Deific Motivations

City Library, midday

The rain is pounding down outside, cold and miserable, but under the roof of this building, it's warm and dry. Perfect for anything from light reading to deep research projects -- so long as one is able to brave the scrutiny of Lady Octagna. Such is life.

At one of the study tables, a half dozen tomes are stacked, along with a dozen sheets of parchment. Sitting at the table is no student, no novice, but the Lord Archmage Telamon Lupecyll-Atlon, working industriously on... something. One of the books will shift on its own occasionally in response to a twitched finger, opening smoothly as he studies something before writing down notes. "Alright," he muses. "So... the Staff of the Sea is a Radan relic. But why -that- relic?"

He sits back, rubbing his chin. Fortunately, no one is coming too close to him -- the title of archmage is good for guaranteeing privacy, and access to the library. But it won't do the work for him.

The front door briskly opens and shuts, a wet form pivoting around and panting lightly. Aryia had just started her usual run about the city, but the sky opened up on her! The closest spot was, well, here!

She doffs her jacket and kicks her boots off on the mat before damply getting deeper in the building. It's been a while since she was last here. Perhaps a change of pace was needed? She passes by Telamon- then slowly backs up to spy his research spread. The mute clears her throat, and waves.

The table boasts several books of unusual subjects for him -- religious texts, and also a couple books on notable artifacts and relics. What is the sorcerer up to?

When Aryia clears her throat, Telamon blinks, eyes twitching upward and looking toward-- ah. Smoothly, Tel rises, and bows to her. "Aryia," he says -- softly, it IS a library, after all. "It's good to see you again. I hope all is well? I'm... well, trying to learn some things, after that little trip we took to steal back Ni'essa's blade."

Aryia's gaze flicks about the books before settling on the half-sil proper. A flicker of a smile crosses her lips, her giving another wave, those chains from before ghosts of scars on her forearms. "Good to see you as well," she signs, approaching and keeping a tinge of space due to being, well, damp. "I'm fine, busy as fuck. Yourself?"

A glance to the books again. "What have you learned?" <Handspeech>

Telamon sits down again, and rubs the bridge of his nose. "It's slow going," he admits. "Each item is a part of a divine panoply or a relic. Calling them 'magical devices' is underselling it. 'Artifact' in the old sense is a lot closer."

He pulls out one of the parchment sheets, which has the artifact names listed on them, their (presumed) deities, and what Telamon has been able to shake loose. "What bothers me more is why -these- items? And why dare the wrath of the gods? What is he doing that he would need such relics?" He scowls. "It was bad enough to find out he had the Star."

Aryia frowns, reaching into her satchel and pulling out a towel. She nods along, leaning forward to peer at the parchment Telamon pulls out. Brows rise up. "I don't know why." She rubs her face with the towel before tossing it over her shoulder. "But what I can intuit is maybe he is disillusioned with the way the world works, and is taking it into his own hands."

She glances down to Telamon's hands, then rubs her bare forearms. Her face softens. "How are you holding up after the Star? I got out of that basement and it looked like you were a thousand leagues away." <Handspeech>

Telamon's face stills for a moment, his hands resting on the table. Then he takes a deep breath. "It... wasn't good. I'm going to repeat to you what I've told everyone else: the tools of gods do not belong in the hands of mortals. The Star..." He breathes in again, before continuing.

"The Star is made in such a way that to wield it is also to be placed under the deepest conviction that you are responsible for the death of what you love the most." He gives Aryia a rather shaky smile. "Unsurprisingly, this put me into a state where I believed Lana was dead and I had killed her. I... don't know how -any- mortal could have endured that. I was -glad- to give the Star up to Tanith, and if I never see it again... I will be content."

Aryia stills as Telamon explains. Glowing gaze resting past him, listening. Reading him like the research spread out on the table. Her eyes widen.

A rough hand rests on Telamon's shoulder. "W-ll f-ck," she hisses in empathy. "That's... fucking horrid. Shit. I'm sorry man," she motions, frowning. "And what's fucked up is- that's probably the lightest thing that could have happened..." <Handspeech>

Telamon exhales. "Lana called me out of it, enough so that I could give the Star to Tanith. But... it's not the sort of thing I would endure again. And I wouldn't wish to see anyone else endure it, either." He smiles at Aryia's kindly touch. "Ironically, two days later we celebrated our anniversary. One year married, and the only thing we seem to disagree on is whether we should vacation in Quelynos or the Mythwood when things settle down." He pauses, then chuckles. "We'll probably do both."

"But in the meantime, I continue to try and do the right thing. Give assistance, advice, stumble my way into things and then out again."

Aryia lets out a slow breath. "That's good. Was worried I was going to have to knock you out and haul your ass through the mirror too." She smiles, pulling her hand back. "That is ironic. And also incredibly fitting. Shit, knowing what you two are capable of, both can happen as easily as choosing rye or wheat bread."

She gives another supportive pat. And by that, its a clap-clap on the back as she all but throws herself into a chair next to him. "Shit, that's how I do it. Like stumbling into coaching in the Colosseum. Mm. Reminds me, I know Seldan wants to get us together to speak of stuff," she mentions, gesturing to the research table. <Handspeech>

Telamon tilts his head. "Or me teaching at the University. Sometimes you find yourself doing what you didn't expect -- but it works, all the same." His lips curl up. "I expect you are a tough, but fair teacher."

He picks up his pencil, spinning it in his fingers. "I'm reminded of one of my friends, Simony. She came to me in low spirits once, after a nasty encounter with a Charneth mage and a fireball. Sometimes... you have to -rest-. Remember what you fight for. No one can endure endless battle, endless fear. And then... you get back on the horse, and keep riding."

The news that Sir Seldan is looking for him makes his lips quirk. "Ah. I have some news for him, though it's sadly unrelated to this. I am hoping to have something more... coherent to present when we meet."

Aryia grins. "As fair as I can be. Though some are far more stubborn than I. Surprisingly." There's a slow nod, and a- glimmer of pride? "One of my students, I know her. Good that she has someone to go to help set her head on straight. But rest is important. Why do you think every time you guys show up at my house I look half put together?"

The pugilist looks out to the research. "Always have to touch base with others. I'm sure even I have lingering things to speak of. What's eluding you here? Could have sworn you said something about a staff when I was walking up?" Elf ears. <Handspeech>

Telamon smiles. "She's a good friend. One I'm happy to have. She also has an excellent eye for painting -- she put a gorgeous fresco on the ceiling of our living room. If you're looking for some artwork done, you could do a lot worse."

He hms at the mention of a staff. "The Staff of the Sea. One of the artifacts that bastard had hidden away in his castle, guarded by that bound angel. I'm pretty sure it's a relic of Rada, with a name like that, but the question is -- why that one? What does it do?" He gestures at the books. "Hence what I've been doing. Cross-referencing, reading, hunting for bits and pieces of lore to knit together."

Aryia bobs her head. "She is good at painting. Given me a couple of her works before. They're nice. I'm surprised a Navosian has a knack for it, but it makes sense knowing her better. She does have a hard time underestimating herself." That thought gets her lips askew and gaze off to the side. Remembering something about the little one, herself, both? It's not clear.

She looks back to Telamon, pensive. She taps her chin. "If I'm to hazard a guess, it probably controls the sea-" The mute grimaces, rolling her eyes at herself at the obviousness of that statement before she shakes her head and continues on- "Charn is surrounded by loads of shores. It is probably a good way to move vast amounts of naval ships about. He's going for total war, right? Not just a victory, but a total crushing overwhelming annihilation that not even the dust can be read by historians." <Handspeech>

Telamon nods. "Hidden depths. But she has a surprising amount of focus." His eyes twinkle. "Although she does love fireworks as well."

He mulls over Aryia's thoughts, but then shakes his head. "You're thinking a little too small -- though I don't blame you, as it does seem he serves Charn's interests in part. But he wants -more-. Remember, Sir Seldan warned us that his servants pursued the followers of Taara as well." He pauses. "I think it would be safe to assume his ambitions were nothing less than deific in scope."

"Don't I know it. She enjoys watching me smash metal targets into pieces," Aryia snickers. It's a firework show in its own way.

Valid criticism gets her frown to pull further down, the mute huffing and pulling her hair down, letting the moon-hued locks splay over her shoulders. "Yes, he has hate on everything deific, it seems. I've seen his nasty work, I was with Seldan during all of that." Aryia's face, of all people, turns green at that. "It was fucked."

Her head lulls back, legs crossed as she taps the tip of her boot against the table leg. "But what's his angle if its deific in scope? Kill a god? Carve his own space out? What's the point? Did the pantheon piss in his beer or something and he has a personal vendetta against them? Like, don't get me wrong, I can /get it/ up to a point. I got my own opinions on the matter, but whatever he's doing just... doesn't make sense?" <Handspeech>

"I ask the same question. There's an old saying: 'who profits?'. What does he get out of this? Does he hate all the gods? Just some? Does he want to overturn the entire table, or is he seeking to supplant one or more?" Telamon's expression is grim. "Not just the what, or the how, but the why. I'm hoping by unraveling the first two I can make a guess at the third."

He taps the paper. "That's what bothers me about this. Why embark on a venture more risky than stealing from a dragon? What drives him to such extremes? A man might do many things in the grip of anguish and passion, but this seems... excessive by any standard."

Aryia leans forward, resting her elbows on the table with hands steepled and eyes closed. She turns over Telamon's question in her head, jaw flexing in annoyance at the situation at hand. Something within it all speaks out. Her gaze flutters open, drifting amongst the table of research. "There once was a time that I despised the gods," she signs slowly. "Their very presence frustrating me so much that even at my lowest points, none of them could even deign to aid me. And I resented them for it."

She looks up to the Archmage. "Now. I don't hate them anymore. They have their purpose, and I have mine. But that took experience, time, learning, growing. Now I'm no fucking sage or scholar, I'm just a dumb fucker with anger management issues. But maybe he hit his low point. Hit bedrock with his back, and then learned something so damming about the gods, so terrible, some big secret they're all covering up, that it drove him through the bedrock into whatever's beyond."

Her nostrils flare. "You and I both know, that with enough willpower, people can defy insurmountable odds." <Handspeech>

Telamon steeples his fingers, his expression thoughtful. His starry eyes contemplative. "Maybe," he concedes. "But I question him learning some 'vast terrible secret'. We both know how people can seize on obsessions. Become petty, cruel, stupid... but focused in a way that drives them to do unspeakable things." He shrugs lightly. "I could be wrong, of course."

"But it's beside the point. Gods only know what this fool has been playing with. There's a -reason- I give ethics classes at the University, and it's not because I'm easily amused. Toying with the fundamental forces of the universe can have consequences much more serious than just people dying."

"You held one of these things in your hands. It shook you to your very core. And that was getting off lightly. It wouldn't surprise me if he used one of these things and learned some really fucked up truth, or what he thinks is the truth, to the point its driven him to some insane conviction," Aryia supplies with a shrug. "I mean, I punched rocks for three months straight until I could rip through steel. Don't underestimate bull headed determination." She smiles.

It drops away. "Agreed. I've been in one of those issues where the forces of the universe were out of whack- stuck in a time loop. That shit was fucking mind bendingly wrong." <Handspeech>

He offers a grim smile. "Exactly. There was a case here in town of someone trying to ... well, subvert the ward so he could fit a pocket dimension into his house. It... didn't go well at all." Telamon shakes his head. "Honestly, it doesn't matter if he discovered some secret truth or if he's deluded. What he's doing is -dangerous- and needs to be stopped."

"So if you see Sir Seldan before I do, let him know I'm working on cobbling together some theories on what the perpetrator is doing. I hope to have something concrete to present him shortly. In the meantime..." And here Telamon's eyes dance in that slightly mischievous way. "He might be interested to know that Zeke has committed to a relationship."

The pugilist gains a look of 'this fucking idiot' at the ward story. "I've slammed against that ward enough now to know /not/ to fuck with it." Aryia shakes her head.

She bobs her head, supplying a thumbs up. But that glint gets a brow to raise.

The news takes a second to process. "Z-k- f-ck-ng wh-t..?!" she sputters in a gasp. Thankfully it's nothing more than that, else it'd be a yell, and there'd be an angry librarian. The mute hacks and coughs into her elbow, but her expression is full of the questions needed to ask. 'Huh? What? How in the fuck?' <Handspeech>

Telamon nods sourly. "It was kind of a minor embarrassment. The guy was known to my family, father had actually commissioned him for a couple things. But evidently he couldn't get permits to expand his studio, and tried something he shouldn't have." He shakes his head.

The other bit of news cheers him up though. In fact, he looks like he's having to suppress laughter at Aryia's shocked look, and his grin is positively huge. "Oh yes. He's found this nice makari lady, Cuemoni, and she's taken a shine to him. We sat down the other night for a little discussion, and, well..." He pauses, looking slightly bemused. "Evidently makari traditions on marriage are a -lot- less involved than 'softskins'. One witness, one bride, one groom, they declare in front of the witness, and that's that." He runs a fingertip down the side of his face. "To be honest, I kind of prefer the pageantry and tradition, but to each their own."

Aryia wipes at her lips with the towel from earlier, staining it with flecks of blood. But that doesn't mar the utter perplexion scrawled all over her face. "Well fuck. I figured his last pair didn't work out well and that he was pretty much done with finding someone. Well, shit. Good on him. He's a good guy."

She bobs her head in a large motion, as if it'd state how much she understand the involvement. "Yes, very much so. Their traditions are much, much simpler on some things. Other things, far more complicated. I spent about, what, four months in Mictlan before? I learned a /lot/ of shit about their culture. Shit, you don't even have to have a witness, you now? Some tribes say the gods are enough as witness and boom! Life mates." She claps her hands at the boom- which rewards her with a sharp 'SHHH!' from across the library.

The pugilist grimaces. Seems like even she has those she's afraid of. Aryia shakes her head. "I like the dresses and the outfits, and a bit of the simple ordeal of it, but anything over the top- eh." A pause. "No offence. Your wedding was great. As was Verna and Auranar's. I think I'd prefer less... attention." <Handspeech>

Telamon actually flinches a touch at the loud 'SHHHH'. Then he offers Aryia a wry grin. "Sorry," he says in a hushed tone. "I forgot we were here, too. But yes. I don't have near the experience you have with makari traditions, so it caught me off guard." His eyes soften. "Still. It was very sweet, and... I learned a couple things about Zeke I didn't know. He's gone through some rough roads. I think Cuemoni will be good for him though. He just... needed me to give him a nudge."

He stifles a snicker at Aryia's comment about attention. "Well... I once said tradition is something to be honored for those participating, not because 'that's how we've always done it' or to revere some hoary ancestor. If the tradition doesn't fit the participants, what's the point?"

Aryia waves off the apology as she looks over her shoulder, double checking she wasn't about to get her head caved in from a librarian. "Yes. He's gone through some shit, and that's only half of it. I don't know the details but I'd like to think I'm half decent at reading folks." There's a light smile. "I'm glad you gave him the nudge needed."

She turns a hand over, like she was conceding that point to him. "Fair point. I've done a lot of weddings a long time ago. Most people cared about the details like that, or the old ways of things. Mul'neissa can be just as stuffy as some other societies. I'll figure out what traditions fit me when I get there. That might not be for a long while."

Her thoughts trail off, looking out to the window and the pouring rain beyond. She shakes her head. "Regardless, I'm stuck here for now. You need a hand with any of this shit? I can read a decent amount of old dead languages if you have some old as fuck stuff laying around you're referencing." <Handspeech>

Telamon nods. "That's putting it mildly. But... perhaps he's finally getting -past- it, which please me to no end. I like it when my friends are happy." He tilts his head, then hms. "Point well made. You have to find your own place in the world, and how you want to deal with it."

At Aryia's offer, he grins, pulling out another scrap of paper, with five lines on it: the Mask of a Thousand Faces, the Mirror of the Way, the Star of Tears, the Staff of the Sea, and the Thread of Destiny. "Help me page through these books. My Mynsandraal isn't great, and it seems like half the references I find are in that. If you see one of these names pop up, make a note of it." His eyes glint. "With any luck, we can unravel this riddle."

-End Scene-