Open The Slups Der Magier

[Isbrand]

Ah, yes, the place. The harbor with a name Isbrand could not properly pronounce. He didn't even try despite being so well-versed in foreign tongues (according to himself, at least), so he decided to call it simply the place.

He was met not with ovations and hurrahs of bystanders, young and old, but with silence. "Delightful," he thought, trying to perceive his surroundings. This time, his eyes didn't deceive him. Shabby little huts, suspiciously deep holes in the ground — all the joys of slums... Isbrand had seen a fair share of these before, though, so he wasn't upset by any means. Tranquil, even. He hadn't seen his own home in decades, he forgot what living anywhere but on the streets was truly like. Maybe it was the price of freedom.

"Ehey, where's the local warm welcome delegation? No beasts outside this dreary day, huh? Even the tiniest of kits? Where...? Ah..."

His ears twitched for a brief moment. It was nothing in particular.

Isbrand spotted something nearby. An oddly smooth rock, right in the middle of the road, which could very well serve as a nice throne for his exceptionally gifted self. And like that, he decided to rest.

He rummaged in the folds of his cloak for a while, only to procure a small skull. He fiddled with it a little before unhinging its jaw.

"Oh, dear Pepin," Isbrand crooned, narrowing his eyes. "What has become of us? It's only me and you... and this wonderful place, too. Well, at least old lonesome me can entertain the future audience with the most impressive kind of sorcery — necromancy! If only I could discover the rest of your body... but it won't happen today, of course. All we have to do now is wait..."

Isbrand cackled, but only silence followed. He was used to it, though it clearly made him lose his head just a little, slowly but steadily. And like that, Isbrand simply sat there, talking to himself. The burden of being a beast of exceptional talent it was.

 

[Nevali]

"I believe I can let necromancy slide, as long as you're aware the suffix '-mancy' ought to refer to divination - there is nought wrong with asking the dead to pierce the veil of time for us and help guide us through the chaotic mire of the unknown. However, should you start to indulge in the suffixes '-urgy' or '-kineses', or, well, any of the others, really, then I will have to 'urge-y' you to reconsider your actions. I do not hold with the manipulation of the passed (with the exception of physically moving their bodies to a site of rest). 'Tis against the natural order of things. It would force me to call upon some manner of low-level law-enforcement, which is to say, the made-up social laws of the land, to put a stop to it, and that would have dire consequences for both you and me. Watermelon?"

Nevali, clad as usual in her violet-and-cerulean-speckled robes and towering wide-brimmed hat*, had slunk out from a nearby alleyway as she spoke up and approached Isbrand and the rock from slightly behind him. She had procured a slice of watermelon from within the voluminous recesses of her headgear, and now held it out to the elderly sable, the way one might offer a half-smoked cigar to someone on a cold evening. Indeed, the watermelon slice was half eaten already, and although not quite evening, it was quite cold out.

"Personally, I find aerothuergy more impressive. To tame even the least capricious zephyr is quite a feat. The dead are always clamouring to be heard regardless. How are you feeling, sir? Is your forehead damp? Is your backside warm? Do you have tingles anywhere, and have you had them prior to taking seat on my studies?"

The weasel nudged her bi-colour spectacles up her muzzle, casting an uncertain glance at the rock in the road.

It had not a lick of snow on it, despite the street around it being a slurry of ice and mud covered with a fine dusting from the morning's careless and unfinished weather event. The clouds had gathered and darkened the evening before, and just as soon as they'd began their work in the hours before dawn, they had wandered off like a distracted kit, as if the sun had reminded them they had somewhere else to be.

Furthermore, the rock had not been there the night before. Nor had any carts passed through, nor had any buildings suddenly lost a chunk of their facade.

Most conspicuously, nobeast had sat on it prior to the sable's arrival. Not a single soul. Not even a baffled street urchin looking for excitement and novelty in the course of their dreary, casual-horror-filled lives. And that alone would have made the rock an item of great interest to the Occult Division. The chalky drawing of It With Far Too Many Tentacles on the side of it** was just making a siren's call into a blaring fog horn of notice me! to the keen eyes of the Division.


* Wide-brimmed was an understatement. Each side of the brim technically belonged in a different Missertrosse Post area code no matter where the wearer stood.

** It could also have just been a cheeky dibbun's chalk drawing, as it is a well-known fact that dibbuns with their malleable minds are both influenced by It With Far Too Many Tentacles in their day-to-day lives, and not always up to snuff when it comes to counting the limbs of their art models.

 

[Isbrand]

Isbrand blinked a few times in slight surprise at the stranger's words. He had expected the arrival of the local... law enforcement or other snooping parties, but not that of an inquisitive youngling, especially one with such peculiar attire. Still, he nodded his head and accepted the weasel's offering.

"Uhu-hu, it's very, very kind of you to provide strangers with such treats, young one. I do appreciate watermelons," he said, trying to look the stranger in the eyes, only to stare at her hat for quite some time (exquisite headgear!). "Now... allow me to introduce myself!"

Isbrand didn't bother to stand up for some reason, but he did strike a rather dramatic pose, still: eyes closed, chest puffed out, whatever his fragile body could do without snapping in half in an instant.

"It is I, Isbrand the Charmer, a truly splendid magus of white, blue and mauve, also known as the Beast of the Lake since... 1723-ish, if we follow your calendars! Completely and utterly pleased to meet you, young one!"

After finishing his rather short but very grandiose speech, Isbrand burst into a wet coughing fit. The local air did not do wonders to the already pitiful state of his lungs, obviously.

"Agh, you..." he spoke again, desperately trying to hold his head high. "You mentioned aerothuergy, correct? Uhu-hu, I can tell you something... the land which I hail from, the realm of Luftschloss, is known for being the home of those capable of harnessing winds. The general populace is still wary of them, though I haven't been there in decades... surely, something must have changed. I myself am not an aerothurge, I am more of the soil and waters than of air... You look like you possess mystic knowledge yourself, young weasel. What is your name, may I ask? I'm not in a rush, I never am..."

 

[Nevali]

"Isbrand, eh, pleased ter meetcher! Must've been quite the firebrand back in th' day!"

Nevali beamed cheerfully, shaking an invisible, intangible paw that was not offered. Paw shakes were still quite unusual to her - not often done in the tavern-maiding business - but it was something she was trying to get ingrained in her along with her other office duties.

"I be Nevali Wayward, student of old Cunning Caltrops Cleverpaws; he's currently retired at the Wayweird Inn, near Pricklee Point. His dream was always to perfect aerothuergy. Alas, the closest he ever got was broccoli. I ain't convinced ferrets were meant to ingest such a thing. My friends, such as they are, call me Pudge."

She puttered around the rock, putting a paw close to it, feeling for heat or anything else that might radiate from it. So far nothing, save for a lingering sense of unease, which she attributed to the background miasma of Bully Harbour. A lingering sense of unease was the general state of most beasts living there.

"Soil and waters, that's my favourite, too," she continued, lifting her robes and wiggling her toe-claws. "If your paws aren't in the mud, how d'you know where you are? Soil and water, binds us to the ground, that our heads may soar with the clouds without fear of losing our way." Her voice dropped in volume, a slight tremor warbling into her next words: "Provided you ain't already lost it..."

She perked up and beamed again, tucking her paws behind her back and standing upright and holding still for once.

"Decades is a long time to be away from home, innit? Is it hard to travel there?"

 

[Marble]

The Vixen did so enjoy her walks around the city, the sights and sounds of the people was a little much at times but there was always something interesting going on and ultimately that was what made it worth it. Today was another ship pulling into harbour with a group of newcomers seeing the city for the first time. It was a common enough event and for most it was just part of the day to day of the port but Miothiyle did enjoy seeing the tall-ships coming in with their grand masts and sprawling sails.
After watching the boats and ships for a while she headed back up through the slurps and could not happen to notice the pair having a conversation whilst one perched upon the rock in the middle of the street. It was a good rock to be fair, and the one perched upon it did appear to be quite seasoned, yet something had caught her interest, not that the vixen could point at why but sometimes that was how things were.
"Good day to you both. Lovely day to be out and about, yes?" Her accent bleeding through and depending how well travelled he was it wouldn't be entirely unreasonable for him to immediately be able to pick out that she was from the Emerald Isles.
"You two local or is this your first time to the city?" Being polite and welcoming in her own way

 

[Isbrand]

"Ah, it's not really hard to return to my homeland. It's my nature that commands me to travel the world, and I prefer to adhere to its orders..." spoke Isbrand, suddenly feeling a lot more introspective than usual. "But that's simply the life I lead... Oh, it seems like we have a guest, Nevali Wayward!"

He finally noticed the presence of another beast. He tilted his head, trying to listen to the vixen's words closely, before clasping his paws together to seem a bit more polite and interested, even though he was already very much curious about... well, everything happening around him. Then, the old sable procured another unique item from his cloak. It was an ornate conch shell. Isbrand proceeded to hold it closer to his left ear.

"Well, greetings! I am Isbrand the Charmer, a truly exceptional magus of white, blue and mauve, and the inquisitive young one right here is Nevali Wayward, student of Cunning Caltrops Cleverpaws. She is a local, it seems. It's a great pleasure to meet you! Ahem..." he narrowed his dark eyes a little (a barely noticeable change, honestly), trying to assess the vixen's appearance. "My ears haven't deceived me for once! You are of the Realm of Green, yes? The islands of the Emerald Sea? Been there... and acquired these!"

Isbrand actually stood up with incredible ease. If viewed from afar, he would have looked almost like a bird with his enormous cloak, probably. He subsequently took it off, revealing whatever he had been wearing underneath this whole time... another peculiar robe-like garment with sleeves too wide for Isbrand's flimsy paws, this one of a rich azure color, with small patterns resembling waves. It was not the item in question, though.

Isbrand pointed at the carnelian beads worn around his neck. Then, he proclaimed, "These! Pure carnelian! Wonderful, right?"

He sounded like a kit showing his parents a perfect shiny mud ball or an unusual-looking bug he found...

"I wonder... are the grapes of the Realm of Green still as ripe as they were three decades ago?" Isbrand voiced his thoughts. "Maybe we aren't exactly different... but I think I shall abandon this dreadful feeling of longing."

 

[Nevali]

"Well, local..." Nevali paused, re-arranging timelines in her head as she gave the vixen a quick and courteous study.

Travellers had offered to add the Wayweird Inn to their maps, but no two maps were alike, and reaching beyond that, where was New Valley, really? Technicalities and details aside... Harbour and Caltrops were from the Imperium. Sensibilities and customs were as much an identity as land or sea.

"Aye, Imperium-raised, me," she said, mimicking another paw-shake in Miothiyle's direction. "Pudge ter my friends, though."

She tilted her voluminous wizarding hat back slightly, reaching a paw up to rustle around. A small clockwork oddity in the shape of a gull tumbled out and splintered on the ground, followed by a small wheel of cheese, and then she found something worthy to offer.

"Fyadoran persimmon?"

She held the shiny orange fruit out to the vixen, and let the rest of their conversation flow around her. Isbrand was a curious fellow, in both ways, and Miothiyle would have her paws full answering him. And Nevali had things to muse upon in silence.

A dreadful feeling of longing... was that what she was feeling, too, perhaps? Was it radiating from the rock? An un-snowed rock that gave pangs of sehnsucht to those who sat their rumps upon it? Or were these feelings the usual feelings of longing she grappled with in the dark moments of wakefulness? Longing, belonging, and loss, all knotted up like a skein of purple yarn tumbling down a slope into eternal madness - which crags would it catch on, when would it the end of it dangle at last, and as she tumbled in its wake, would she catch onto that end? Would it unravel and slip at last, if she were to do so? Was it already too late?

Oooh, fancy kimono...