#caelendras

@arandoros ( @caelendras for mention)

Caelendras's Spooky Season offering, their OC, Caelendras...Phantom of the Karazhan Opera!  Did he get tricked or treated?

"You're a smart man, Caelendras,” Arandoros had said. “You know this isn't about that trick you showed me at the reception." Ah, Lord Phepenos’s wedding reception, when Cael had caused all of the cake plates to jump away from Aran’s hands when he reached for them. That was a fine trick, and one that had brought him a fair amount of amusement. But Arandoros was correct; that was not the first thing on his mind when he’d answered the door and found his unlikely guest looking down at him. Another sigh was heaved by the blacksmith and he rested his face in his hands, staring at the table. Caelendras was not certain what kind of issue the man was dealing with, but judging by the almost defeated look on his face it must have been one he had struggled with for some time. The silver-haired magus merely waited, knowing that no amount of gentle prodding would bring out Aran’s issue any faster. The man had gotten this far. He’d come to see him. He would not stop now. The silence between them stretched on for almost a minute before Arandoros spoke again. "I... I literally can't be around magic. My body rebels against it, my mind seems to go into self-destruction mode when I'm around it. And I don't know what to do: being drunk doesn't fix it, drugs don't fix it, sex doesn't fix it." The man’s admission had Cael’s eyes thoughtfully finding the bourbon while ideas whirred in his head. He found it odd that someone of their ilk might simply repel magic; it was far too ingrained in their existence to shut out completely. Finally, after battling with a few possible causes, he brought his slender hand up to slowly slide the saucer with his own teacup aside and lean his elbows on the table. Fingers laced together to form a flat surface, upon which he rested his chin. "Well that is a shame," he drawled, a slow smile fixing itself on his lips. "In my experience, sex fixes many things." Aran didn't break his gaze, even as he made his joke. In fact, the joke actually made the blacksmith grin a bit, and Cael caught Aran’s eyes narrowing at him. "Oh, don't get me wrong. It still has quite the impact..but it doesn't take the problem away." He sighed, shaking his head. "I just don't know what else I can do." That was his cue to get serious and that smirk disappeared, replaced by a professional mask that seemed to suit the man all too well. “Is this something that has been happening your entire life, or did it develop at a specific time? If it is the former, I may not be able to help you. If it is the latter, however… can you remember anything that you might have come into contact with during that time that might have seemed new or out of place? An object, a person… even a location is helpful.” Another frustrated sigh greeted Cael’s inquiry and he listened closely to Aran’s answer. "That's the thing. When I was a child? I loved magic. Gods, even before this started happening I had an affinity for it. I could wield the Light like nobody's business. I've even healed myself a few times after an accident at the forge." He shook his head, one of his hands balling into a fist. "It didn't start until...what, four years ago? Something..." Aran shook his head, The tendons in his neck standing out before he slowly relaxed again and squeezed his eyes shut. "I was in Dalaran when the lady Proudmoore ordered the arrest of our entire people that were in the city at the time." Eyes opened and Aran looked at him, as though begging him to not ask for more details. He knew he must, and that knowledge did not make Cael feel any better about it. "Something...happened during the escape, and almost immediately I felt such a pain--considering it was Dalaran, I'm not exactly surprised." A visible shiver ran through the blacksmith’s body, accompanied by a grimace. "Now? I can't even cast a single thing, and I feel real physical pain if there is magic used even in my vicinity." Aran’s words only served to tighten the magi’s lips into a frown. That look that the blacksmith gave him… there was pain there, and he knew all too acutely that kind of grief. “Ah, yes,” he breathed, looking down at the table for a moment. “The purging of Dalaran. I was lucky to escape it myself, not having been in the city for quite some time. Others were not so lucky. I sympathize with your plight.” Cael's words of sympathy did nothing to soften the pain—that even he could see—but at the very least he looked somewhat relieved to know that he wasn't the only one that had at least been affected by the mage-bitch's decision. All the same, it had indeed happened, and the remembrance had them both inspecting the bourbon in silence. He would have liked to think that it was out of respect for those who had died there, but really it was that topics like this drove people to desire any means to soften the blow, and one such vice sat before them on the table. Neither reached for it. He did not tell him of those colleagues he had known to have perished in that particular horrific event—it was not relevant, and would not serve his purpose here tonight. That was why he thought long and hard on his next words. “It seems to me that whatever it was that happened during your escape is the key to unraveling this mystery ailment.” "It's the only thing I can think of that triggered whatever is happening," Aran agreed. Cael’s eyes drifted upward to watch Arandoros’s face again. “Did you encounter any hostiles on your way out of the city? What am I saying, of course you did; they were running the Sin’dorei down left and right. Was there anyone in particular that stuck in your mind, or any objects that seemed strange to you?” There had to be something. A ward? A person? Some enchanted object? Cael's last question was met with a jerk of the blacksmith’s eyes up to his. They flashed in silent warning that had the magi’s ears pricking. Ah, so there is something, he thought. Soon enough the auburn-haired man took a breath, closed his eyes, and exhaled slowly. Breathing seemed to be important to Aran when it came to keeping himself calm. "There was... there was one person," he said with difficulty, speaking through gritted teeth. "I was in a panic, and on my way… on my way out, I killed her." There was no ceremony, no grand pause given; it was as though the man needed to get the words out as quickly as possible. "That was when it happened, and no I don't remember anything besides that. I might as well have blacked out." “And do you believe that this woman might have been the trigger point?” he pressed gently. His first question didn't get any sort of response out of Aran beyond an intake of breath. It was clear there was a new kind of pain going through the man at this point, something beyond the physical that the magic had brought to him. But he'd come here for a reason, and Cael had a feeling there was some kind of link between what had happened that day and what he was suffering through now. “Keep in mind, Aran,” he continued, “that for me to diagnose this situation, I am going to need all the information you can give to piece together the puzzle. I will need to poke around at you with magic too, to see if I can locate the cause. If we are lucky we can unravel whatever it is that keeps you from it. If we are less, then we may need to find out who or what did it. There is little way to know for sure, but rest assured I will do the research and try my best.” It was at that point that the teapot whistled, and Cael stood up to retrieve it. He took great care not to use magic now—even hunting for a glove he hadn’t used in forever to grasp the pot’s handle and bring it over. He poured his own cup first, and then settled the pot on the table and picked up the bottle of bourbon, pouring it into Aran’s cup until it was about a third full and then filling the rest with water before he settled the tea packet into it. “Stir that well, and let it steep for about a minute. You are going to love the result—oh.” He moved away from the table and came back with a small jar of honey, a bit of which he also poured into each of their cups. “Trust me, it is the cherry on top, so to speak.” If Aran was feeling particularly talkative he waited until well after the tea was poured. Fingers stirred just as Cael had directed, and though he opened his eyes and looked right up at Cael, the steam that rose between them partially obscuring the set of his lips, Cael knew that there was something that this small interruption had done for him. Perhaps the distraction was welcomed, or simply the fact that Cael had not treated him as if he had some life-threatening illness. That was a trick that many healers had learned. Often times, if one did not make a big deal out of an illness and knew what they were doing, the patient was much calmer for it. When he settled in again he dipped his tea bag into the cup and allowed the herbs to do their work as he stirred. “So, getting back to our conversation,” he began, unwilling to relent. “Tell me about the woman. What stood out to you about her?” Cael had a feeling that it didn’t really make this any easier, but at least the edge seemed to be taken off. Aran stirred as he answered. "She was my wife," he said blatantly. "Or at least, she was before our people split. Legally we were still attached, and...damnit, I didn't know it was her!" he suddenly exclaimed, jaw clenching and stirring all but stopping. Cael’s spoon paused in its circular motion as well and he felt his silvery brows arching high in surprise before he could school his expression into a calmer one. After a long moment the magus simply tapped the stem of the spoon against the rim of the cup—the sound loud in the tense quiet that had fallen over the table—and set it aside on the saucer. In that same motion his arm swept out and found the blacksmith’s shoulder, squeezing gently. It was a habit he had picked up from Lydianah, and the look that he gave him… well, there was no pity in it, but it was sympathetic. Aran had begun to stir his tea again, hardly reacting outwardly when Cael's hand reached his shoulder. The look in his eyes suggested that he was struggling inwardly with something else, though. It appeared as though he was trying to calm himself, or reason out a way to proceed—or not proceed. They were on the right track, though—he could feel it in his gut. So, seeking to open him up again, he spoke. “I trust that you did what you had to in order to survive. If she knowingly attacked you, then it is not you that needs forgiveness in this.” He scooted closer now, his own tea forgotten for the moment. “I need you to answer me honestly. Sometimes the mind does things to shut out certain traumatic parts of a person’s life when they are grieving or have intense feelings of guilt. Do you feel deep down that this is something that is a possibility?” The blacksmith stopped stirring and took another long, slow breath in and out, looking to the mage. "I..no." He shook his head. "All that happened that day was escaping, finding one of the dead guards' axes...killing her, and my departure from the city. I was suffering tunnel-vision, yes, but I remember it with stark clarity." Caelendras did not mind that Arandoros was having a hard time, but nor did he take any pleasure in that fact. He simply continued in his line of questioning in as calm a manner as he could. “Was she heavily involved in magic? The reason I ask is not because I believe that your memories have been blocked out, but because I believe the possibility is there that your adverse reaction to magic is due to the emotional trauma you have suffered. Narrowing down the causes is part of solving this puzzle.” "She'd trained under my mother," Aran replied, then after a moment added, "My mother was a tutor in all things arcane. Analya was her name," he said at last for clarification. Cael nodded to the tea cup. “It should be good to drink now,” he said gently. The blacksmith brought his cup to his lips, not affected whatsoever by the high temperature that was indicated by the steam--he worked in a forge, after all. He was used to heat. But he gave a soft sound that showed he did indeed appreciate the result, just like Caelendras had predicted. "Gods, it's been so long since I've sat down and had a good cup of tea.." Caelendras returned his attention to his tea, taking a testing sip before adding just a tiny bit more honey to his cup. His face remained professional, but inside his mind was churning out possibilities with this new information that Aran had presented. For the most part he spoke them aloud. “She was an arcanist, then,” he mused, and looked Arandoros over with an assessing gaze.  “And I do recall an Analya. Delightful woman, and very knowledgeable.” Cael watched Aran for a moment longer, thoughtful. When Cael spoke of his mother Aran actually smiled for a moment or two as if recalling the woman fondly. "Oh, she was one of the best. Never went a day without having a student until she retired. The Kirin Tor even approached her about a spot, but she didn't want the rules and regulations and red tape to tie her up more than she already was." He gave another chuckle, but it was relatively humorless. Cael sighed. The bourbon was doing its job; already Arandoros seemed less tense than he had minutes ago. “I know it is painful to discuss, but whatever insight into the situation you can give to me is welcome.” He paused for a moment, taking another sip of his tea. “If there is nothing else, then I will poke around myself with what you have already given to me in mind. I cannot promise that it will not be painful to you, but it will be necessary if there is actually some sort of trigger in place.” His eyes then moved to Cael's again and he nodded. "I know, and I am trying. There are... two other things that I can remember which might be linked." His voice was coming more regularly now, confirming Cael’s suspicion that he was relaxing into the topic. He continued to listen as Aran spoke, taking in all that he could. He hadn’t found the piece that really stood out to him yet. "One,” Aran continued, “I do remember that there was someone else. A man, I think, in robes that looked familiar--probably Kirin Tor robes." He shook his head. "I should know his name, but I can't." Then another breath, and this time he spoke with closed eyes. "The second is that... shortly after Lydianah and I arrived home from one of the Pandaria campaigns we were on, I discovered letters. Letters showing proof that my wife had been stealing money from me for the better part of five years prior to her leaving. And when she left, it was to live with my former instructor in Enchanting." Where there should have been betrayal in his voice, there was instead numbness. Cael commended him for that—if his own wife had cheated on him before she died, he might not have handled it quite so calmly even years after the fact. Cael leaned forward in his seat. “So your wife… she left you for this other man’s favor, and you say he was your enchanting instructor?” "Yes," Aran said simply, taking another sip of his tea. Whether it was the bourbon or simply the natural aromatic powers of the tea itself, or that Cael's technique simply was better than his own, it was working. Even though the content matter was obviously still upsetting, the lines etched into his forehead from thinking about it had diminished significantly. “If I were to rationalize,” Cael pressed on, “I would say that the possibility of your malady happening from either the man or the instructor is rather high. Can you remember whether you began feeling that pain while she was still alive, or after she had died?” He knew he was treading the line now, and he only hoped that Aran had relaxed enough not to simply get up and leave because now the magus was intensely curious on top of wanting to help Lydianah’s friend. Aran's eyes took on that emotionless absence from moments prior as they opened again. The question brought a shrug from his shoulders, and for a moment Cael could not help but think that it was all the blacksmith could to do avoid feeling anything about it. "I don't know… I think it was after she was killed. Almost immediately after." “I see,” Cael said, and then he shifted the discussion away from the woman, mind whirring. It probably was not her, then, but the man. "And do you remember anything about your instructor or the man? A name, an appearance? Anything?” The blacksmith closed his eyes with a furrow of his brow in an effort to remember. "His name was Solaris," he said. "I remember he was...pale, often looking sickly--he didn't spend much time in the sun. Darker hair, almost black and artificially dyed that way. Skinny, but with a surprising amount of strength to be able to carry all of his materials." That name caused his ears to radiate forward and his eyes to suddenly find Arandoros's face--but the red-head had not yet opened his eyes. When Aran did open them again their eyes met. "Solaris. Are you certain? Because if so, I know that man. I trained him in enchantments. Gifted, that one, but he was not a magister. He was a priest--at least, he was when I knew him." Bingo.

[ caelendras and lydianah for mentions. And a little teasing jab at secretlyshadowy :3 ]

[ naivaria ]

[ naivaria, theladydevonshire, caelendras for mentions]