He'd made a living at finding out other people's secrets, and he was quite good at it. Though something told him Asarid was not your average mark.
"Ah, well it is good news you haven't heard of it, I shall have to tell Baryx, he'll be pleased." Asarid murmured, more to himself than to anyone in his presence and then he grinned over his shoulder at Wilem again. "But yes, that is where we are headed. Many of us believe that all hope of our country lies in Yuellisi Stofftiere. It is there we try to keep alive all that the Occupants tried so blindly to strip from us." Asarid gave a dark smirk as if he held a blade to any that tried to strip Tirivahni of the smallest flower. "They built it up, slowly in the shadow of the fall of the old Empress. We await the rise of the White Tiger that some day will come to break these chains of bondage. What is spoken of the country wide as a fools hope is a dream very much alive there. You will see..." Asarid spoke easily, but still cautious about how he phrased things and how much he said. A trick of ambiguity he learned from the Suoro slavemasters that had once held his bonds.
Wilem listened intently to each and every word. It all sounded interesting and benevolent, yet he could not help but wonder why Asarid would risk bringing a relative stranger to such a locale. If it was indeed a community of their people intent on defying all of what the Occupants had tried to force upon them, why take a risk and bring someone who could very well be a spy into their midst? It made little sense, but it seemed not to bother or even cross Asarid's mind. What Wilem wouldn't do to crack that mind and dig into the truth of things, but he did not like being that heavy handed. It was more fun, and took more skill, to draw out the knowledge through the bearer's own lips through charm and subtle manipulations. Though Asarid seemed all to willing to answer questions now, he still held something back. Something important. "It sounds like a very good place to head towards, though I don't really see how prosperous I might find it. Something tells me the inhabitants would not require use of my services. So, pray tell, why should I wish to go there? What would be in it for me?"
Asarid turned and stared at him, the smile twisting to something sickly, the poisonous green eyes narrowed nearly to slanted slits in his pale face. "The real question is what is in you for it." Asarid nearly bit the words off one by one by way of emphasis and then shrugged lightly and offered his twisted laugh shortly again. "Believe me, the uses you train yourself for are usually not those that others ask of you. I should know." Asarid shrugged his shoulders and lazily drew circles over his dark-skirted knee with a hand hidden by his bell-sleeve. "So, Wilem, tell me what is a Tirivahni of such lithe limb doing wandering the countryside alone? No slaver alive to bind you? No conscription to far-off wars to run to...or from?"
It was Wilem's turn to narrow his gaze as he stared back at Asarid. "I have had luck on my side since the day of my birth and thus have evaded the slavers shackles. Perhaps something of my father has rubbed off on me. And I find I have little taste for the wars the conscriptors wish to send us to. So I have also made it my duty to avoid them whenever possible. I wish I could say I have never seen battle, but that would be a lie and I have no desire to lie to you at this time. You have been honest with me, or so I assume, and feel it only proper to return the favor. I travel alone because it is easier to slip free of the webs that trap easier when I only have myself to worry about. I do not overstay my welcome anywhere and thus I have stayed fairly unmolested so far." He smiled, brushing the dark indigo hair away from his pale eyes completely. "And do not underestimate my lithe limbs, I know how to move them when needed."
Asarid chuckled darkly again, more of a snigger than a laugh. "I have no doubt you can, or you would not still be in one piece. Simply mentioning it because you'd be highly prized by the Slavers, I reckon. Fetch a high price..." Asarid mused idly to himself. "Good qualities to have though... Kind of a requirement to get into Yuellisi, really..." Asarid and Naella exchanged glances and then he peered back at Wilem. "So, what is your trade of skill, Wilem?"
"In a word, information." He spoke without reserve because he believed Asarid had earned that much. "You would be surprised how much some are willing to pay to find out if their lover is cheating on them, what their competitors are planning against them or where a relative is hiding their fortune." His coy smile crept across his face again as he examined Asarid's face through the window. "Well, perhaps you wouldn't be surprised, but others would."
"Ah, a Peddler of Truths..." Asarid sat hard and silent for a moment, computing this. "So, if one pays to know, you let them know, eh?" He asked at length. "And tell me, what base of clientelle do you serve, Wilem? Are you true to your people?" He asked, a hard edge in his voice, like a blade being unsheathed.
"I am true to my employer, regardless of who they are. Though I choose my employers very carefully. I will not pretend to understand what you are asking me, but I will say that my people mean a great deal to me. I am a patriot sir, but I will not claim I have not gleaned information from our own kind for others. As I have said however, I choose my employers very carefully." He knew Asarid was setting him up for something, though he wasn't sure what it was just yet. He would play along for now, storing the little clues to Asarid's agenda away for safe keeping. "And what about you Asarid? What is your trade?" He asked, looking idly around the interior of the caravan and it's odd assortment of cargo.
"My trade is in Souls, Wilem. I am a good Cleric of the Gods, serving our Holy Isaepo most faithfully." Asarid asnwered, his face sober but his eyes dancing with mocking mirth. Naella didn't say anything, but lightly coughed at this. Asarid grinned at her, "And Naella, lovely lady she is... a Purveyor of sweet flesh and heavenly virtues..." At this the coachwoman let out an exclamation and whipped Asarid lightly on the arm with her reins. He shrugged and nodded to Wilem. "I can always hope, eh?"
"Hope is a precious commodity friend Asarid, horde it whenever possible." He chuckled lightly again and slid into a more reclined position. "As for you being a good Cleric of the Gods, I do not doubt you though I know you are more than that as well. What still escapes me however, though I feel it must be tied to your earlier inquiries about Founderlines. What are you not telling me?"
"Who can say?" Asarid answered flippantly, throwing up his hands in a deft motion before dropping them again. "I haven't told you my mother was a Child of Nea... I haven't told you that I won my freedom from the grace of the gods... There's plenty I haven't told you. But why would I need to tell you any of these things? As for the comment on the Founderline... Well, it's always good to know who's company you're in. I like to know I'm dealing with a straightforward fellow, one who serves his country, and not betrays it. One who'd be willing to work with a Founderline, is one who can be of service. One who is a Founderline, serves my ends better still. You know, getting to know your stand, Wilem. Have I touched a nerve? Or your Truth Peddler's nose got a whiff of something good?"
He had indeed struck a chord within Wilem. The Child of Wipo had indeed caught whiff of something in Asarid's words and in the brief physical contact they'd had before. It was good to know the talents of the Thought Drinkers sometimes. "Two children of a Child of Nea. That explains certain things. And in the presence of a Child of Nea to boot. One might say it's an omen." He scratched his chin and wondered if it was an omen, what it was to mean. "Still, you have piqued my interest Asarid. And if the previous was a form of inquiry, I would gladly aid a Founderline without hesitation. Any assistance I could give such a person could only better our people as a whole. Though if I ever met a Founderline face to face, I would likely be humbled to silence."
Asarid didn't turn towards Wilem then, but from his profile one could see the leer of his acid-green eyes slid towards Wilem's direction and the edge of his sickly smile. "An omen, mn..." Asarid murmured thoughtfully, thinking the possibility over. "What do you think Naella? An Omen?" The coachwoman looked at him stiffly, pursing full lips for a moment before answering with a low, rocky voice.
"Nea, Goddess o' Secrets n' Mystery d'na omen be likely, ner fo' what'd be sure? Like somethin' d'na th' rise, be it, yah? Like as not, I say..." She said in true cryptic Greos Tirilys.
Asarid stifled another cackle and turned about on the boxseat to Wilem. "Well, there you have it, clear as day." He said, smirking with as much sarcasm as dripped from his voice.
Wilem nodded with a self satisfied smirk. "Yes, clear indeed. Naella reminds me more and more of my blessed mother and her companions with every passing second." Growing up with gypsies, Wilem was used to the sound of Greos Tirilys, though it was no less cryptic to his ears the majority of the time. "It's music to my ears friend."
Asarid nodded and smiled with sickening sweetness at Naella who made a direct point of avoiding eye contact with him altogether and instead clicked to the two Asera hitched to the caravan. Asarid nodded nonchalantly. He nestled himself back against the wall next to the window and started up talking again, his voice resuming a light, casual tone. "Now then, going into Yuellisi there's a few things you gotta know..." Asarid paused and held up his hand to extend a slender milk-pale finger. "First, there's a code of peace among the inhabitants. No fighting or abuse of any sort is permitted, unless it's training decreed by the higher ups." He flicked up a second deft finger. "Second, the man in charge is a Child of Ioc named Baryx. He is a good man, one to be respected and listened to. He knows more perhaps about our history than any Tiri alive." Asarid flicked up the third finger with a flourish and accompanied it with a flourished pronunciation, "Thrrree, Anything that goes on inside Yuellisi is bound to Yuellisi. There is a threat upon death to sell our secrets, Wilem. Understand me, they have ways of knowing who betrays them." Asarid gave him a stern look before flashing up the fourth finger. "Fourth, Any correspondence you need make with outside relatives/friends/colleagues must pass through one of our official Skryers first - scrambling, you see." The final slim digit on his hand spread out. "Fifth, that I'm afraid once you enter Yuellisi under my caravan banner, you do not leave it without my chaperone, and you absolutely do not bring in anyone else without my say so. Am I understood? Any questions? Any complaints?" Asarid propped one elbow up on the wall next to the window and rested his head in his hands, letting his five digits-spread hand relax and drop to the dark fabric of his skirt.
Wilem listened and supressed a chuckle at Asarid's theatrics. He understood that the man was trying to both warn him and impress upon him the severity of their mission. Whatever that is specifically. With a shrug, he held up his hand and stretched out five fingers of his own. "Just five querries actually. If there is a code of peace in place, does that mean I will have to relinquish my weaponry?" He let one finger drop as he went right on to the next question. "This Baryx you speak of, will I have the pleasure of meeting him or does such a pleasure need to be earned." Another finger dropped to his palm. "I would never dream of selling secrets of the Yuellisi, I am no traitor to my own people, no matter the price. I guess that was more of a statement than a question, but I move on." One more finger curled down. "I assume by your request that any communication go through your skryers first, that outside communication is allowed, but can your skryers be trusted to keep my secrets as well as those of your Yuellisi?" The last finger dropped as he asked the final question left on his mind. "How can I bring anyone else in, if I'm not allowed out? That's just silly." Wilem allowed himself a moment of laughter before regaining his composure and raising an eyebrow to Asarid. "I sure hope I'm worth all this trouble you're going through to bring me to the Yuellisi."
Asarid continued lazily staring at him as he listened carefully despite all outward appearances. At Wilems final comment he laughed, a silent opening of the mouth and a quick shudder in his thin body. "I also hope you are worth all this trouble, believe you me... But perfectly valid questions." He smiled and lazily drew circles with his half-limp hand. "You will not need to relinquish weapons. We believe in peace through choice, not by oppression. There's quite enough of that in Tirivahn already. Baryx you will most assuredly meet, likely upon our arrival, actually. He knows we are coming. I state the third clause as a caution. You now cannot say you did not know. There are some things you will learn that may seem tempting nuggets of knowledge. And if I've pegged your House right, your kind are not against siding with the strongest suit should the tides change." Asarid smiled as he said it, half-disarming the venom in the words, but the smile grew hard and immovable - an unnatural expression. His expression cleared and he moved on in his speech, face once again lax and seemingly careless. "Our Skyers are trustworthy to the point of death as long as your intentions are noble and follow our code. If anything in your messages smacks of betrayal, their confidence is lost. Everything outside that spectrum could have been spoken before the deaf and mute, I assure you. As for your last querry..." Asarid sniggered in his most honest of laughs yet. "Believe me, if I am right... and Baryx will know soon enough, Then once the training begins, you might be tempted to bring others to the enclave. When I take you out again and should such another opportunity arise, you are to take my decision as law, even if it seems cruel. As a creature of logic, yes, you should have no problem with that, as far as I can foresee."
Wilem raised an eyebrow at Asarid's answers, he studied every facial expression, every intonation in his companions speech pattern and every word he chose so very carefully. This was a man who held secrecy to a lofty standard as well. If it weren't for the slight bit of creepiness Asarid had, Wilem might actually admire him. "If you judge my House correctly? Interesting. Now, if I judge your House correctly, I believe we are more alike than you may realize. Brothers of spirit but not flesh. You need not worry about me Asarid, no one is paying me currently and I have no interest in stealing from my own people in a time when we need all we can get."
"Oh all that's only half of the bill, Wilem..." Asarid replied with a cryptic twist of a half-smile. "That's the half I'm less worried about. Unfortunately I can't say more on that topic until you've met Baryx. However, we have about another hour until we reach Yuellisi... So, aside from questions that I am forbidden to answer at present time, if there's anything else I can be of service with, then by all means, feel free to chat on." Asarid lazily closed his eyes to the rock of the caravan, but his posture still stated he was conscious and aware.
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