Private Tales Snakes in the Garden

[Sylvian]

The streetlamps cast a flickering light onto the wet asphalt and stretching ahead was a forlorn road shrouded in darkness and mystery. Rainfall seeped through the layers of fabrics on her body and the night chill tickled her skin. The eerie silence along with the charcoal curtain draping over the sky and turning the surrounding world into pitch blackness set for an almost ghostly atmosphere, but Alliria never slept. A breeze rustled through the branches and leaves of nearby trees, and with every step towards and into the sparsely lit alley, the smell of cigarettes, alcohol and spices intensified.

It was her first night in the metropolitan city, and Sylvian was eager to wander off and experience the thrill of the merchant settlement through first glances and first tastes. The Avariel was clad in a black cloak, the white dress she wore underneath hidden beneath the thick coat on her shoulders. Her hair was tied up in a braided bun, although a few strands had loosened during the travel and now fell next to her face, framing it beautifully. Sylvian’s wings were safely tucked away under a spell, and with her lithe frame and pale skin, the elven woman didn’t stand out at all–or so she thought.

The young lass wandered off into the first inn she found and almost immediately became overwhelmed by the different scents, the large amount of people present and the utter noise they made. It was a simple establishment, but clearly beloved by the locals as it was filled to the brim with guests, all of which were in some way drinking, eating, conversing with one another and wasting the night away. The petite female hushed to the counter, claimed one of the free barstools and flashed the bartender a meek smile.

“May I have some honey ale, please?”

 

[Ivar]

"I swear to FUCK." Ivar's gruff voice boomed out through the inn even above the din of the crowd. A few people glanced over at him, their weary heads shaking as they took in the sight of the northerner.

Even by Allirian standards he was a bit of a mess. His hair was unkempt, his beard scraggly, and there was a large cut on his cheek which was clearly becoming infected. His clothes were equally dirty, though half of them were draped over the chair behind him. Alliria was far too warm for the clothes of his people, something he'd learned early on.

"I see that bastard and I'll cut this throat." His voice rumbled as he took another swig of ale. "Merked me out of Three Gold Galleons."

He spoke of one of the merchantmen who made often hired men like him to guard their goods. Ivar had taken a job, completed it, and the man who was supposed to pay him had then declared that due to some troubles in selling the goods there would be no payment. Ivar had tried to take it up with the magistrate, but they did not favor northerners. "Damn southrons."

The Barbarian grumbled, earning more than a few glances from the Allirians surrounding him.

He did not even notice Sylvian over his own complaining.

 

[Sylvian]

“Actually,” the winged elf spoke, turning sidewards on her stool as she did. “Make that two.” The Avariel raised a hand, showing two fingers to indicate how many drinks she now needed, and in the meantime her sapphire gaze skimmed the room, eventually landing on the massive figure that’d just complained so vocally. Her eyes sparked with interest when they spotted the outlander and Sylvian considered his sudden, and bolt entrance into her life nothing short of a blessing.

Clearly a foreigner and a stranger to these lands, the elf and the mortal had more in common than one might think–and Sylvi was happy to seize that opportunity to start some idle conversation. The female swiftly took hold of her requested two cups of honey ale the moment they arrived and carried them over to the outstanding human.

“Well,” she began and offered him one without much hesitation–Sylvi was odd, but certainly not the shy type. “Aren’t you just a bucket of flowers? Perhaps one of these will cheer you up–my treat!” Her lips curled into a smile and she scanned him from top to bottom. Sylvian had heard of these kinds of people before: brutes with no brain. Considering that he’d complained about being scammed earlier, that didn’t seem to be too far from the truth either, but the elf wasn’t one to judge (at least not openly).

If he wanted to blow off steam, perhaps it’d be wiser to do so in the company of someone who was less like them and more like her.

 

[Ivar]

Ivar looked the woman up and down in a close study, his lips thinning for a brief moment as he considered the cup being offered to him.

In his own experience women generally didn't offer anything unless they wanted something in return. Particularly those with ethereal beauty. His hackles raised almost immediately as he saw her smile, the confidence that clung to her as though she had nothing to fear from anyone in this bar. He felt like the drink was poisoned.

Still.

Free drink was free drink.

With a small amount of hesitation Ivar took the cup from the girl and nodded his head, placing it on the table in front of him. "Lass, If I was a flower I'd be Deathswillow."

He doubted that she would know it, since the flower grew only in the north. It was famous in the Tundra, a myth surrounding the rare flower that it's very sight was a curse of misfortune and death.

 

[Sylvian]

When Ivar reluctantly took the cup Sylvian gave a triumphant nod – the ice had been broken, or so she assumed. The elf gave a look around the room once more, acknowledging that the attention he’d previously sought out had fallen off already and most guests were back to minding their own businesses and re-engaged in their conversations.

Good enough, Sylvian thought.

Her smaller hands snaked around the cup, both of them, and she gave the golden liquid a long stare before lifting it up to her lips and taking the first sip. Sylvian had tried this drink before, although it happened to taste different everywhere she went; this one in particular being quite alright. The male’s hesitation prior to accepting the honey ale wasn’t lost on Sylvian either, although his reasons for acting in such a manner were. Perhaps this wasn’t his kind of drink? It was quite sweet after all.

“You look like you are a long way from home, traveler.” When Sylvian spoke her voice was bright and clear, almost crystalline like the magic she wielded. “For you to visit a place where everyone else is so different from you, you must be searching for something particular?” He did look rather out of place, but Sylvian didn’t mean to be rude. She was just a little straight-forward with her observations sometimes.

 

[Ivar]

Ivar looked at the woman as she sat herself down, a small amount of surprise flickering over his features.

He'd learned over the last few months that these southerners didn't exactly like being forward. They preferred to lead their conversations in twenty different directions before finding their way to what they actually wanted. It was surprisingly refreshing to have someone get directly to a point.

"I have no idea what I'm looking for." A rather anticlimactic answer really.

Another one might have been redemption, but Ivar had nothing to redeem. The sins that clung to him were not his own, but belonged to a man that was already dead. He frowned a moment, taking a sip from his cup.

"I left home on search of something more." He shrugged. "I've yet to figure out what that is."

Gold? Fame? He didn't really want either of those things. Perhaps just seeing the world was enough, though that itself had proven difficult. "What about you? You're hardly the usual sort here."

Ivar asked, his off-hand gesturing to her before he ran his finger over the rounded edge of his ear.

He'd seen elves before of course, but from what he'd seen they weren't exactly common in Alliria. Rather, they weren't exactly common in taverns like this. Those that he'd seen often attended more...regal gatherings.

 

[Sylvian]

Sylvian’s mind went quiet for the moment and the female reassessed the situation. She thought of the flower he’d mentioned, Deathswillow, and while Sylvian did not know that kind, the name spoke for itself and so did the darkened expression on his face. His response to further inquiries of hers were rather sobering, but rather than squirming and making a face the snow elf merely gave him a weak smile.

“That makes two of us,” Sylvian said. She brought the cup up to her mouth again and took one more sip. The liquid was beginning to warm her up, even though Sylvian never froze to begin with.

The home of the Avariel was peaceful and beautiful and Thyasari offered a multitude of things to its inhabitants: a kind, mellow community and the opportunity to learn and study. Sylvian had grown up curious for the outside world regardless of this however, and ever since she’d left the city in the skies behind to travel the realms she hadn’t missed it much.

“I’m not looking for more, just for something different I think.” Her answer to his question was, albeit a little cryptic, honest. The elf was never dissatisfied with her life in Thyasari – just bored. “As for you, perhaps the one thing you are looking for right now is the coin you are missing?” Sylvian arched a pale brow and gave him a knowing look. She hadn’t forgotten about his predicament and perhaps the mortal was up for some mischief.

 

[Ivar]

The ease of conversation had suitably relaxed him enough that he allowed the cup she'd brought him to touch his lips. Ivar took a sip of the honey ale as she spoke, nodding his head empathically as she mentioned the coin that he was owed.

"Aye." The Barbarian grumbled.

A sigh escaped him, head shaking as the mug was placed down onto the table in front of him. His dealings with southerners had not yet gone well, and he'd found the merchant's here to be infested with cheats and liars. More than a few times he'd gotten Into scrapes because of it, and more than a few times he'd nearly been arrested.

"Doubt the bastard will pay." He told the elf. "He's more likely t-"

Just as he spoke the door to the tavern crashed open, three heavy set men dressed in leather and wielding cudgels stepping inside. They scanned the room, eyes folding over the shapes sitting at tables until they landed on the Barbarian and the Elf.

"IVAR!"

"Shit." The Barbarian said as he scrambled to his feet.

 

[Sylvian]

The conversation turned idle and the female watched her company with growing interest. He was reluctant at first and tasted his drink only after a moment of hesitation. Then, all was well between the two strangers.

He seemed wistful about the gold he’d lost and in a very un-elven manner the snow haired began cooking up a scheme, allowing her thoughts to run free to find a way on how to get this man the money he was owed. Her intentions weren’t entirely selfless, as Sylvian believed that sooner or later she would run into disagreements with the locals as well and be forced to fight or argue her way out of situations.

That particular trail of thought however was interrupted shortly after, when three large figures burst through the tavern door and called out for one person specifically. Not one to get frightened or startled easily, the level-headed elf placed her mug down and watched with growing concern as the situation in front of her unfolded itself. “Ivar it is?” She said. A frown crossed her face, but she didn’t actually appear all that bewildered.

He sprang up from his chair and Sylvian uttered a sigh.

“Those aren’t friends of yours, I suppose?”

 

[Ivar]

Ivar cringed slightly as the three men stepped forward.

He could probably take them, at least in a fight to the death, but killing any one of them would only bring him more trouble down the line. Right now it was just the man that controlled these three that wanted his head, if he killed them then it would be the City Watch too.

That was the last thing Ivar needed. "Aye. They would be why I need the gold."

He explained as he looked down the Elf. She did not seem to be scared, at least not really. Her expression was one of demure calm. The Barbarian wasn't entirely sure what to make of that, but he decided it was time to go.

"You best be taking your leave now, Lass. No need to get involved in my troubles." The three men stepped forward, clearly intent on rushing him, but as soon as the first stepped into the taverns main floor Ivar grasped the underside of the table in front of him and threw it at the three thugs.

 

[Sylvian]

“I see,” said the elf.

Sylvian’s watchful eye noted a sudden shift in the atmosphere, a change in the air – the tavern had fallen silent. Her hands folded together and another sigh escaped her lips. The meeting was about to end abruptly and the female hadn’t even properly begun the conversation yet. Sylvian’s stare fixated on the three men and she was given but a moment to contemplate until Ivar the Barbarian politely advised her to buzz off before he threw their table halfway across the room.

A dramatic gasp fell from her mouth and the woman’s head turned slowly while her gaze followed the still half-full mug of honey ale that had been thrown into the air as well.

“That’s a pity,” she murmured, speaking more to herself than anyone else in in the room and as the men stormed forward and swiftly crossed the distance between themselves and Ivar, the snow elf quietly cast a spell that covered the nearby grounds with a thin icy layer, ultimately causing all three of them to slip and fall on their asses. “This is the worst possible place for a fight,” Sylvian said; the elf knew her way around combat, but was a pacifist by nature.

“Here,” she handed one of them a small bag of coins. Going by the amount he’d mentioned earlier this should somehow make the cut. Her smile had lessened. “Consider this debt paid, and be on your merry way.” Assuming that this was enough to ease their rowdy minds, the sneaky elf turned back towards her former seatmate and watched him with just a hint of mischief in her eyes.

“I suppose I’m the one you owe money now, lucky you.” Poison laced her every word and the gentle smile on her face betrayed the intense stare with which she was now looking at him.

“I’m Sylvian.”

 

[Ivar]

Witch.

Of course she was a bloody Witch.

That likely wasn't the correct term for and Elven woman like her, he imagined it was something like "Sorceress" or perhaps even "Wizard", but Ivar didn't really know better. In the north, in his city, one who could use magic was a Witch.

The term wasn't exactly as reviled as it was in other places. Witches were powerful beings, respected, cared for, and often paid rather well for their abilities.

Ivar however didn't tend to trade with Witches. They were always up to something, always plotting, and never telling the whole truth. That was something he'd learned early on, something that his father had told him. Always be weary of witches, especially the pretty ones.

The words rang in his ears as Sylvian looked up at him with that sweet little smile.

"Hm." Ivar grunted as he looked towards the three men on the ground.

One was clutching the bag of gold, clinging to it and looking at Ivar with confusion. There was a pause, and then he and his fellows scrambled away from both the Barbarian and the Witch. What had he gotten himself into now?

 

[Sylvian]

“Ah!” Her eyebrows arched in surprise. He acknowledged the three men and the three men acknowledged the bag of coin she’d left for them. Much to Sylvian’s surprise that seemed to be the end of their entanglement and Ivar’s unamused grunt brought a genuine smile to her lips.

The elf had seen all sorts of reactions to magic during her time in Arethil, all of which varied in some way or another. The barbarian seemed put off in a way, but not enough to actually open his mouth and say something–not that he was in any position to do so anyways.

“I see how it is,” the woman spoke and turned her back on the three, giving her still indebted acquaintance a helpless shrug. She pulled a small notebook out from her pocket, along with a pen, and wrote something down. “Mortal men…” a mumble, too quiet for anyone else but him to hear. She lifted her head up shortly and gave him a glance. “Especially the big ones, are easily distracted by shiny things.” Sylvian finished up her notes and safely stored her book away in her pockets.

“Now then, the night is young: there’s still plenty of time for us to find the one who’s holding your money–my money–hostage. Off we go, Ivar. Hush.” Without restraint or hesitation she began shoving the much taller man towards the door and out of the tavern. Perhaps he hadn’t noticed, but it seemed that they weren’t welcome here anymore anyways.

And Sylvian Sinderion was a firm believer in getting to the root of the problem.

 

[Ivar]

Ivar watched the woman for a moment, and then felt her hands shove against his chest as she made the declaration they were going to reclaim his gold.

That was something he had not expected in the least. His mouth opened to protest, but before he could Ivar caught sight of half the people inside of the tavern and decided that doing so would be utterly pointless. Throwing a table across the room likely wouldn't be seen in a positive light.

They probably wouldn't have let him stay.

As Sylvian pushed him out the door, Ivar wearily glanced around the streets for the three men. He had half expected an ambush, but when nothing came he simply planted his feet and looked down at the little elf. His hand fell to her shoulder. "Stop."

He told her firmly.

"What are you doing?" The Northerner asked. "Why are you...doing this?"

Lips thinned as he looked down at her.

 

[Sylvian]

“Well,” she began, both hands lifted up in front of her chest while a clueless expression painted her features. “We have something in common, you and I. We are foreigners in these lands, and strangers to the customs of these people. Why not stick together for a bit and see how it goes?” The corners of her lips turned upwards ever so slightly, hinting at the faintest of smiles.

Of course he had a point.

She helped him, and his debt was paid. The elf wasn’t nearly as spooky as the three warriors had been and such, he probably felt safe leaving the situation behind. But sooner or later something similar ought to happen to him again and perhaps then he wouldn’t be as lucky.

“I’m trying to learn more about your kind.” Sylvian admitted eventually. She pulled the little notebook out again and pointed at the title written on its cover, in the common tongue of the humans. “The quirks of mankind is what I call it. I helped you, so now you help me with that, will you?” The snow-haired female could be oddly straight-forward at times, not mincing words with the barbarian.

But still, she really hoped he’d agree to get their money back. From what she’d gathered, three gold galleons were quite the sum after all.

 

[Ivar]

Learn more about his kind? Humanity he supposed, though thinking of them as one thing was already beginning in error. He frowned for a brief moment, glancing at the notebook and the strange runes that decorated it.

He could speak the common tongue, but he could not read it.

His native tongue was that of the Tundra. Though not all that different from what the Nordenfiir spoke, it was still far more strangled and guttural than the common word of the south. Most of his people did not even bother learning the language of the traders.

Ivar had been forced to by his father. "I will help."

If only because of the debt over his head.

"But I'm hardly an authority on the people here." He gestured to the buildings around them. "Alliria is nothing like my home, and the people here are..."

Ivar searched for the right word. "Odd."

 

[Sylvian]

He looked at her book with a puzzled expression and Sylvian wondered if she should have kept it to herself. In a way, the elf was keeping a bestiary on humankind and not all of them would be fond of that idea. In hindsight it was probably wise not to blurt her intentions out and about like that in the future and she made a mental note to be more reserved from now on.

When he agreed to help a big smile erupted on her face.

“Thank you.” That same smile then turned wry. “Clearly not, if you can’t even get them to give you the money you are owed.”

The elf wasn’t bickering. Her expression left no room for interpretation and this was without a doubt a taste of her otherwise frosty personality. Instead of standing around in front of the inn, Sylvian motioned for them to move and suggested a direction should he not know where to go.

“There’s odd people everywhere,” said the elf and shrugged. “Where are you from then? And where do we find the one holding your coin hostage?”

 

[Ivar]

"I am from the Eretejva Tundra." He explained with a gesture to his furred cloak that he had dragged out from over the chair inside.

Alliria was far too hot for such a garb, but he was loathe to just leave it behind. He had hunted the wolf and skinned it himself, though one of his few friends had been the one to actually stitch the article of clothing before he'd left.

"The Free City of Kjos." Ivar went on. "If i used the methods of my people I would already have the coin."

A slight chuckle escaped him. "Trouble is, I would also be chained up by the City Watch."

Beating the snot out of merchants was rather frowned upon within Alliria, something he'd learned in his first month here. That time it had only landed him in the dungeon for a week. He did not want to go for longer.

As Sylvian motioned for them to move Ivar gestured towards the Inner-City.

"His offices are there, shrouded in glamor and well guarded." Unfortunately. If the man had been less legitimate his own method would have worked, but with who he was nearly anything Ivar could have done would land him in prison.

Perhaps the pretty face of an elf would fare better.

 

[Sylvian]

“The Tundra.” The elf repeated solemnly. Her voice fluttered lightly, but maintained its quiet tone. To the strange woman the idea of barren, frozen wasteland sounded intriguing and oddly comforting; a cozy place for a snow elf.

“I am also from the North,” she said. “In a way,” the female then added and for a quick moment her sapphire eyes darted upwards, into the sky. “My home is much further North than yours though, I'm certain of it.” Of course ‘skywards’ would be the proper way to describe it, but her race was a well-guarded secret.

Too many dangers lurked in the dark, too many evil spirits intent on hunting them for their angelic wings.

Of course Sylvian would fly out every once in a while and the thought of icy cold air ruffling through her feathers painted a dreamy expression on the Avariel’s face. Ivar’s comment about the city guards forced a chuckle from her lips and she almost rolled her eyes. “I suppose that makes two of us,” she admitted with a light shrug.

Surprisingly both Ivar and Sylvian had a lot in common, in a way.

She began walking towards the Inner-City, following the direction Ivar had suggested. Sylvian decided to casually stroll, rather than march, to leave more time for conversation. “Unlucky, but all of us have to learn the hard way, right?” As much as Sylvian’s frosty demeanor and devious behavior suggested otherwise, the elf’s alignment was neutral if anything.

“Why are you here then? If not to benefit from the local merchant and trading opportunities.”

 

[Ivar]

North of the Tundra?

Ivar was not really one for geography. He had not studied many maps, and most of the Southlands escaped him at a thought, but his home he knew better than most. There was not much North of the Tundra, at least not that he knew of.

The Nordwiir home lay somewhere above in the frozen waters around the Lost Isles, though Sylvian most certainly did not appear as one of them. His gaze flickered over her for a few seconds, studying her for abnormalities that usually stuck to those found there.

When he did not see anything he frowned, shrugging and deciding that perhaps he simply did not know everything. "Opportunity."

Ivar confessed as the two of them walked, the city around them growing in splendor.

"My father was an exile, and his sins clung to me even though such is against the law." He spoke of it as though it were a thing long passed. "I came to the south hoping to find a place."

 

[Sylvian]

“And all you found was more injustice.”

His story surprised her, as did the simplicity of his words. Ivar was not a well-spoken man by any means, but Sylvian enjoyed the efficiency of his self-expression. It was easy to understand what he had said, because he was straight-forward and – apparently – honest.

“Humankind is ruthless,” the elf spoke as a matter-of-fact. “But us elves are not much different. The ability to treat your own with such apathy and lack of concern is apparently a shared trait amongst many races.” The Avariel had been victimized by other races – and other elves – for as long as she could think. There was never anyone to trust but her own people, but even Sylvian had eventually grown tired of the winged folk.

She enjoyed the little bit of mischief, deceit and dishonesty she witnessed here in Alliria. It was oddly refreshing, and the idea of it all had put strange thoughts into Sylvian’s head. In a way the elf felt awed by how much one could accomplish when combining the right number of undesirable traits and characteristics.

It made being sincere seem almost worthless and Ivar was perhaps the best example of this predicament.

“So you are lawful,” she concluded, but a question mark hung in the air. Sylvian had been raised a pacifist, but a world filled with so much violence made it difficult for her to remain one. “Or simply smart enough to know that you cannot commit murder amidst the city walls without getting caught and punished.” And there it was again.

That strange, wry smile on her face.

 

[Ivar]

Ivar shrugged in answer to her latest question, deciding that it was probably best not to answer it in the first place. There was a bit of Mischief within the elf, and feeding into that did not seem to be the best of ideas.

Particularly since he was still not sure of her motives. "When one walks the land, one must be weary of it's..."

The Barbarian trailed off slightly as a few members of the City Watch wandered passed them. There were three of them, each wearing heavy leather armor. One glanced towards Ivar, but the other two had their gazes firmly on Sylvian.

An Elf like her did not lack for attention in these streets.

One of the men let out a whistle as he passed by, but a jab from one of his fellows in the ribs quickly silenced him as Ivar and Sylvian passed.

"Dangers" He finished, glancing towards the Elf for a brief moment before gesturing towards another street and quickly turning down it. Lamplight lit the way here, and at the end of their path was a tall three story building that seemed shrouded in more darkness than others.

 

[Sylvian]

The human was wiser than Sylvian gave him credit for.

He kept a keen eye on his surroundings and when the elf trailed off, got lost in thoughts or simply did not pay attention, Ivar prepared to lower his voice. Sylvian’s gaze avoided the guards, not because of fear but lack of interest. Male mortals did not tickle her fancy, so to speak, and in blissful ignorance the Avariel failed to notice their attention and whistle entirely.

Instead, she leaned towards Ivar and gave a solemn nod. “And yet here we are.” Night had fallen on Alliria and aside from the occasional city watch, Ivar and Sylvian did not pass by any citizens.

He led her into another street around the corner and in the darkness of the night, the streetlights leading up a path towards a tall, eerie looking building made for an ominous scene. “Ooh,” she gasped, voice muffled by the palm of her hand. “We are almost there, aren’t we.” The elf mused and the spark in her eyes grew brighter – Sylvian was excited.

"Do you think they are asleep?"

There was a hint at something in her voice, one that suggested the elf had no intention on following any rules – or knocking on any doors – tonight.

 

[Ivar]

Ivar looked to the elf for a moment. "You haven't been to many cities, have you?'

Not for the first time tonight the Barbarian wondered what he had gotten himself into. This woman seemed determine to find the merchant that owed him money, but it seemed that she knew little to nothing of the actual facts of what that entailed.

She might as well have been a baby fox who'd run out of the nest.

Lips thinned for a moment and he took in a slight breath, fingering the sheath of his sword on his back to ensure that it was still there. Ivar didn't want to use the weapon if he could avoid it, but he was pretty sure Sylvian would make him by the end of the night.

"No one in there is asleep." He said as they approached. "They're probably counting coin, or doing inventory."

His lips thinned. "While trying not to do be noticed by the Watch."

Meaning what they were doing was not legal. Meaning there were probably guards. Meaning this was going to be trouble.

 

[Sylvian]

“Truth be told,” the elf replied and lifted up her index-finger, twirling it once in a circle to gesture around herself. “This is my first. Human city, that is.” Sylvian’s story was complicated and most of her experience with the continents below the sky were limited to small villages, towns and the woodlands.

In a way, Sylvian Sinderion was very much a baby fox running wild, and poor Ivar had been tasked – against his will – to keep an eye on her.

“I see. No rest for the wicked.” She laughed and it sounded strangely genuine, especially considering their circumstances. Then, Sylvian began sorting through their options. “Since the two of us lack substantial charm, I suppose we won’t succeed with persuasion,” the woman deducted by a glance at her own reflection when she walked by a window, and another one that ate Ivar whole – and spat him back out.

“I don’t condone violence and it garners too much attention, but perhaps if we are stealthy,” she crouched down and pretended to sneak there to emphasize on her suggestion, “we could get past most of the guards. Or maybe not, your steps are all but silent.” Sylvian could manage, but Ivar was a lost cause.

“I suppose that leaves us with one thing: magic tricks.” Her smile grew wider.