rising sunne.

“It is a night of celebration!” She insists, gesturing to the distant music and the sounds of the people cheering. “Why wouldn’t I take the time to visit this place, when I know less people than usual will be in it?”

Emeric held his arm out, an empty glass suddenly filled to the brim as he offered a nod to Valdis, ❝ And I'm celebrating , see ? ❞ A nod of thanks was offered to the servant, that who was gone in a flash before Emeric even completed the action, yet he could not shake the manners and façade instilled in him. Once Emeric felt they were within a bubble of their own making, everyone else too blinded by their drunken reverie, his brow raised to her, ❝ Besides , I'd take it that you of all people would garner more reservations about completely letting loose . ❞ He could figure, even if one wasn't merely stunned by simple paranoias, that Valdis was smart enough to configure that someone was working madly behind the great big curtain that orchestrated their lives. Maybe such was Emeric's own inquietudes rearing their ugly faces, but he knew better than to fall to the enchantments of the evening; still, he did not let that stop him. Something careless and fatalistic about his own disregard, shrugging as he ominously noted this. ❝ You figure this to be filled with less people ? ❞ His eyes flitted around to the masses, throngs of people that seemed utterly impossible to weave around.

Lorcan smiled, there was little left which reflected a life of spoiled comforts for the archer of the Nachtlands. Such avarice and gluttony did not possess solace for him, but rather made the hairs on his neck stand. Archery, however, allowed his shoulders to relax, the man completely within his element for the first time since his arrival within Aurea. What tasks Lenyra offered to him and such opulence in clothing were all a far cry from what he'd been accustomed to. As such, he'd gotten lost in a measly game which turned into staunch competition. He'd know that Ji-hoon, even through brief conversation, was a master of archery himself. There was a whistled exhale as Ji-hoon sent an arrow soaring through each moving clay jar, a perfect score which Lorcan was to match. There were various levels to this game but none had gotten as far as them, Lorcan grabbing the bow with a nod from the other. His was a competitive spirit, albeit humble on the surface, for only a grin of mischief showed such edge as Lorcan clipped the arrow into the nocking point. The crowds were lively, loud cheers and whistles, but all such faded away as the mechanisms were reset and more jars seemed to fly out from behind a small curtain. He could hear nothing but the rapid repetition of his heart, and then - woosh - the arrow gliding past his cheekbone to strike the jar. Once, twice, there was hardly a moments pause between each reposition and refocus, arrows sailing off between them and the clay pots; each shattering in a swift takeover. A small grin, the only inflection of pride Lorcan could offer as he triumphantly asked, ❝ Shall we go once more or is your pride a tender sort ? ❞ He'd become some meeker thing since arriving in Aurea, that such trash talk, however mild, likely would seem out of place for any that had come to know him.

Leonidas’ smile is just as sharp. He is always like that when up close, where he can actually be seen—a little too on the edge of suspicious, nevermind his honest hands. “Will you indulge tonight, lord Orinthius?” Leonidas steps closer, resting an arm around the man's shoulders, jostling him around. “I thought perhaps you would be tempted to stay inside tonight and avoid all this wretchedness.” His tone lowers, just for a moment, to allow the truth between them. “I know that I was. Here with your sister?” Leonidas extends a hand for his cup to be filled, and a little servant runs and does, before disappearing as if they were never there. Huh, they are quicker tonight. Leonidas tastes the wine again. “Or has a companion finally caught your eye?”

One could figure this was not Emeric's domain; sweat-sheened bodies, streets packed until each could not help but brush against one another. Some days, indeed, the heir -and unfortunate magister- abstained, aloof and intangible, but today he allotted himself even a teardrop of indulgence. Leonine features greeted him, a knight equipped with feline grace, tricks of youth which manifested as a thick shield, a hefty veneer. Even if Emeric was not all-seeing, a creature linked to wretched emotions and ink blots of the viscera, he could see through the farce that was Leonidas' bravado. Though it was transparent to Emeric, he did not mind it, for his mask was of a similar complexion, wound tight to each smile and bit of snark. ❝ You paint me as a purist , ❞ teased under the faint breath of a snicker, Emeric too downed the contents of his chalice. He marveled often at magicka which was unknown or unpracticed to him and though his eyes were alight at the design, Emeric stated nothing in current compliment towards it. ❝ One with their hands tied so often worries about the bedfolk of others I see , ❞ he slapped Leonidas near affectionately on the back; he did not mean to paint marriage as unsightly and disjointed, but such was the spectacle for him. Worse off, was the house in which Leonidas was forever conjoined to, woven secrets and dark arts that worried even the likes of Emeric - all to say these dark phantasms were mere assumptions, cruel rumors, but it wasn't often Emeric looked upon something with dread and unease. ❝ I may be keeping my eye out for another , ❞ Emeric conceded with mischief in his tone, Emeric mirroring the gesture for his cup to miraculously become filled. His friend was draped in silver, in spite of the golden hues which swarmed him since his genesis, ❝ Has your beloved set you free tonight ? Or must you run back to her side when the lanterns and torches go ablaze ? ❞ His calloused way to ask if Leonidas was to stick around for long for Emeric had many questions.

Adrian recoils as if burnt, and looks to their own skin, glad then that they had not ruined the man’s work due to their carelessness. “Forgive me, I should’ve asked to touch.” They bow their head in apology, now much more subdued. “I thought… I thought you said that you’ve only been here near a month. Yet already you’ve been to where many have not.” And while many blank spaces remained, Adrian has no doubt it would not be for long. “How did you do this?” Their goal to reach the temple seems already entirely forgotten, their eyes shining with wonder as they stare into the stranger’s own. “Are you… A map-maker? The sort that travels, far and beyond?”

Although he mentioned such unkindness, Lorcan garnered the fatal flaw of being the antithesis of such; a beacon of kindness in the dark, a hand outstretched even to those who may do harm upon him. He'd been burned plenty of times and even though one could describe him the fool, it was not within his nature to turn another away. Not gullible, just hopeful, and perhaps that was worse than the former trait. As it were, Lorcan felt no ill will radiating from the other, disarming qualities as though they were but a mere lamb who'd wandered from the flock. Her kindness reached her eyes and it would either be proven genuine or that they were a mastery of pretend. ❝ It may be forward of me to ask . . . ❞ for everyone here, whether they were Aurean-born or not relished in their secrets, ❝ But what business do you seek here , Germy ? ❞ It was an odd name, likely given through a family house of sorts, but Lorcan did not judge and his expression lacked scrutiny. ❝ I ask if only because , well , you are far well kept than I , but it seems you seek shelter , even if just for the night . Aren't there places better suited for such rest ? I dare to presume you did not come here on the heel of similar misfortune such as myself . ❞ Indeed, he did not like to assume much of anything, he'd learned that rather quickly within here, too. Compassion was a blindness of his, however, as was painting the stereotypes of the many people met within these walls. Even those with their thickly carved masks did not entertain the idea of adhering to the deigned metrics of the lower districts. ❝ A map , ❞ he affirmed with an accomplished smile of his own, ❝ I don't like to be caught by surprise . Knowing the lands I walk is part of this . ❞ Subconsciously, his free hand crooked back to touch the base of the quiver which held only three arrows at this time; each intricately hand-carved but useless at the moment. Violence within Aurea seemed more.... intimate; cloistered taverns with a knife pressed to the belly, cruel words snarled in a whisper over lunch. As an archer and navigator, it only added to his displacement felt within the city. ❝ Stars are very helpful even when you are in unfamiliar lands , ❞ his eyes glanced from the map to the sky above, a blanket of darkness which only further illuminated her hair, her ivory skin, even the haggard bandages which wrapped around their fingers. ❝ I hail from the Nachtlands , great warriors precede me . But even wayfinders have their purpose amidst the axes and swords . I'd taken many great travels through the ashen forests before I found myself here . ❞ It felt different now to speak of his circumstances, where they were normally laden with grief explaining why he was to remain in Aurea, this time it felt as though he was reminiscing and that he need not explain his poor truths. ❝ But that is enough about me , these facts are useless in the now . If I'm to be forward again , and you must forgive me for this , but your condition raises many questions even I cannot form an answer to . ❞ Lorcan nodded to their bandaged hand; it was old enough to figure the injury did not happen within the last few hours - based on how loosely wound they were around his hand - though fresh enough to not have garnered much grime upon them. ❝ I know just enough of the temple that , though it is clean and composed on the surface , you may run into much trouble if you're not properly bandaged . ❞

↳ 16 x 12 'The Last Supper'

“I would like to claim a rather complex spell full of mystery for interest,” she says lightly, the jest clear by her tone alone. “Alas, it is simply an example of a comparatively harmless bubble summoning spell with a surprisingly complicated matrix. Next to it, I plan to draw a simpler matrix containing a messaging spell. It is meant to show that complex matrixes and formulas in luminary scripting do not necessarily mean powerful or useful spells.”

She held the practiced air about her which Emeric so often loathed; a levity of separation which proposed all which was on the surface was not all which met the eye. Though he loathed this, Emeric knew it would aid her in whatever it was she sought; refugees were common to be sponsored, scholars in equal measure and while she possessed the latter title, Emeric was not wholly convinced she was in pursuit of stretching the knowledge of luminary script throughout the streets of Aurea. This bud of wariness was a characteristic of his which bore no truth of her intentions - that he could prove. It was his own magic which wrought paranoia and a lack of faith in others, something which would not easily be swayed by winsome faces throughout the lands. ❝ Humble . ❞ A brow was raised as though he'd caught Cleonice and seen past this mirage presented, but he grinned then as he noted, ❝ Did you write to all houses within Aurea ? Though Orinthius is not often forward at the idea of accepting sponsees I would not call our housings humble . I hope you didn't just accept whoever was quickest to house you . ❞ Emeric teased this in a rare show of good spirits; he was not one to thwart his own selfish pursuits of knowledge and indeed luminary script was a rare practice to be a witness of. His eyes followed each sketch upon the chalkboard; subtle and intricate mechanisms that proved quite showy with an investment of rigorous practice for the payoff. As any magic, even the one which came so naturally to him, it was not without grievous labor to achieve. Emeric held back a sigh; he still found great interest in the practice but wondered just how committed even he could be to something not within his House's innate skills. ❝ This magicka could be considered quite literal , would you say ? ❞ His eyes wandered again over what was sketched upon the board, drinking in every detail and ensuring nothing was missed. What little he knew of the craft was simple - scripting, that to do with the potency of the ink required to supplement it, though Emeric would be delighted to be proven wrong in this case.

"I doubt the role of fool would become you, Emeric, nor that you would ever find satisfaction in such vestments. But if you say you wish to pretend at true friendship, then let me remark that there is a reason you came to my side, and not another's." Lenyra inclines her head. "I have never done you ill." She sits up, arranging her dress so that it pools demurely and reveals not a trace of skin. A virginal purveyor of desire. "And if I wished to rid myself of you, there are far simpler methods." Her lips tilt gently. "Just like the fool, the role of supplicant does not quite suit you. But if it is a transaction you seek, you know I always oblige."

Emeric could scrutinize each shift of her frame, each perfectly coiffed curl and manicured reflection. There was no envy in the position she, as the Aurean spider, held. It was a similar affliction as his, but wrought with more indulgence, the true underbelly of Aurea masterfully placed within her palms. He was meant to be the mender and healer, a helping hand which had been scorched and burned too many times for him to truly palette the feeling. If Lenyra was not so entangled in the truth, a willing participant rather than a jaded fool, he might not chance to like her so much; but the ship was sinking with them both upon it, he'd no reason to toss her overboard when no life rafts were in eithers reach. His shoulders relaxed suddenly; there was no regret to the suggestive extempore he'd over spilled, but Emeric had reason to wise up. Vague truths were commonplace in Aurea, but muttering about perpetually was not. He'd said his piece, he'd let it die there between them, mixed within the fragrant fauna and lavish fruits. ❝ You are bold for finding a point in all of this , Lenyra . I respect the dance you commit to , even when in the face of a jaded foe such as myself . ❞ He did not utter this truth as a compliment to himself; it was a fatal flaw to be so willingly aware of the cracks in Aurea's façade and yet he refused to blind himself for the sake of necessary survival. ❝ When next I venture to your den I vow not to bring such cacophonous troubles on my heel , ❞ he smiled then, that veneer of politeness, yet his truths were still laid bare with no mask to properly conceal them any longer tonight. She was younger than he, far less coddled too, and such combination allowed Lenyra harsh realities he had only experienced with weaving hands. Memories plucked and cradled from others, fragile as glass; sharp as it, too. He could feel the pain within each one absorbed, a tsunami of emotions which no longer had any route to cycle through; sometimes he let these stolen memories linger within his own mind, turning them over until he'd wrung out any spasm of identity left. Emeric could see but so often he proved that he did not always understand. Simply, fleetingly, he remarked, ❝ I wish to step foot outside of here one day . ❞ It was noted as if there were other things besides his two feet holding him back, but even the mind could betray, even memories plucked from others did not tell the entirety of truths he sought. Emeric scowled at her remark, though it was more playful this time, freeing himself from the lachrymose temperament which did not suit the evening. Spider, weaver, siren; he loathed each tempestuous model Lenyra had spoken herself to. Even now, within the truth of her statement, she was locked beneath a veil which none were allowed to every wholly peek behind. Often, he did not mind to fall into the entanglement of games Aurea's avarice pervaded but tonight he was a stonewaller; an anomaly of their typical recreations. ❝ Don't paint yourself as demure , it's unbecoming of your veracity . ❞ Chided with a shake of his head, ❝ Yours should be donned in gold and tacked as the welcoming statue in the isles . ❞ Contemptuously stated, but not in regards to her beauty and more at the chaste vision she arranged about herself; the immaculate encapsulation of Aurea's intemperance, nurtured by the frangible weaves of the silken spider.

“Am I not?” she pressed, offering an arm to him while attempting to read his face as if the answer as to whether or not the odious sight of their father remained behind them lie within the details of Emeric’s expression. She began to walk with him, the breeze fragranced with seasonal blooms. Lethe made few demands in life, but one such dictation since she was quite small had been that the garden be planted and replanted with the changing of the seasons so that it always burst forth with blooms and life. “Have I not constructed myself an image as a forthright woman? Judicious, prudent, honest?” Outside these walls she was more porcelain doll entirely than mask, a fragile facade composed entirely on purposefully constructed details, each aspect a critical component of a story being told. A lie being believed. How much, she often wondered, did Emeric truly know of the times she chose the path that strayed from truth for the sake of more complete justice? “Have I not shaped myself into the beating heart of truth within Aurea? If I am no wingman, then I implore you brother, who in all of our brilliant city’s word is greater bond than my own?” 

"you'd invite a thief to your halls, rather than pay me what I'm owed. hm--" this is where the negotiations get interesting, don't they? "I'd rather not bore you with the details of our operations, but the added fees aren't for our coin purses. they are for said assurances of a job well done. honestly, magiste--" he inhales sharply, theatrically so, as he glances around before looking back at him. "emeric, if your house's coffers are running empty, you need only say so. you are more than welcome to be in the court's debt."

He would have sighed audibly had he not figured it would enthuse Rook all the more. Though Emeric had the narcissism of any established magister, he cared little for being addressed in title. He'd long taken over the day to day affairs -two decades in fact- yet Emeric still allowed some separation from the job, a disillusionment to the somber truths of his life. Darling, however, proved as nails on a chalkboard, a stern shake of his head offered, ❝ You treat me so sourly , Rook . There's no need to insult me with such endearing terms . ❞ He'd have teased they were on the level of friends, but he easily knew the other would sell him down the river for an enriched goblet of wine as it were. This was true of Emeric and a rather sad display of his lack of reciprocity when it came to any skeletons within his house. He wished to let the secrets run red, let all bask in such unsightly seams of his house, but still the hesitation remained. Though the invites may have a twinge of sincerity, a taste of reckless abandon, Emeric knew cowardice had grown teeth within the gaunt display of his family's name, within his own sudden bouts of indecisiveness. ❝ There is little left to the imagination of my house , we do not cling to our masks . ❞ Emeric could not help this jab, though it had venom it was not entirely odious, his words only marred with curiosity which would not be sated where the thieves court was concerned. ❝ And who else resides in a house of fools ? - they who willingly indebt themselves to your courts . ❞ Emeric raised a brow as though the very idea that one would tack themselves to the mercy of the thieves courts pockets was incomprehensible despite knowing there was scathing truth to Rook's words.

He notices the weariness on his face, and the callous on his hands before anything else. A hunter's hand—harsh indents engraved upon the hands of a working man. "You are the new boy has assigned herself to, I take it? I have heard whispers," People insisted on gossiping almost as much as he insisted on being deaf to it; Lenyra has a thing for wounded birds—he should know. He must only make sure this one is not a vulture in disguise. "My condolences," he offers with a solemn nod, and for a moment it almost seems as though he's referring to Lenyra—so he adds "For what's lead you here." and presses no further. "How are you adjusting?"

Lorcan learned near immediately that the other was not a man of many words and perhaps that allowed Lorcan to exhale a breath he hadn't even known he was holding. He lacked appreciation for the familiarity of their jaw, the ivory complexion of their skin; when he saw the House colors, stark even under the grime of the helmet however, that was when he understood. It was not often Lian spoke of his brother in the letters they'd exchanged, but Lorcan would be in inept creature not to piece two and two together. Still, he remained silent, an omission of familiarity he was hopeful he'd not come to regret. ❝ Then you must be great friends . . . or kindred enemies . ❞ Lorcan was not often one to inject humor in situations; he was either as grave as a stone or a drunken fool dancing through fleeting merriment, but when it came to certain situations, he understood the line of respect towards others. This was not an issue of magisterium versus refugee, but resembled more of the structures of Aschenwald. He nodded at the question, greeting him formally before the other even ventured to offer such condolences. ❝ Lorcan Falk of the Nachtlands . ❞ He gathered that the other was well traveled, one who had the unfortunate niche of needing to venture beyond the avarice of the city, privy to the starved lands beyond. If this was true, they likely had heard rumor of Aschenwalds desolation, but Lorcan only bowed his head in acknowledgement of their statement. ❝ You're of house Zhou , aren't you ? The emblem , the colors .. ❞ he placed a hand to his head in reference of the helmet tucked under his arm, though pivoted gratefully in response to his question of acclimation, ❝ The lower districts are rather crowded , much more than where we stand now . Yet it still often feels hard to breathe . ❞ A polite smile then, one which did not reach the eyes; he'd already felt fatigued of explaining his situation, even though not many of the magisterium feigned interest enough to genuinely ask.

His attire was its usual sombre affair, calculated to avoid notice --- but his shadow was rendered distinct by the moon, whose luminous gaze covered the grounds. The retrieval of a knife, buried beneath an aged oak tree, had been his purpose; true discretion had not been necessary. But Alexei paused, as his foot, and a swift left turn, had placed him before another --- one whose garb communicated Alexei was an interloper, and not an equal. He was addressed in the custom one would speak to an insolent child; with annoyance, and a disagreeable air. Alexei did not need to view the others face, to know power would lay in the man's features --- a glow of self satisfaction perpetually shrouded those of his order. "You think me a common thief?" Alexei paid him a modicum of honour, by not immediately indulging in the act -- a reflexive impulse, born of the accusation. He did not deliver his reply with a sneer, for he was a thief; his graduation to finer arts of the macabre did not dismiss his youthful indiscretions, petty when placed beside his current affairs. "Is it my manner that has earned me such a poor appraisal --- or the clear indication that I am of low birth, that signals a would be profession to you?" Alexei took pride in the simplicity of his ancestry, though he had betrayed the gentleness that had long marked his lineage. He marshalled against the great houses in his lowly origin; their survival was predicated upon his. A gold clad foot held no weight without backs to step on. "My business has little to do with you -- or your good works. Is it often you make your exit after nightfall? It is a strange risk, for one such as yourself."

Emeric conveyed a look of surprise, mouth slightly parted, brow raised at the others question; he often delighted in answering one with a question of his own, a typical flair of hubris that was an unfortunate custom of most in the Orinthius house. ❝ Are you not ? ❞ Smugglers and thieves were the backbone of Aurea, the hidden alcoves and tunnels a vital network of life that represented the more indulgent facets of the city. He did not note this entirely dismissive of the other, but perhaps if he did not have several connections to others who conducted the same business, Emeric would have more curiosity for him. It was unfortunate that Emeric had insisted to stay so late; unfortunate for the other, of course, who was now at the mercy of Emeric's thoughts and delusions of grandeur. ❝ One does tend to announce themselves if they've any decency.... ❞ he agreed with the former of his statement with much amusement to the claim. If the other wished to veil threats with boisterous suggestions, as they lurked like a mere commoner, then Emeric had no troubles emulating the very claim. He didn't often treat others as beneath him, it would land him in much trouble when it came to the affairs of his house, but he did have a gilded spoon in his mouth from birth, which often granted him a blind spot to his egoisms. ❝ I stand to reason my risk here feels rather low unless you vie to prove otherwise . Though I would warn , out of the goodness of my heart , that it is a rather painful affliction for one to try and seize the memories of one disinclined to the action . ❞ It would leave them both little more than pretty faces with sludge for gray matter, and though Emeric was even less inclined to act upon such threat, he hoped saying it aloud would allow the other to figure he was not worth any grudge when it came to the difference of districts and classes.

Vikings Valhalla. Season 1, Episode 1.

Lorcan was of a rugged upbringing, humble and scant, he could understand the need to ensure each part of an animal was tidied and utilized. His own bow had utilized the dried sinew of bovine, the leather on the other side was of a similar accord. Regardless, her comparison was met with a dwindling smile, Lorcan blinking momentarily as he stilled from shoving several spoonfuls of stew into his mouth. He chewed, slower than prior, swallowed, blinked again, ❝ You're comparing my daily dress to the innards of pigs ? ❞ This was where Lorcan finally took pause, his bright eyes glancing down at his tattered clothes, that which had went through many weeks of survival. He'd bathed numerous times since his arrival into Aurea, since he'd been chosen as her sponsee, but his clothes had not been offered the same courtesy nor grace. Lorcan's principles were bordered in honor and pride which was simmered in valor; such comparison would not do. It felt as if he was plummeting face first into the earth, the jester of such play who had not been aware of this clownish display. He placed the spoon down, though his other fist was still finger-dented into the heel of the bread; it was as though he figured this represented a sense of decorum and manners, ❝ Forgive me , my lady , for I do not mean to offend with my tattered raiments . ❞ As he said this his hand came up to wipe prospective crumbs from his beard, that which had grown quite lengthy and tattered since his village had fallen to the forsaken. His voice, despite his mannerisms, was sincere at the idea of offending her, especially considering Lenyra was the primary reason he'd not been swallowed whole by the destitute environs of the lower districts. Lorcan was rather tall and fairly muscular, but suddenly felt small; a child chastised for their unsightly and foolish ways. ❝ I suppose some new raiments would not be out of the question , ❞ he braved a weak smile then, nodding to her almost apologetically, ❝ It is not typically in my nature to cling to trivial things such as clothing . ❞ Though it had been one of the few things he'd had left which remained as a tether to Aschenwald. What good, however, were his tattered garments when all they could represent was the fall of such beginnings and not the great warriors Aschenwald and the surrounding Nachtlands once raised?

Emeric would pretend he was tactically verbose when really he just warbled on for the sake of it. Charity of the year, it amused him to watch Draugr dodge and weave around everything Emeric stated; it could be raining, and the other would will it to snow. ❝ Charity would be to pluck each horror and unsightly thing you've witnessed and banish it from your mind . Your horrors would become mine , ❞ Emeric waved his hand, the performative action meant to encapsulate the charity which felt more akin to a mercy kill. So exhaustively enacted; some memories were drab and uninspired; a scorned lover wishing to terminate that which made their heart ache. Others allowed Emeric to see outside this gilded bubble; violent implosions of Forsaken, a loved one's skin sloughing from rot. He was not sure he appreciated this flavor of memory, but it did often grant him insight to things he never experienced in the corporeal. Zagreus did not even so much as blink towards his true name and though Emeric was not one to quit when he'd set himself on a pursuit, he let this one be paused currently. If Draugr wished to remain on the surface, refuting the truth of his name, then Emeric would not taunt and sour him further on it. ❝ There are some namesakes we cannot avoid , Draugr . ❞ But the statement was paired with a shrug as though Zagreus' true identity was equally inconsequential to Emeric. Emeric's bright eyes ignited at the sight of the resin; tools and materials which were not found nor easily discovered within Aurea. He smiled, something genuine of a mad scientist; both inspired and insane in equal measure. He could feel the magic even beneath the cloth which barely suppressed it; emanating from the rotwood material akin to tree sap overflowing. He'd only heard of it in theory and as such his own excitement was hard to evade on the surface, taming his grin as he glanced up at the other, ❝ And how soon can you get more ? ❞ His hand clasped around the item, immensely potent yet inevitably finite for his plans.