Dusty Chalice
Log Info
- Title: Dusty Chalice
- Emitter: Telamon
- Place: Shining Chalice Meetinghouse
- Summary: In which a teenager stumbles into a Sorcerer clubhouse.
- Shining Chalice Meetinghouse, midday
There's a line of thought -- generally believed to be from goblins -- that goes 'Well, it seemed like a good idea at the time'. That's usually where the 'no kidding, there I was' kicks in. And that's where where things are for one Cynthia Retzner. When she knocked on the Chalice door on impulse, it was probably on a lark.
And then a harried-looking servant opens the door, and says, "Oh thank the gods, you're here! Come in, please, we've got a lot of work to do! There's a meeting tonight, all the proctors and members will be here, and Master Sloan's helping move some of Master Turow's experiments so we're shorthanded."
"Come on, the brooms and dusters are in the closet, the faster we're done the better! One of the proctors is here and he doesn't want to be bothered, too..."
Cynthia Retzner. Fourteen years of age and almost a spitting image of her father save for the black hair that hits her shoulders and the smattering of freckles on her face. Despite that, that is where the similarities ceases. As when her dad is away on business...
... she gets into trouble. Slate eyes blink up at the servant, hand raised after knocking. "Uh..." she sloooowly looks to the side. Was she dressed for this? No, not at all in simple tunic and shorts. But that small, adventurous part of her speaks out before her brains. "Alright! Yep, that's me!" she smiles a toothy grin before striding in.
Trying to find the closet, she looks over to the servant, trying to not oggle the building as she was very interested in the ongoings. "Sorry for being late. What should I, um, get working on first?"
Indeed, the meetinghouse is a great place to ogle. The lights are all magical lamps, glowing in soft hues, and there are little touches here and there, the signs that those who dwell within are not even 'mere' aristocrats. A painting hanging on the wall depicts two knights battling -- but the painting is animated, with the two warriors fencing back and forth endlessly.
The harried servant leads Cynthia down the hall. "The east side, where the parlor is. Don't worry about the offices. The proctors always complain if we clean there because things get moved around." The servant yanks open a closet, and pulls out broom, dustpan, featherduster, and some rags. "When you're done, I'll be in the kitchen, you can help me clean out the oven flue. That's always such a pain..."
He points Cynthia off in the right direction once everything's been dumped into her hands. "Alright now, off you get!"
Cynthia grins to herself as she watches the soft lamps bob their magical light, almost pasuing at the fencing picture. But the brisk servant draws her attention. She shouldn't even be here! "Uh, okay!" she says reflexively, almost tumbling from the sheer amount of things being tossed her way. There's a moment as some dust flies up, and she sneezes. "Erm, alright, I'll... make sure it's super clean!" she tries to say, staggering back from the load.
Shambling in the right direction, she turns a corner to set it all down and rearrange stuff. "... man, what did I get myself into..." A beat. A glance around, pondering... "East is... the mountains and... ah, right, this way..!" She does her best to not stare too much, but there is the occasional peeking into open doors, keyholes, lifting a book to peer inside the cover before making her way to the parlor. ".. isn't a parlor like a... hair salon?" she muses aloud. "I dunno."
Even if there weren't signs of magic everywhere, it's clear there's a -lot- of money here. There's also a couple signs of recent repairs, though it doesn't seem too extensive. But the rugs aren't threadbare, the sconces for the magelights are polished and gleaming.
The parlor is clearly not a hair salon, but it's yet -another- example of 'some people live differently'. Deeply padded and upholstered chairs and sofas are set around the room, a small fireplace in the wall glowing with dancing flames even now in summertime. Interestingly, the air here is cool, and a breeze flows from a gnomish contraption sitting on a high shelf, blowing steadily. On one of the coffee tables sits a leatherbound tome. Its title is in Tradespeak, and declares it to be 'Traveling At Night: A Guide to Evening Arcana' by Jakob Stefansson.
Cynthia drags the cleaning supplies along, stopping by the minor signs of repair and scratching her head. "Huh. Weird... dad always said to check doorframes..." she muses before shaking her head and continuing on. Not without poking a magelight. Of course she has to poke it.
She almost just drops everything in the salon, sprawling out on one of the fancy chairs with a loud 'bluuuuughhhh.' A moment to relax, then she perks up, looking around and finally taking the place in. Her mouth set in an 'o' shape. "Woah..." she whispers, getting up to stare at, well, everything. Inspecting the contraption. Checking out the fireplace (and poking it. Of course.)
Finally, she finds the book, looking around before leaning over to scoop it up and give it a skim. Sure it can't take that long to clean this room...?
It's not clear what's making the contraption spin -- it's some kind of fan, but it seems to be rotating of its own accord. Strange. But the breeze is nice!
Meanwhile, the fireplace is almost a classic illusion. The flames dance, but there's actually a subtle pattern if one watches it long enough. Plus, there's no heat -- Cynthia can drag her fingers through the flames and it doesn't feel like anything, instead causing the dancing flames to ripple before reforming.
The book itself is surprisingly friendly, written in tradespeak with annotations that reference the elvish language. It talks about the best ways to do magic at night, what -not- to do (very practical, that), and phenomena one might witness. Still, it's heady stuff for a fourteen year old girl -- for example, it discusses bridging. Why would a book on magic discuss bridges?
Cynthia speaks into the fan as it passes over her, chopping her voice up before she giggles and head sot the fireplace. There's a quiet chuckle as she runs her fingers across the flames. Once. Twice. Thrice. "So cool..." she whispers.
She bops over to the book, skimming it. She's remarkably learned, having been going to school for some time now. But a brow quirks at some of the context. "... bridging? I thought this was like, a magic book. Not an engineering book? Tsh. Dad would like something like this." She tosses it back onto the table, only to do the thing where she instantly regrets that, flailing to catch it and only just barely knocking it into a chair to keep it from messing up anything. This time, /carefully/, she places it back on the coffee table.
...
OhshootIgottaclean!" she babbles out, scrambling to the duster and scooping it up. Highest places first! And... she's just barely past five feet. "Dang it.." she murmurs, dragging a chair over to a shelf and standing on it to get started.
So of course that's when things go a little sideways.
As Cynthia gets up on the chair to try and dust, someone walks in. Tall for a half-elf, with a characteristic shock of platinum-blond hair and dark starry eyes, Telamon Lupecyll-Atlon is evidently looking for something. "Ah, that's where I left it--" he says, his eyes initially on the book. Then he registers someone else in the room.
Then his eyes narrow slightly. Oh oh. "Ahem. Who might -you- be?" Dressed in a white cotton tunic, brown trousers, and shoes, he doesn't -look- all that imposing -- until you look in his eyes and realize what might be calmly staring back.
Cynthia cringes as she hears someone walk in. Just... just keep dusting! Yeah! Not next to the fan where its getting every- She starts coughing as the a dust cloud gets propelled into her face, having to half step off the chair to get clear.
And she turns. Blinks. Rubs her eyes. Blinks again. Her pale face quickly grows red. It's clear as day that recognition flashes across her face. "... oh! Um. I'm... the.. cleaning lady! Yeah! I started um. Ten-ten minutes ago! I uh... I can get out of there if you need-need me to!"
Telamon looks utterly unimpressed. "No, you're not," he says calmly. "Sloan told me before he left to haul some of Turow's things back to his estate that he'd retained someone. A big, strapping half-orc lad who can reach high places and wasn't afraid of a little dirt."
He looks Cynthia up and down, and deadpans, "You're a little short for a half-oruch."
"Now, why don't you tell me... wait." The eyes narrow again. "I know you. It's been a little while, and I -have- been busy, but I don't forget faces."
Cynthia stands there, holding the feather duster upright like it was some kind of shield that would protect her. She shuffles on her feet, looking from Telamon, the door behind him, and back to the man. "Uh... um..."
Well, as dad always said, the best way out of trouble is to just tell the truth. Expressively, she holds her hands out, fanning the duster as a plume wafts away. "OkayholdonIcanexplainIpromise!" she says rapid fire. "I uh- I came here because I was-was curious! And uh. I knocked and then this guy said a bunch of stuff about a meeting and next thing I knew I had like all this cleaning stuff thrown at me and I had to clean a room and pleasedon'tturnmeintoacubeIhaveatesttomorrow...!"
His head tilts bemusedly at the panicked babble, and then recognition flares in those star-shot eyes. Followed by -- thankfully -- amusement. "Huh. Sloan and I need to sit down with the steward and ask if he actually -listened- to what we told him this morning about the servants coming to help." He heaves a sigh, looking at the clearly frightened girl. "Calm down. You're Cynthia -- Warrick's daughter. Now I remember." He reaches up to pinch the bridge of his nose. "Gods. We really need to work on better security..."
Cynthia blinks as Telamon requests for her to relax. She lulls her head back, sighing massively in relief. "... sorry! I um, I was really curious! So I kinda just... sorry!" she eeps.
She shifts a bit on her feet, looking down at the duster. "Yep. That's uh. That's me. Um. I can go, Mister Telamon sir. I'm... going to be honest, I'm really bad at cleaning. Best I can do is my own room and the floors. Dad gets the shelves."
She looks back up. Stares at those starry eyes. "... what's a bridging and what's architecture gotta do with magic?" she blurts out.
Telamon snorts, a surprisingly brash noise from the elegant sorcerer. "Well, you'd be in good company. I think curiosity is a virtue people should be more appreciative of. Even if you find yourself occasionally having to explain things."
Smoothly, Tel picks up his book, curling it easily into his arm. "Well, you can't go around unescorted, miss. Especially nowadays." He measures the girl with his eyes again, before continuing, "There was a break-in, and so some of the Chalice are a little... on edge. So why don't you stick with me for a bit? Don't worry, I'll handle Arik if he comes looking."
As he leads Cynthia out of the parlor and across the hall to his office, his eyebrow rises. "Where -- ah, you were flipping through my book. Bridging is... trade slang, you might call it. But it's part of magic -- specifically, conjuration magic."
"Phew," Cynthia brushing a bead of sweat off her brow as she sets the duster down with the other cleaning supplies. "Yeah, um, I end up getting into a lot of stuff sometimes," she murmurs.
She looks at the book, mind trailing off to something or another. She's none too remarkable, just a plain human girl, Myrrish perhaps, though she does have this insatiable curiosity of everything around her. "Ah, okay, sorry. Yeah I'll... stick with you Mister Telamon sir," she says, following after him, eyes back on the walls.
"... y... eah, I was. Sorry. Um, I dunno, was curious. Conjuration, um, that's... the one with... making things and creating things? Like, summoning stuff? Right?"
The office is surprisingly tidy, with a desk and several more books stacked on it, wrapped in a leather strap that's stamped with the name of one of Alexandria's more prestigious booksellers. "I'm sorry if I was a little touchy there," Telamon comments. "It's been a stressful few weeks for me. And..." He pauses, and tilts his head. "Hold on..." Then he rolls his eyes, and chuckles.
"Sorry. Wife was calling to me. Anyways. Conjuration, yes, conjuration is the magic of creation, summoning, and teleportation. Bridging involves the latter two. After all, if you have this here," he holds up the book. "And you want it to go over -there-" he points to a side table, "without simply carrying it, you need a connection, a road. A bridge."
Cynthia slips into the office, slate eyes turned upward and around before they settle on the desk. "Oh no that's cool I get it. I uh... been kicked outta lot of places," she sheepishly admits.
She blinks at him. "... uh... alright? I didn't hear anything. Is it one of those stone things you can talk into? Dad one time told me about a guy that got one stuck in his ear at work because they thought it would be a good idea to talk to people in the Watch but ended up unable to hear a month straight because it was too hard to remove."
Blink. "Sorry. Um--" she peers at the book, then to the side table. She looks up to the ceiling. Thinking. "But... isn't that just like, reverse teleporting? Summoning. Um... calling? I dunno. I tried the magic stuff and I didn't really get it too much. Why are you studying that?"
He laughs softly. "A bit of advice. Don't change color to match the walls. Look like you belong, and the walls will change color to match you." Telamon rubs his chin, but at the inquiry, he grins. "Something like that. It's rather comforting though. We courted, and got married, well before we put the spell in place, so we both knew we'd be able to handle being around each other all the time."
At Cynthia's questions, Telamon grins. "Well, to answer the first, I -am- a sorcerer after all. And there are books I'm quite fond of, too -- I had to replace my copy of Traveling At Night, wore the old one out. While sorcerers are not -as- involved in study as wizards can be, I've found that keeping a sharp mind is just as critical. And there's a fair bit of my magic that involves conjuration, too." His eyes glint. "Traveling without moving."
Cynthia tilts her head to the side. "Um, alright? I'll... keep that in mind. But, okay. Um, that sounds kind of nice I guess? Though, I wouldn't want someone in my head all the time. I have like twenty thoughts going all the time and- yeah."
She blinks. "Well, yeah, I know you are that, you did some magic and lifted me into the sky. That was... was a lot of fun," she murmurs, grinding her heel into the ground. A glance to the book as he talks about it. "So... like. Um. Do you just like... so you're like... born with it?" she asks.
The girl looks up at him. "That sounds very useful. It'd be cool if I could just like-" she waves her hands around, making nonsense sounds before going 'woosh' "-and boom and I'm at my friend Lomi's house."
Telamon smiles, genuinely, and it's probably incredibly distracting. "You're also... what? Fourteen? Fifteen? I was that way too. When you get a little older it'll even out. I remember what it was like to be young, it wasn't -that- long ago for me."
"To answer the question, yes, but it's a bit more complicated than that. 'The talent' isn't planned. It can skip a dozen generations... or you can wind up with a family full of sorcerers. There's all manner of causes, too -- but once it gets into a bloodline, well... it tends to pop out unexpectedly."
Tel grins. "Well, sadly Alexandria doesn't allow teleporting within the city limits. But I find I enjoy walking or flying around much more than 'popping' in and out. Still, it's quite useful -- Lana and I have traveled home to Ylvaliel in the blink of an eye more than once."
Cynthia stares at Telamon. Blinks. Then suddenly finds the wall behind him very interesting. "I-uh-fif-fourteen yeah! Um, fifteen in a few months." She rubs at her face, trying to get the red out of her cheeks that has yet to abate. "I dunno, I just got a lot on my mind right now- wait, not that long ago? Aren't you like, thirty five?" she bluntly and masterfully deadpans in the only way a teenager can.
Her brows knit. "... weird. I don't... think my parents had anything like that. Grandma and grandpa don't have anything, mom didn't have anything. Maybe dad could figure it out if he tried but he's busy doing other stuff..." she rambles, staring at her hands.
In a moment where Telamon's lifestyle is vastly, vastly different than Cynthia's, she just stares at him. Looks down at her hands again. Then back up at him. "I... went on an airship one time...?" she lamely tries to compare.
Telamon kind of stares, and then laughs loudly. "No, I am not thirty five. I may be a half-elf but I don't age that slowly." He pauses, and looks rueful. "Although I came here two years ago, and my life went from what was expected to, well... it became considerably more complicated."
Tel offers a sympathetic look, and inwardly winces at Cynthia's expression of discomfort. "It's had its dangers too -- both real ones and humorous ones." He picks up his books, and dumps them into his haversack -- the haversack showing no sign the books were even dropped in. "When I was, mmm, close to your age, I was with father, doing diplomatic work in Dran. And I was... perhaps a little -too- charming. Next thing I know I'm being chased around by the amorous daughter of an oruch clan-chief." He rubs the back of his neck. "I believe the appropriate phrase is 'crossbow wedding' -- fortunately, father managed to head it off."
Cynthia's face reddens. "Ah sho-shoot. I'm sorry. I thought it was... the age thing throws me.." she murmbles, finding her shoes fascinating this time instead the wall. "A lot happens in two years." That one is delivered with an agreement that has a certain amount of weathered soul to it.
She looks up at him, watching the books get stashed away. Curious of how the bag did it, but holing her tongue for now. There's a quiet sort of smile, followed by a giggle at that. "That sounds kind of funny. You with an oruch woman is..." her head cranes up. Up. Up. "... amusing."
The teenager once more drifts her attention to the haversack. "... that still sounds pretty cool though. I just... go to school and hang out with my friend. Maybe help my gran's shop," she murmurs in a depressing manner. A sigh escapes her. "Sorry for sneaking in here. I just wanted to maybe find something fun to do that's not just sitting in my room staring at adventurer posters all day."
Pause.
She goes beet red. "... they're just regular posters. I don't have one of you and your wife. Um. I'm gonna. Go. Yeah. Um. Bye. Mister Telamon sir. Um haveanicedayI'mreallysorry!"
Embarrasment makes great fuel for getting the hell out of somewhere, as footfalls echo down the halls of Cynthia making her escape.
-End Scene-