Private Tales Fireworks and a White Rabbit

A private roleplay only for those invited by the first writer
Hey! Hob snarled and pinned his ears back, lifting the coffee up to protect it from the frantic scrambling. Gods above boy it’s me not a fucking snake! I wasn’t touching you! There’s one spot to nap in this damn wagon and you had it. He grumbled as he got up and out of the wagon, tossing the hot coffee down his throat without wincing. Jon smirked and shook his head, heading up front to talk to Varys.

“Smell the air? We’re getting closer. See, Volta relies on salt from the sea interacting with the soil. It just gets more and more intense from here on in. It’s just a strange smell now, but the further we get from this last little podunk town...the more intense it gets.” Jon explained. “Should take a few more days. Once your hair starts shocking you we’re close.”

I hate Volta. Hob groused.

Varys
 
Varys looks out towards Hob with a half-hearted smirk. "Apologies, but maybe if you hadn't left such a powerful first impression, I wouldn't be suffering Post Hob Stress Disorder." If he was being totally honest, he didn't mind Hob so much as that fur of his. He turns back to Jon and the small dot of a city off in the distance. Jon was right; Already salt seemed to fill the air. He wondered if this smell was akin to what the large ocean coasts smelled like. He'd like to find out someday, at least once.

"So... what do they need all of the salt for? That seems a bit excessive." He stroked his chin, or rather the stubble that simply wasn't there, as he thought aloud. "And Hob hating it is honestly surprising. I'd think a particularly pungent smell in the air would make him feel right at home." He snickered a bit, obviously just poking fun at the Pooka. He couldn't stay grumpy for long, Varys figured.

"About yesterday. I'm sorry I brushed you both off like that. I suppose I wasn't ready to deal with that particular issue yet. I ran away from the problem. I shall try not to do so in the future..."

Apologies weren't really Varys' forte, but he owed them one after his behavior at the campfire the previous morning. He'd surprised himself not only with his ability, but with the effect his own inner struggles had on said ability.

Looking back, he regretted such behavior.

Jonathan Burr
 
Yeah well, you’re the first prude I’ve met that wasn’t actively trying to kill me, thank you very much. Hob grumbled at Varys, putting one of his larger hands along his back. With a series of cartilaginous pops, he stretched for another day of hauling the wagon. And I hate the salt because I’m a pooka and salt keeps us away.

Jon nodded. “He’s right. A line of salt across a doorway will keep a pooka from entering your home. But try not to use that against him; it also severs the connection between his magic and mine. I’d rather not have that happen.” He said with a smirk. “Volta needs the salt because the salt in the air interacts with huge copper and zinc deposits underground. Seriously, the land is stained green but that’s not all grass. Something about the way the metal reacts with the salt causes huge lightning storms over Volta daily.”

He pointed in the distance, where tiny flashes of lightning could be seen scattering across the city. “The people there study that interaction and call it electroalchemy. Pretty accomplished mages but they also make the salts I need for the fire flowers. I figure if you can find books on pookas there, you can find anything.” Jon patted Varys. “Do me a favor and check the cargo? Don’t worry about apologizing. I appreciate it, but I’m sure I treated Hob much worse when we started out together.”

You threw me into the sea and I was bald for a month. Hob snapped from up front.

Varys
 
Varys narrows his eyes at the distant show of light across the city. He'd heard the expression before of people trying to catch lightning in a bottle, but he was fairly certain that wasn't meant to be taken so literally. Why anybody would endanger themselves towards the study of such things was lost on him.

He spins around and climbs back into the wagon. He opens up the bag on his hip and pulls out the ragged old shirt he'd once worn and a small chunk of lead. He tears a strip from the shirt and tucks it back away. He begins to count what they currently held in the wagon, writing out the amounts on the scrap using the lead. "Honestly Hob, if it wasn't for the fur I wouldn't have panicked this morning. Maybe bald is the way to go? Assuming you're trying to win my affection, of course."

He smirks and reaches up to the front, handing Jon the list. He tucks the lead away, rinsing his hands with some water from his flask. The prospect of what could be waiting for him in Volta were exciting, but with all the time he'd been spending in the wagon he'd almost gotten used to not having so much excitement. He'd been keeping his calm and preventing his own restlessness quite well lately. It helped that he'd picked up a new hobby, one that he'd been keeping quite close to his chest.

"How long have you two been together, anyways?"

Jonathan Burr
 
Jonathan took the piece of cloth with a small smile and a nod, settling on the back of the wagon as Hob grabbed the tongues. You humans are so weird about anything not like yourselves. Or excuse me, elves. You’re both weird bald animals with stubby faces. Hob grumped as he pulled the wagon out into the flat land toward Volta. It would be rocky going for the next few hours. The landscape was rough, and Jon put a hand on their cargo to keep it from bouncing around violently.

“To answer your question...probably about ten years or so.” Jon said. “I did a lot of stupid shit when I was younger. Hob gave me a direction.”

He smirked, and fell silent. They rode for a few hours, and as they did the air became more and more uncomfortable. It crackled violently with energy, and anyone touching anything metal suffered small zaps. Eventually, it became bad enough that the metal fasteners on the wagon began arcing and zapping painfully.

“That’s far enough.” Jon slapped the wagon. “Varys, do me a favor and get rid of anything metal. Belt buckles, rivets, anything. Hob will wait for us here with the wagon but if we get any closer we might ignite something.” Jon gingerly stripped off a bracelet and dropped it to the wood with a loud curse, and the snap of electricity.

Varys
 
Varys had begun to do so even before Jonathan had deemed it too dangerous to continue. Clutching at his chest painfully, he reaches into his shirt and pulls out the necklace he'd retrieved when they'd left Fal'Addas. He'd been choosing to simply take the pain until it had become far too much. Folding the necklace carefully, he places it back inside the wagon, underneath the old blue coat he kept with the rest of his belongings. So they were going on foot from here? Jonathan had mentioned Hob's less than stellar reaction to salt. He supposed that made enough sense.

It was certainly better than ending up a fireball with wheels, in any case.

Still, as he climbed off the side of the cart he gave Hob a quick glance. He may not be the closest with the pooka, but there was a sense of safety that came with having him around all the time. Whenever danger reared his head, a pooka in your back pocket was always reassuring to have.

"The smell is bad enough, but now we've got to hoof it the rest of the trip? I sure hope there's something worth it in this city... For both of us."

He would follow Jonathan closely as they continued on. He'd taken the initiative to pull a pair of gloves onto his hands, having purchased them in the previous town. He'd been expecting to use them to combat cold, not lighting. Still, he supposed it didn't matter. Turning to Jonathan, he mused. "Ten years... that's a long time. It sounds as though you've changed quite a bit in that time. Was Hob a part of that?"

Jonathan Burr
 
“On foot it is.” Jon chuckled and leapt down. “Don’t be afraid to move back if you feel uncomfortable, Hob.”

A thunderous sneeze came from the pooka, along with a small shower of suspiciously still white fur. No shit. Hob grumbled. Jon knelt by his friend and scooped up some of the fur, tapping it into a glass jar swiftly pulled from his pocket. He offered it to Varys.

“Hey. Just as a tip...the Voltan Library loves weird samples.” Jon winked at Varys.

You’re welcome, by the way. Hob called as they walked.

Jon chuckled to himself as another loud sneeze was heard behind them. As they approached the city, they walked past gigantic towers of zinc and copper. They were greened over with salt and oxide, at least a hundred feet high. “See those?” Jon pointed to one. “You carry a knife, sword, or anything metal beyond this point you end up like...well...that guy.” He gestured to a blacked corpse just beyond the tower.

Varys
 
His question had gone unanswered, which was unusual for Jonathan. That told him perhaps that he didn't want to dwell on anything he'd done in his past. At least, not right now. Varys supposed that was fair. Taking the jar from Jonathan, he raises his eyebrow quizzically. Only when Jonathan speaks of the library does it seem to make sense.

"Well. I definitely think this would fit that bill..."

His eyes are drawn to the charred corpse of some unlucky soul on the side of the road, and his face twists in disgust. He could only imagine what that necklace would be doing to him right now, had he chosen not to remove it. A small shudder runs through his body.

As they walk, he takes the time to tightly tie his hair back. All this static would make it much more trouble than it was worth, and the last thing he needed was a bad hair day. Not to imply he was ever very conscious about his appearance.

"So. Resupply comes first, I assume?"

Jonathan Burr
 
Jon chuckled. “First...well, you’ve never seen a city quite like this.” He grinned, and clapped Varys on the back. He strode toward the city with a confident grin on his face. The gates were suspiciously absent. Of the great walls of stone pitted by salt and wind, there were simply no gates. No lock, no guards, not so much as a ribbon. Jon stepped into the cobbled streets without being questioned.

To the left of the entrance was a huge office of polished rosewood and glass, with the words ‘Volta Office of Conductivity’ painted in bright gold letters on the front. Jonathan opened the door for Varys, and stepped inside. It looked like a bank; a large lobby with plush velvet seats and a row of men behind glass screens scribbling away with glass quill nibs. Jonathan approached the front desk. “Good morning Florence.” He said flirtatiously to the young brunette elf behind the desk.

“Mister Burr! What a pleasant surprise. And who’s this?” She tucked a strand of hair behind an ear and smiled at Varys. Jon pulled the young man to his side.

“My new apprentice. I need to make a conversion. Gold to glass. Fifteen hundred for me, pull out six hundred for the kid.” Jon said cheerfully. “He’s going to need static discharge service as well, and fit him for a rod. I want him back whole, not shoveled into a barrel.”

“Of course Mister Burr. Can I assume we can pick up the gold from your associate? Does your apprentice have anything to pack away?” She asked, scribbling down notes.

“I made him leave everything at the wagon. Hob’s always happy to assist you with the lockbox.” Jon said. The elf plunked a long, heavy string of glass coins on the table that Jon swept away, and a shorter strand pushed toward Varys.

“I’ll meet you at The Sugarcane, just down the street, before sundown. Have fun.” Jon smiled at Varys and ruffled his hair. “You’re safe here. No thieves or killers.”

“Absolutely right, the only weapons here are glass and held by our guards.” The elf said helpfully. “Come with me and we’ll discharge you.”

Varys
 
So far, Jonathan's words had proven true. Volta wasn't like anything Varys had ever experienced before. He'd thought that some of the lands outside of his home before this one had been strange, but this one effectively blew the other's out of the proverbial water. The lack of an actual gate was odd, but not surprising. Considering most gates tended to be made of metal, he could see such a structure causing problems. The lack of guards, and the overall openness of the city was the much more bemusing aspect of Volta.

The overall cleanliness and polish that seemed to be so well maintained over the entire city wasn't too difficult to understand though, when he really thought about it. When they enter the large building Jon lead them to, he took a step back as Jon conversed with the teller. He took the few moments he had to look around the building they'd stepped into. Everything was so pristine that it was almost like they had stepped in to a world beyond Arethil.

He feels Jon grip his arm and pull him forward. He comes to attention, offering a small smile and courteous nod to the other elf. "Varys. A pleasure." He was brief in his greeting, and the business they'd began to discuss was foreign to him. Conversion? Discharge? He supposed the latter word made some sense to him, but why wouldn't Jon need one as well?

He narrows his eyes at his companion as he continues. "You don't fill an Elf with confidence speaking like I might get mutilated." But all Jonathan did was assure him of his safety and take his leave. Respect though he may have gained in Varys' eyes, he was still a strange one.

Shaking his head, he turns to the woman with the best polite smile he can muster and silently decides he's rather grateful Hob stayed behind now. Lord knows he'd be getting an earful of 'advice'.

"I suppose I'll have to trust you. Mr. Burr didn't see fit to brief me on any of this, I'm afraid."

Jonathan Burr
 
Florence bowed to Varys. “The Volta Office of Conductivity is here to aid all immigrants and visitors to our fair city.” She said politely. “The discharge service is to make sure you don’t accumulate any static during your time here. Otherwise you’ll be zapping yourself silly. Here is your currency. Glass is equivalent to gold, dark walnut wood equal to silver, and soft white pine to copper. Don’t worry, you can exchange them back at the satellite office just beyond the barrier.” She offered him the string of stamped glass.

The elf led him into a small adjoining office, and withdrew a steel rod from a thick padding of wool. “Please stand still. This may be a tad uncomfortable.” Florence swept the rod around Varys, and small tines of electricity gathered around the rod, crackling away from Varys’ person. It felt a bit like tiny claws skittering up and down his skin, and when Florence was finished she elegantly flourished the rod as though she bore a rapier. The electricity discharged all at once, with a loud boom.

Florence bowed to him and replaced the rod into its wool sheath with a series of crackles and pops. “There you are. You should be grounded now. Now, Master Burr wanted you fitted with a grounding rod. Don’t be alarmed, most people in Volta wear one.” She said sweetly. She pulled up her dress a bit to show him a silver rod running down her thigh and knee, all the way down to her shoe. It was jointed, so the wearer could move. “It’s if you get struck by lightning. The silver pulls the lightning away and discharges it into the ground.”

Florence opened a drawer with folded versions of her rod, and began the task of fitting him. Despite the awkward shape, the rod was rather comfortable and didn’t hinder walking. “And there you are, Master Varys. If you need help finding a specific locale, please don’t hesitate to ask the Office of Conductivity for directions. And, as a reminder, we are committed to the education and freedom of all races, creeds and genders. If you are unfairly treated, we will be happy to sort it for you.”

Florence gestured to a rather floral script ringing the discharge room’s ceiling. No Gods or Kings, yet Knowledge.

“Our motto.” Florence said with a smile. “Master Burr is of great interest to the University of Volta, particularly Master Deingras. He’s our expert on rare fae, and has been curious about that Pooka of his for years.”

Varys
 
Varys ran his thumb over the glass currency with a curious look. He'd heard rumors that a place had forgone traditional coins in favor of glass and wood, but without context it hadn't made any sense to him why they would choose such alternatives. With the shocking nature of the environment here, it seemed quite elementary. He pockets the string, and follows Florence into the adjacent room.

He stood on the wool pad, allowing the rod to be swept over him like tiny pinpricks in his pores. It wasn't enough to call painful, but it was far from the most comfortable feeling in the world. He distracted himself by looking over this elf who seemed to already know Jon quite well. She was eccentric in her mannerisms compared to most elves he knew, and she went about this entire process with a polished flair that spoke of the countless times she'd done it in the past.

"I can see why Jon is so fond of you. You certainly share in his enthusiasm for your work."

His arms cross over his chest as she explains the purpose of the rod to be placed on him. Even so, he does noticeably avert his gaze when she attempts to show him her own. "That's quite alright. If it's best I get one fitted, then go on ahead." He widens his stance a bit, giving her room to fit the rod and place it on him. As she does so, he continues to speak to her. "I must ask, Miss Florence. The constant electrical activity here, how was it brought about? I doubt such a thing is natural, a never-ending electrical storm in such a select location seems unlikely."

He follows her out of the fitting room, rolling his eyes at the mention of Hob. Of course, it made sense that a University would show interest in a 'domesticated' Pooka, if you could call Hob such a thing. "Yeah. I suppose I'll be headed that way next. Unless there's something else we're forgetting here?"

Jonathan Burr
 
“The electrical activity here is entirely natural, Master Varys.” Florence smiled. “You see, salt and certain metals such as gold and copper react strongly in the presence of water. The resulting union is the reason for the storms here. Volta has been studying it for years. We sit upon a gigantic copper deposit, and our proximity to the ocean lures in storms. By placing solid copper towers around the city, we both protect ourselves and misdirect the lightning away from buildings.”

She nodded at his mention of the University. “Feel free to enter the University grounds, they’re about a kilometer or so down the road. Other points of interest are Kitty’s, a boudoir catering to all needs, The Sugarcane where you can sample our famous pulled sugar candies, and the Lightning Cradle, a laboratory dedicated to the study of Volta itself. Master Burr has also made additional funds available to you at the Iron Mountain bank of Volta.” Florence bowed. “Please feel free to visit the Volta Office of Conductivity again.”

With that, she winked at him and went back to her desk. Varys, it seemed, was on his own.

Volta was a bustling city. The roads were full of men pulling carts, shop windows displaying a dazzling array of alchemical instruments and books, open air market stalls advertising noodles, and one strange, highly fragrant stall claiming to cook chicken with lightning. There were road signs in ten written languages, and small information booths where directions could be requested.

One large campus dominated the entire east wing of the city, however. The University was a cluster of buildings that looked like a group of architects settling a feud. A gigantic glass observation dome towered over sandstone libraries, open gardens, dormitories, baths, and laboratories. It was a twisting maze, and all throughout were students. Male, female, dwarf, tiefling, komodi, troll, elf, human, even a devourer or two. A pair of the huge eyeless beasts guarded the entrance, needing no weapons but the tusks and claws they possessed naturally.

Jon was in one of the laboratories purchasing metallic salts. These colored his fire flowers and gave them life, and Volta was the one place to find them in abundance.

Varys
 
He listened to Florence list off the various places he had the option of visiting during his time here, and found himself slightly overwhelmed. A laboratory, sweet shop and bank, among other things. Hells, he didn't even know what a boudoir was. He'd never really had the freedom to wander a place the size of Volta of his own volition before. In his hometown he was confined to the slums where he ran his card racket. Even travelling with Jonathan, he had to make sure he didn't stray too far from the wagon.

The sense of being overwhelmed would pass though, as would the rush of freedom. He bows politely to Florence and takes his leave, walking out onto the street. The idea that Volta was such a natural rod for electricity was intriguing to him. He could only imagine the difficulties involved with building a city in such inclement conditions. Taking stock of his options, he palms the small jar of fur he'd been holding onto. Surely Jon would put two and two together and figure where Varys would be headed all on his own. He sets off towards the University, locking his hands behind his back as he takes a deep breath of the pressure-heavy air here.

His soft footfalls are drowned out by the small crowds of people also travelling down the roads on foot. He did his best to avoid direct contact with anybody else, however. He was getting better at being polite when he needed to be, but he still was far from a people person. He peered curiously at some of the buildings he'd passed. Some of which Florence had mentioned. The Sugarcane seemed especially crowded, so he silently decided to save a visit for later. There was that 'Kitty's' she'd mentioned as well, but Varys had no idea what it was. He turns his head forward, figuring he didn't have much further to walk.

Jonathan Burr
 
Varys was met at the University entrance by the pair of devourers. They glanced at him, gave him a few whiffs to get his scent down, and returned to their silent vigil. The main courtyard was a staggering size, big enough for a decent gladiatorial arena, with plants from all over the world growing in carefully cultivated beds. The main doors leading to the Central Hall were blocked by a cluster of young men and women, headed up by a stern looking tiefling.

“Right. You there, young man! You’re late for orientation. We’re expecting one more.” The tiefling called to Varys. She gave him a look up and down, soft grey brows knitting together in a frown. “Good gods boy. Well, I suppose we can stop in the dorms and get you a decent robe. Now, as I was saying there are three major student houses here at the University: Electroalchemy, Medical, and Financial. All three are critical to the stability of Volta and indeed, Arethil. Our mission is to educate those from around the globe. Whether you stay here, go to the College, or apply what you’ve learned, you will better the world. This is the main courtyard. Our Herbologist Doctor Mellstrom dedicated his life to gathering plants from all over Arethil and convincing them to grow here. For the Medical among you, his internship is highly competitive.”

The tiefling opened the main doors, and herded the students inside. She glanced back at Varys. “Come along. Now, the University doesn’t charge admission but what it does ask is that everyone contributes. There are no groundskeepers, janitors, or cooks here. Everyone takes care of the building for the sake of everyone else. Year one students usually begin with janitorial work.” The tiefling strode down the foyer, head held high. “The first man or woman who sneers at scrubbing bathrooms will be put on worse duties.”

She gestured to another long hallway. “That leads to our alchemical laboratories, and the Alchemy dorm. I’ve assigned you beds in the dorm, for those of you who claimed that as your house. You, elf. Which one are you? I want to make sure you’re not sharing a bed with someone. That’s happened, you know.” She cast a stern eye toward Varys.

Varys
 
Varys didn't pay the Devourers much mind. He'd seen them wandering the streets, and doubted they would be allowed in the University grounds if they were prone to hostility. Instead, he allowed his gaze to wander over the splendor of the courtyard. Truly, the economy this city had built up had allowed for some incredible feats of architecture. He couldn't even begin to guess the number of people that would fit here at once. He takes the long way to the other side of the yard, detouring to admire the plants that dotted the area, collected from all corners of the world. His face softened a bit when he recognized some from home, and he felt a small pang of sadness in his chest.

Surely he wasn't homesick? Not for a place he had nothing to return to for? He allows his eyes to linger on the bright blue flowers that once grew outside the cabin he'd grown up in a moment longer, before forcibly tearing his eyes away and looking towards the gathered crowd. They all looked to be around his age, although the majority of them were wearing robes and garbs of a similar caliber. Approaching the rear of the group, he hears the one instructing them call out to him.

The Tiefling speaks so fast, it's difficult for Varys to decide how he should feel. Insulted at the jab at his clothing? Confused as he'd dragged into the university? Frustrated at the inability to get a word in? A bit of all three. Finally though, when she stops speaking upon finally asking for confirmation of his identity, he clears his throat.

"I believe you have me mistaken Miss. I'm not a student. I'm a visitor. I certainly don't plan on bed-swapping, to say the least."

Jonathan Burr
 
The tiefling huffed at him. “I see. The visitor’s center is straight ahead at the desk there. You should receive a small blue crystal that will mark you as a visitor here. Now then, come along students and let’s get you settled in the dorms. Medical and Finance students, follow along and we’ll get to yours next.” The tiefling herded her brood of young minds along, and Varys was left to confront the huge, C shaped desk in the far center of the Central Hall.

The young man behind it was buried in a book, but looked up sharply at Varys. “Sorry about Elder Raddick, she can be a bit much even for the actual students she’s got. Anything in particular I can help with?” The young human seemed friendly enough, especially with the tiefling Raddick out of earshot.

Varys
 
He politely holds back a small snicker at the quip the man behind the desk offered to him, watching the rather grouchy woman wander off with the squadron of students. He knew she likely didn't mean anything by her words, but they were still unnecessarily sharp. He shakes his head a bit, and turns to the man at the desk.

"I was wondering if I could speak to a man named Deingras? I heard he was here, and I have some business I'd like to discuss with him. I'm with Master Burr." He offers a smile. He knew that if anything else, mentioning Jon would get Deingras' attention. Hopefully, with a little pooka fur to loosen his lips, he'd be willing to point Varys to the right place to get some information. He doubted a fae expert would have much knowledge on his situation, as it was.

Jonathan Burr
 
The other man cocked an eyebrow at him. “I know Master Burr; always flies in here and cleans us out of alchemy supplies. Master Deingras is in the Medical wing. Here, let me show you. This place can get pretty twisty if you don’t have the map memorized.” The student set down his book and got up. “He might be in the middle of a lecture, but you can go ahead and sit in the back until he’s finished.”

The student led Varys toward the left wing of the University, and from there the simplicity ended. The hallways were cramped and full of wild turns and dead ends. Peppered along the way were classrooms, including a surgical theatre, several laboratories, lecture halls, and study rooms. They seemed to be color coded, with plaques on the doors for each classroom type. The student stopped at a green door labeled Master Galus Deingras, Faeology.

“Be quiet in here,” the student said softly. Beyond the door one voice dominated the room, rich in tone. One could practically attend the lecture by sitting next to the door, nevermind actually being seated in the lecture hall.

The lecture hall itself was bowl shaped, with the entrance at the top rim of the bowl. The bowls sides were stepped, so students could sit on the level of their choosing and have desks to work on. Deingras was, surprisingly, an orc of no small stature. He looked a bit comical holding chalk in a hand that looked as though it could twist a student’s head off.

“Right, so what have we learned about the different planar types of Fae? Creatures like nightmares and pooka are born somewhere outside of Arethil itself, seemingly of emotional energy or magic. Devourers seem to straddle this line; populations appear out of almost nowhere and typically disperse outward. Why is this?” Deingras spoke in perfect, if accented, Common.

“Devourers are born from excess?” A student offered meekly.

“Exactly! Devourers appear in places of excess, mostly treasuries. They can reproduce on their own, but if somewhere is dearth of them, you can bet the richest coffers in the area will soon experience a problem. So what then can we infer about nightmares? Born of...?”

“Fear?”

“Not exactly. There is a current hypothesis among Dr. Frand and myself that Nightmares may be people, lost in trauma and misery, and are merely transformed by their experiences. This comes from an account of a woman seeing a nightmare emerge from her husband’s body, apparently much the same way a spider sheds its skin. Anyway, do some research on nightmares and write a thousand words on this theory and what you find as far as credence for it. Dismissed.” Deingras set the chalk down, and the students seized bags and piles of books. They shuffled out of the lecture hall, leaving Varys alone in the back.

Varys
 
Varys followed the man closely through the labyrinthian halls of the University, taking pause to appreciate the humor of Burr to have such a reputation. It was almost as though the man who now guided him through the twisting serpentine halls found Varys' master more of a nuisance than anything else. That was something he didn't encounter often; Burr seemed quite well liked most everywhere they passed through, charismatic as he was.

He couldn't imagine trying to navigate this place without an escort. Being a student here must have been quite perplexing even before you attend a single class. A part of him understood why the tiefling had been so grouchy; Giving tours in this place must have been hellish.

He silently thanks his escort and walks into the rather grandiose lecture hall. He lost most of what was being said when he initially enters the hall, his attention taken by the indescribable amount of detail put in to every inch of the room. His head snaps back to the man speaking as he hears the word 'Pooka'. This man must of been the one he'd been looking for.

As he listens to him demonstrate his knowledge of creatures Fae and otherwise. After what seems like only a minute, the crowd starts to file out of the room. He'd been absorbed in the lecture himself, surprisingly.

He stands and approaches the desk at the front of the hall, clearing his throat and smiling.

"Excuse me. Are you Master Deingras? My name is Varys, I'm here on business with Jonathan Burr. I had a question I think you might be able to help with..."

Jonathan Burr
 
Deingras looked at Varys, or rather down at him. The kid was forehead high with his nipples. Not a very strong impression. The orc raised an eyebrow at the mention of Burr, folding his arms across his chest. “If this is his way of asking me if I’m severing the bond, he’s got nothing to worry about. I’m a scholar, not a warrior, despite my looks.” He said carefully. “You’re his new apprentice, then. Jonathan usually returns to the university to pilfer rare metal salts. All of his gold and glass turns back to dirt eventually...I don’t know why the University puts up with him.”

Deingras sighed and resumed packing up his books. “Go ahead and ask then. Walk and talk.” He gestured for the elf to follow him, putting his head through his satchel strap.

The orc led him down a twisting flight of stairs into a laboratory. Unlike the ones meant for students with long tables of books and glassware, this was more intimate. Strange hides from animals only dreamed about in books, including the fang of a dragon hung over the mantle like a hunting trophy. Deingras set his bag down on a worn desk. “I’ve studied your master for quite some time. Human relationships with pooka are rare.” He mentioned.

Varys
 
Severing the bond? He didn't need to ask to know what that implied. He'd gotten the wrong impression of his Master's reputation in Volta from Florence, it seemed. She seemed to like him, but it appeared that most in the University saw him as a bother, if an interesting one. "Yes, well... I'm not here on behalf of him." To say the orc was imposing was an understatement; He'd never felt so small in front of anybody in his life. Even compared to Hob, this one had a presence to him far more imposing than one would expect from an Instructor

He follows Deingras, again intrigued by the spider-web like design of the hallways. While more compact and and less gaudy, these staff halls seemed just as winding as the ones he'd traversed earlier, the only difference being that his soft footfalls seemed to echo louder in his ears when Deingras wasn't speaking. Eventually though, they reached their destination. Even the atmosphere alone, the strange scents and the wild decor told him that this was a kind of place you didn't see very often.

Leaning on the desk, his hands gripping the edge slightly as he looked up at the man, he cut to the chase.

"I'm looking for a specific artifact, I believe it's called The Prism."

Taking a deep breath and steeling himself to finally play his hand, he reaches into his shirt to retrieve the blue notebook he'd collected from his home. He knew which page to open the book to without even having to look down at it: Second to last. There on that page was Varys's name, circled with thick black lines. One of those lines left the frantic circle that had been drawn, moving to a diagram of what appeared to be a diamond or crystalline object. It was labelled "Prism".

"Master Deingras. I have reason to believe that I was made through means other than natural birth, and this is the notebook of the Elf who created me. I can't read any of it besides these two words. If this Prism is connected to my creation, then I must find it. In return..."

He silently places the jar of very active Pooka fur on the table.

"I offer a sample."

Jonathan Burr
 
Deingras gently took the book from Varys and looked down the page. “This is your name.” He said, looking up at the elf with a cocked eyebrow. “I see.” His eyes scanned the page, and he turned it with surprising gentility given his hands were larger than the book. His eyes were pulled from the text by the jar of wiggling pooka fur. He set the book down and picked up the sample.

“The pooka gave you this?” He asked, tipping the jar to watch the wiggling fur. It looked like a jar of large pinworms, each squirming to escape. “Fascinating...”

Deingras set the jar down. “I’d rather be able to examine the beast in person, but this would do well for now.” He picked the book back up and settled into a chair to read. His eyes scanned it, flicking a page back and forth. “My boy, this appears to be a scientific logbook. Something of a journal. Men like myself use it to keep track of changes in experiments. Or plans for them. This prism...hm. A prism is usually a focus for something. Perhaps an integral piece in this experiment. You being another. If you were created and not born, it has interesting implications for why.”

Deingras glanced up at him. “Did you know where your master studied? A laboratory? The college? Here, even? It might be a good place to start. Another interesting question would be...where you would hide it were if your possession.”

Varys
 
He had to make a concerted effort not to roll his eyes at Deingras's obvious initial observation. At least he knew the orc could read, he supposed. He found an empty seat, leaning back and attempting to abate the nerves he seemed to experience whenever he attempted to broach this topic. He shakes his arms a bit, trying to regain some feeling in his extremities.

He'd made the assumption the notebook had been a journal of some sort. The way his father had made such careful strokes across the paper, how he would compare the notebook pages with other scraps of parchment he'd written on... It made sense. He'd been hoping that maybe he'd be able to read whatever language his father had been writing on, but perhaps that had been too optomistic.

"He died when I was young. I was always kept in the house... ah... we lived in a small cabin in the forests outside Fal'Addas. I don't know much about him, because he never spoke to me. He kept me physically fit and well educated. That's about all I know."

He racks his brain, trying to think of anything that could be of use. Briefly, his minds eye remembers the cyan flame that had made him so upset the previous day. "He was a Transmutator. I remember that."

"If I may, I'd like to answer your last question with one of my own: Do you think it was in his possession, or that he was seeking it?"

Jonathan Burr
 
Deingras grunted in thought as he read. “You seem to be fond of Transmuters, considering your current apprenticeship. I advise you to dig deep and see if you have any significant talent. We tried to get Jonathan here on an Apprentice Professorship, but he turned us down flat. The pooka is the focus of his magic...maybe this prism was your father’s. If you weren’t born in the usual way, who’s to say that talent didn’t translate.” He mused. “This prism...who knows? It doesn’t specify. It could even be metaphorical and refer to yourself rather than a physical object.”

Deingras waved a hand dismissively. “Go find your master while I work up some notes for you. Don’t worry, it won’t leave my sight, but if you want to learn more about Transmutation magic, the salts Jonathan works with are a good start.” The orc glanced at him. “Go up the stairs, back out through my lecture hall, take a left, pass a taxidermied wolf, and follow the smell of alchemy. Your master isn’t a quiet man.”

Varys
 
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