Private Tales Weathering A Quiet Storm

A private roleplay only for those invited by the first writer
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There were days he could not bear to surround himself around other people.

It took a lot out of him to keep up his smiles, to talk to his classmates and make a friend of them. It took a lot to even attend his classes, and some days he looked forward to the curfew so that he could retire to his dormitory and pretend to sleep.

Today turned out to be an unlucky day. He had been looking forward to the sun, to finding a quiet spot so that he could do his sketches and have a moment to himself. Being outside meant he was able to find solitude, whereas the dreary rain pattering against the window his head rested upon only reminded him how crowded the Small Library was despite the quiet. It was not true solitude, even if people didn't bother him as he stretched his legs across the window seat.

He had heard the sun would return tomorrow, and waiting for that day felt like the longest hours of his life.

If he got up now and returned to the dorms, that would only catch the attention of his friends. They would ask questions, and he didn't want to show them the dead feeling reflected in his dark eyes.
 
She hated it when it rained.

The near constant solitude was bearable most days, but not when the skies let loose as they did here often enough. The damp in the air made her hip ache where it had been broken. It did not do anything nice to the flesh beneath her scars either; the nerves remembered the flames the most on damp days and during the sharp bite of winter.

At least it was cool.

The tap of her staff on the floor preceded her and once within the Small Library, as it was called, it seemed overly loud amid the quiet stacks. She leaned heavily on it today, her hitching gait relying on its support more than normal.

She pulled the hood of her shawl over her face a little more as she entered. There were people here and she didn't like being stared at as though she were some exhibit on display.

She had come here to find solace in the books, and it was not books of magic that she sought today. Just because it was a school of magic didn't mean that they did not also have regular books. She wanted something she could curl up in a bed or a chair and read - something that would chase the hollowness away. That was buried out of sight, of course. It wouldn't do to show such weakness - not when others already thought that she was the arbiter of her own ruined body.

She never corrected them. They could think that she had been sent her to gain control of the fire within all they liked. The fire hadn't settled in her bones until she had been bathed in its vile heat and light.

Lips compressed in a thin line, an expression of determination writ large, she gamely made her way through the room. After asking one of the many librarians where she could find what she was looking for and retrieving it (without comment on the puzzled expression at the choice of material), she made her way toward the back. There was a fire burning in the mantle and she eyed it warily and went wide round it toward the windows at the back.

There were a few people back here. She ignored them any anything they might say and instead limped to the seat before the window where a single man sat staring out at the cursed rain.

She hesitated a moment. He did not seem to want company and, in fact, seemed wrapped in his own thoughts. She could sense something of the mood in the face reflected from the glass. In fact, she could empathize with it somewhat.

Biting her lip, she gave her head a soft shake. "Excuse me, may I sit here?" The words were quiet and sweet, the accent of Alliria on them with a lilt that was all her own.
 
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Jolted from his thoughts, the voice had pulled his gaze towards the girl lingering by the chairs angled to face the fireplace. With this dreary weather, it had brought some coldness to the day, and thus the presence of a roaring fire was most favoured. Despite no one else occupying those chairs, Atticus was on the verge of up and leaving until he caught sight of just whom he was looking at.

"Svenia." Surprisingly, his long legs fell from the window seat and bid him to stand. It was an awkward gesture, his book still closed and held with both hands as if he had intended on opening it but never got round to it. "Uh, yes! Of... of course you can sit there."

Her burns no longer shocked him. Atticus knew not to stare long, for she was too aware of the many stares she got. His gaze dropped to his book. Holding it up, he gave it a little shake as he chuckled before beginning to speak. "Been trying to read this for the past.... I don't really know how long, actually. I thought sitting by the window would help but..."

He spared her another glance, one that was warmed with a small smile. "Perhaps if you're reading too... I might end up following." Atticus jutted his chin towards the book she held. "What's that book?"
 
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She had seen him around, of course. Up close... well, he was quite a specimen. Something in those fair features stirred an ember of a different kind within her. But of course, he was as unattainable as solace and peace were.

Damned if the boy wasn't easy on the eyes, though.

She took the invitation quickly and with a regal dignity that spoke more of her upbringing than it did of her personality. She let a soft sigh of relief pass her lips as she took the weight off her lame leg and stretched it beneath the cream pleats of her skirt with a wince. "Thank you," she said quietly. She was always quiet when anyone was around.

"It looks an entertaining tale," she said softly. She colored a little at the question, crimson staining her cheek on the right side. It vanished beneath the mottled flesh below her left eye - not that he could see much of that. She lowered her head self-consciously to hide it.

"It is..," she started and stopped. Damn her for liking the sweet tale of star-crossed lovers and couples standing against all in pursuit of each other's happiness. She wanted it for herself but could never see it being real. "It's a romance," she admitted after a painfully long second. She seemed to draw in on herself, waiting for the ridicule. "Call me a girl for liking it, but..."

Living vicariously through others filled something of the void inside.
 
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He didn't have the heart to admit the book was something he plucked from the magical arts section, and that it took him the entire length of the Small Library to get to this seat and realise it was not at all a book about magic and art but the artistry of magic in use.

Atticus decided against that and focused on her book. A romance. Odd, he wanted to think, but it was very well a popular genre amongst the women back home in Dornoch. Even his mother had read them, had gossiped in hushed tones with her friends about their readings.

"A romance sounds much more fascinating than whatever I picked out." Atticus smiled. "Have you read it before?"
 
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"No," she said. She lifted her head a little, cut her eyes towards the young man. God, but his smile was like the sun that was hidden behind the clouds. Her lips curled faintly into an answering one. Funny how unaccustomed those muscles were to it.

"I didn't often have time to read things like this back home," she added, waving the colorful book vaguely. "Too much time with ledgers and contracts. And since I've been here..."

She took a deep breath and let it out. "Regardless, I can't only study. I like these little stories, so I read one when I can." She lifted her head a little more, a lock of brown hair falling across her blind eye. Her good one traced his face a moment, then fell to the book in his hand. "What have you got there?"
 
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"Nothing important." He replied breezily, still wearing a smile on his face as he kept his gaze forward. "Probably not a brilliant read like a romance novel would be."

Atticus approached Svenia, walking past her on the chair, and went for the fireplace. He grabbed the stoker and moved some logs around to feed the fire. "Perfect day for it. Reading. I... should leave you to it." Atticus stood, a hand raising to push back the long wisps of hair falling into his face and out of the way. "Would hate to disturb your, uh, reading rituals."

His smile turned sheepish. How was he supposed to know if she had any rituals? But it was always better to be on the safer side of this. "I mean to say, when I like to paint, I prefer some quiet... and well..." He should move. Grab his things and finally make a break for it out of the Small Library.
 
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"I don't have any... rituals..," she said and trailed off as he stirred the flames. Her sun-kissed flesh turned a paler shade as she watched the embers swirl and dance in the air and vanish up the chimney. She could feel the heat as the flames were rekindled and it made her shudder in recollection of agony beyond any description.

It was why she doused the flames in her dormitory whenever she could and stayed as far from the hearth as possible. She would rather freeze than be near the light and the heat.

Tearing her eye away from the merrily crackling flame, she turned and looked anywhere else. "I... spend all of my time alone when not in class," she said with a faint tremor in her voice that was quickly and ruthlessly crushed. "Some friendly company is..."

She trailed off again. "Could you... not mess with the fire? Please?" There was a note of pleading in her voice.
 
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Atticus stilled, turning towards the fire and then back to the soft alarm in Svenia's eyes. He returned the stoker, frowning at the thought he had caused her a discomfort. "I'm sorry... I..." He didn't know. And now he did.

Instead of asking her about it, Atticus straightened again and smiled at her. His face seemed to brighten whenever he smiled, for it softened his face to show off his youth despite maturing a few years ago. "Well, friendly company is my specialty." And he moved towards her, taking the couple of steps before falling to his side and flopping into the seat next to her own. he shuffled and turned, until he was lazily draped in his seat. "But I am afraid I have nothing to do whilst you read. Unless you want to talk about other things... such as..." He thought for a moment.


"Do you like sunrises or sunsets? Or both?"
 
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She relaxed as he put the stoker away and moved from the hearth. In truth, she would have rather had it put out. Whole world didn't revolve around her, though. "There is no need to apologize," she said earnestly. She felt a twist in her chest at discomfiting him over something that shouldn't be so troubling to her.

She set her book on the chair beside her and sat primly. Her eyes ran over him as he draped himself over the chair. It was almost...admirable, how at ease he was in his own skin. She barely knew him, but she had already gleaned that about him in their prior encounters.

"Sunrise," she said almost automatically. "When the sun is just edging over the hills in the east, and the sky is purple and pink. When that little breeze that brings the day blows in fresh air from the foothills of the mountains..." When all the world was quiet and still, and when another night had come and gone but the world was still there.

She eyed him. "Can't see it when the clouds are in the sky."
 
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Oh, he definitely saw her as a sunrise type of being. When Atticus looked at her at covertly and nonchalantly as he could, he began to put together a palette of colours he would use to bring her portrait to life. He had thought of this with his other friends too, and in a way, Atticus liked to use this skill in order to get a better understanding of them. He had gone from a home of familiarity to being isolated in Elbion, but now this was a chance to begin anew.

"I loved watching the sun set over the Zavgüi Zürkh, which means Busy Heart in the Common Tongue." He grinned. "It's a great, colourful and lively market, over the last couple of decades it's absorbed some of the water space in the canals to form a floating market too... It's where I used to work as an apprentice, and my favourite job was to paint the sunset on several canvases. My master would then paint the likeness of whomever wished to purchase a portrait as a souvenir."

He was well accustomed to the colours of the sky that way. Made him pursue painting landscapes, of which the Steppes spoiled with their stunning and open views.
 
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"An artist?" There was a hint of piqued interest there. She herself had no natural talent with such things. She'd had numbers and manifests and law and all manner of other practical things force-fed to her since she was old enough to talk. Papa had been liberal with his teachings, after all.

"And from... Dornoch?" She had to think for a long moment about the name he had offered. Among the education were all manner of details of notable places. She'd never asked where he was from in their previous encounters. It wasn't for a lack of caring but rather a lack of attention.

His face was quite distracting.

"I would like to see some of your work sometime," she said and meant it. She appreciated art - not in the hoity-toity way, but for the beauty of a scene or subject captured on canvas.
 
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Atticus laughed nervously, his smile turned sheepish. "Well... I, uh, haven't found the time to do much while here. I'll be sure to show you, and the others of course, my work... one day..."

A hand ran through his dark hair, "But yes, I was born in Dornoch but came to live here in Elbion with my father. His family are traders in pottery. Not so much artisans, but they have a good business going getting products moved around for sale." It came with a decent income, but once Atticus began to come out from his hibernation, he decided to help his father and uncle with the family business to get a few more coins put onto the dinner table. He enjoyed it, working, and if this invitation to learn and grow at the College had not come, Atticus would be trying his hand at selling his paintings in the market.


"I left a lot of my supplies at home. At the time I saw it an excuse to return home and see my younger sister, who is not yet seen her first year." He smiled.
 
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"No need to be shy about it," she said brightly. "I am sure you are a natural talent."

She seemed to relax a little more. Being in the company of such a pleasant young man was... nice. She made a silent vow to herself that she would get him the supplies he had left back at home. Maybe for his birthday, or for some other reason. She felt drawn to Atticus and his forthright mien. Of course, he was easy on the eyes but he was also easy on her soul.

Others wouldn't have cared for her discomfort and certainly would have passed some kind of comment about her other shortcomings.

"I am familiar with the life of a trader," she said. "My family comes from noble blood, but it that isn't where our influence comes from. We've made our fortune buying and selling so many things. " Her face turned serious. "I've spent so much time in ledgers and manifests and being a part of trade negotiations I fear I may have become a bit.. dull... over the years. I am afraid I do not have much of a creative streak in me."

She turned her head a little to let herself look at him a bit better. Her face remained mostly in shadow, but her eye gleamed brightly and a smile graced her lips all the same.
 
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"Oh, I doubt you're dull Svenia Albrecht." Atticus grinned, waving off her incredulous claim.

He looked to her, directing his smile at her in hopes she would believe his words, for he spoke the truth.

"Here in Elbion, you will not be dull. You do not need to be passionate of the arts in order to have a spark." A lazy finger waggled in the air, lightly chastising her. "Your experience with trade is a strength. Never diminish your strengths in comparison to other people."

A lesson his mentor and his mother had always taught him. He may not be so skilled as the Dynast's favourite artist, but Atticus forged his own way in his art style. His emotions were his weight bearers that stirred him on a course, to the point that was how his ability for magic manifested.
 
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"I simply meant most would find someone who can take a ledger and market reports and squeeze a profit out of it somehow might not be very interesting," she said. But she was pleased by his words regardless, her smile a warm glow at the kindness received.

"Still, it is a rare talent to be able to give life to a piece of canvas or spin a tale. You shall have to tell me what it is you left behind. Maybe I can get you replacements so that I might get to see your work sooner rather than later."

She sat in companionable silence for a moment, listening to the raindrops strike the glass behind her. The low mutter of thunder and the rain served to mute the crackle of the fire such that she could almost forget that it was there.

"Dornoch," she said after a while. "I've never been. I've visited Fal'Addas and Oban, but otherwise only been in Alliria." Oban was an odious place and she did not like it. Still, there was money to be made there.

If you weren't a woman, anyway. "What is it like? I've read on it a little, but books seldom do the real place justice."
 
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Atticus shook his head. "No, no gifts. I like the excuse to return home. Besides, my father built a studio for me."

He didn't know how to explain that having his own space was security of ensuring he was safe. To even mention the grief and struggle... he did not want anyone to look at him differently. This could all be the thoughts of someone unsure of themselves, but it was what Atticus decided.

"Dornoch can only be described as a place of many cultures." He wriggled in his seat, reaching over to another chair where cushions were propped up and taking one to place at his back. "A sanctuary for the people. The history is rich, the goods and wares are unlike anything else I have ever seen, and the customs everyone respected. Women hold the power," he grinned at this, "and I learned from many powerful women growing up. I learned how to serve several teas too!" A skill he hoped to stun many of his peers with since so many of them had a taste for it.


"You should make the visit one day, Sven."
Atticus was all smiles, excited at the prospect. "I can tell you where to go, who to meet, you just say the word."
 
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She nodded her head in acquiescence of her offer of gifts and filed it away for later. If she decided she wished to do this thing for him - or anyone else - then she would. That was a thing for a different time and possibly a different conversation.

Regardless, she felt a certain sorrow at the concept of home. She had one, of course. It was empty and hollow though. At best a residence to shelter her, for her to work from.

The soul of it was gone though. Home was in the past and she wasn't even certain that such a thing could be found again.

"I am familiar with the history," she said softly. "But I am unfamiliar with the people. You are the first I've had the pleasure of speaking with so casually," she said. She shifted in her seat a little to relieve the burning in her hip - the weather did not help her in this regard in any way. "Perhaps one day I shall visit." Almost a certainty, that. She was a merchant and the only thing she really understood well was how money worked. Dornoch was another market.

But she did want to see it for something other than its value in coin. As she wished to find in Elbion, too.

"Alliria is also a place of many cultures," she said. And left unsaid that outside the realm of high influence it was a squalid hole full of some of the worst human excesses. "Have you been?"
 
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Atticus shook his head. "Never had the time to but I would like to travel around once I finish up here. Arethil is vast, and the Portal Stones make things easier to see the world." He grinned.

"I hear Alliria is the biggest city in the entire world. That true?" He could not comprehend such a thing. Dornoch felt like a big city to him, always busy no matter the hour, and Elbion was similar but more... orderly in his opinion. It made him wonder what sort of atmosphere was contained to Alliria. "Amazing to see it on the maps, you know. Two cities on either continent..."

He grinned at her.