Hatred Is Not Skin Deep [Anora]

[Ilfirin Tyraen Chumomisto]

Spring, Optia, Era XV Post Fractum

Family. That was a word that Tyraen had long disregarded. The same fate fell upon his Air'riela name "Tyraen Chumomisto." He was no longer that person, but "Ilfirin Elensson." He wanted nothing to do with his weak mortal father and his hateful elven mother. Of course, it had been bearable as a child, before his father's fateful death. That had caused the Air'riela's decision to move away from his family, so that he would never have to see them again.

For a few eras, the half elf had wanted nothing to do with both sides of his heritage. He was neither elf nor human. He was someone that was close to achieving the longevity of the elves, but someone that was closer to the mortality of men.

It wasn't that the elf forgot his father's words. The words rang clear in his head to this day - "A family must stick together." But that was it. His family was not a family. It was a group of people meshed together and forced to see each other brightening after brightening. By leaving, he was able to lessen the tension. That, he believed, was the best deed he'd ever done in his life.

Still, the half elf grew curious. His Air'riela father had told him too much about the Silorosian elves and too little about the Air'riela gypsies. He knew his father's undenying love for his unfaithful mother, but would kill himself before he would admit it to anyone else. His mother simply did not deserve any of that. Even his father's last request, to find more about the near immortality about the elves, could not convince Tyraen to stay with his mother. He moved away to Vortex, where he would find another solution to obtaining immortality. But that did not mean that he lost all interest in his blood.

The Air'riela gypsies were an interesting bunch. Never in his dreams had he expected to meet any Air'riela in a city of Vysstichi elves. Egoistic as he was, he still believed that the Air’riela culture was worth to learn. Perhaps it was because of his father’s wish for him to learn more about the elves that brought him this powerful urge to learn about the gypsies instead.

He wasn’t completely sure she was an Air’riela, but there was hope in his mind. And so, the stalking began. Quiet in his footsteps, he stayed behind always, a few feet away. If he lost sight of the target, he would move back to the Temple and plan for another brightening.

There were many more.

Unless said otherwise, he often was seen wearing a silver fur cloak that covered most of his body. Even his face was hidden behind the silver cloth, with only the bottom of his face visible.

[Anora Eventide]

Perhaps she was Air'riela. What was natural about her appearance whispered a gypsy origin, there was something lush and foreign to the shape of her mouth and the set of her bright eyes. Yet the natural elements of her looks seemed encased in crystal, subdued by the trappings of a Daltinan belle.

For the most part, her tresses were twisted, pulled and pinned into an elegant upswept arrangement, but where her hair was allowed to rest in its true shape, it was raven dark and curled. Her attire had nothing of the roving gypsy about it: a neatly cut gown with crinoline petticoats. Its only eccentricities were a shawl hanging from her elbows and a shut fan dangling from her wrist.

But under spring sun her skin betrayed her. It was paler than any Air'riela could ever aspire to, but the rays had warmed the olive tint to her complexion. A touch of the exotic colored her, despite her extensive efforts to obscure it.

Her walk was a solitary affair, interrupted only by perfunctory smiles to familiar merchants and polite little observations on their health and business. Neither she nor those she spoke to showed any hearty inclination to linger in the other's company.

Anora bought nothing but looked long at shop windows. Her habit of staring into the glass increased the longer she walked. The reflection she cast seemed more a portrait than an image of a living thing: bright blue eyes without mirth and a serene shape to her expression. She mechanically arranged her shawl over her shoulders as if instructed by her painter, then brusquely departed into a slim avenue between two low buildings.

If Ilfirin followed, he'd find the lady waiting for him, standing demurely in the center of the empty alley. She was staring toward the way she came, her arms crossed at the wrist in the lap of her gown. Her fan was open and lazily tapping her skirt, but the fan winked white in the light, more luminous than fabric could be.

When she spoke it was a low cultured hum, more suitable for a luncheon than addressing a stranger in an alleyway.

"And what is it you want, young man?"

She was not old enough to call him 'young', but the sedateness of her manner made the address seem proper.
Strange, though, that a genteel looking lady, alone in a notoriously dangerous city should be so mild mannered. Not to mention the fact that she was being tailed by a mysterious looking figure.

"Or am I mistaken that I have seen you on several occasions in the windows' reflections?" A cool little smile touched her mouth, but brought no lightness to her calm countenance.
"My spirit has been… sensitive of late, so I would not put it past deceiving me."

[Ilfirin Tyraen Chumomisto]

She was a strange one, never appearing to be too loud or obnoxious. That made it clear, at least in Tyraen’s mind, that this person did not live in Vortex all her life. The way she moved, the way she presented herself, everything about her was different than the style of the Vortexians. And it was also brought clear that she was no Vysstichi elf. If she was one, then she concealed her features well.
It didn’t frustrate the half elf as much as he would have thought when she stared at the windows. Instead, he was curious as to the reason someone would be looking so long. That drew the half elf to move closer, where he could glance into the windows as well, before lurking back into the shadows.

A feeling of loneliness overwhelmed the half elf. It appeared to have been an effect of watching the young woman so long. She herself seemed separated from the world, and instead, appeared lost in her own thoughts. At any rate, that was how Ilfirin explained her demeanor. It was an inevitable act, as there was little to do when one was stalking someone else.

When she began to walk, he followed after. He lifted his neck, tilting his head to see where she might be possibly walking. Then the street ended. He turned quickly, hoping that she hadn’t gone too far, and stopped. Even with his hood blocking most of his vision, he still had the sensation that someone had noticed him. He pulled off his hood, revealing the topper half of his face. His eyes stood a bright red, almost glowing in the darkness of the alley. He considered their color to be a paradox. His mother had been a Sylrosian elf while his father an Air’riela gypsy. It was the Vysstichi whose eyes were colored with the hues of blood, not a Sylrosian elf. It was clear that the half elf retained little of the appearance of an Air’riela. Though his hair was long and tied back like the male Air’riela, it shone silver. The dark olive skin of his Air’riela heritage had almost been negated by his insistency to stay indoors. His skin was very pale, with only a hint of dark olive.

He stood now, with a vigilant stance. When she asked him the first question, he ignored her. He was never much of a talker amongst the crowds. It made no different now that he was alone with the person he had been stalking for past brightening. He did, however, heave a gasp of surprise when she revealed his mistakes. It was small barely audible, but a careful ear would hear the fear in the owner’s voice. He braced himself, setting his face into hardened look.

“I do not lie. Only the foolish attempt such spineless acts and we all know that cowards die an inevitably painful death. I admit to following to you, miss. What else is there for me to say? You have caught me in the act.” His words came out swiftly through a scratchy voice, as if the youth had been unaccustomed with talking.

Though, even the Air’riela’s hatred in talking could not prevent the curiosity he felt about his heritage. There was a question that laid in his mind, hidden for eras after the death of his father. The urge to find the answer had burned out when he left Herozzal, but now, the flame had rekindled. However, he held back on the question, as it was not the right time. He asked another question that was close to the nature of his curiosity, but still far from its reach.

“Though a stranger, I hope that you may answer a few questions to this curious soul of mines. Might you be an Air’riela?” The aftertaste of the words lingered on his lips, long after he had finished his question. Though part elf, his words did not ring with a melodious tune. Instead, it was with detachment. His eyes lingered on her, never looking away. It was obvious that he did not trust her.

[Anora Eventide]

The rhythmic tapping of her open fan stopped when Ilfirin drew back his hood. Her breath was suspended as she tried to discern what he was. Gods, he reminded her of Barra, and that was enough to make anyone wary. Clamping down on this reaction, unruly to her but faint to onlookers, Anora patiently indulged Ilfirin's answers.

Honest. She appreciated that. For all that could be said of Anora, she loathed a lie. Her stalker spoke with intelligent articulation though his voice had a rough cadence. Perhaps a traveling student of some sort. Then it came.

Air'riela.

The word made the pristine lady frown for a hot second. She raised her hand and flicked her wrist so the fan shut with a metallic shimmer. Her shoulders lifted a degree with a brief sigh and she walked casually towards the bristling half-elf.

"Yes. Half." At least she could admit that, an ordination ago she would have archly dismissed the question.
"If you need something translated I do not work for free. Especially as I take no pleasure in the language."
A crispness came to her manner as she added, "And if you want me to read your palm..."

Her face softened and she smiled ever so prettily.
"...I suggest you take a leap into some pit in Har'oloth."

If he was looking at her for some worse purpose than translation or curiosity, then she would try to make sport of him for her succubus overseer. Either way, Anora had little to lose at this point in her life. It made her normally calm demeanor appear cavalier.

Three steps away from Ilfirin, Anora hesitated, sensing some wise suspicion on his part. The tenor of the city had already infected him.
"Air'riela are an unpleasant group as far as I am concerned. But there is a power to their ways. An earthy, murky power, but it is there nonetheless."
So do not trifle with me or them, she seemed to add.

Losing a degree of her edge, but none of her fluidness, the woman made to walk past Ilfirin.
"You seem no stranger to unique heritage, yourself. Why the curiosity about disgraced nomads?"

[Ilfirin Tyraen Chumomisto]

The hood remained off his face. Instead, it hung at his back, where it dangled freely against the currents of the wind. Of course, that was all absurd. They were in a dark alleyway somewhere in Vortex. It would be impossible for any sudden breeze of air to appear. Tyraen felt terribly uncomfortable without the precious cloth to protect his face. Sometimes, it acted more like lifeline than an actual piece of clothing. The half elf would be helpless without, especially in a city of Vysstichi. He knew how well they took to the Silrosian elves.

He waited silently as she seemed to talk a slight pause at his assumptions. His eyebrows furrowed; confusion was evident in his face. Did that mean that he was correct? Was she an Air’riela? All those questions entered his mind, but he held his tongue, waiting for her to speak. He wasn’t awfully fond of assumptions. After all, they were merely guesses. It was hard enough to meet an Air’riela, harder to meet one in the city of shadows.

He nodded his head at her abrupt answer. She didn’t seem too eager to answer his question and he might have known why. There were moments in life when he dreaded the moment he would have to declare his race. A hybrid did not belong in any race.

It was a start. She did not dismiss his words, but instead, took them to consideration. She was definitely not from Vortex. However, his frown deepened at her further comments about the Air’riela race. She had made it sound like a horrid group of people… From his eyes, he could see nothing worse than the Vysstichi elves. The fortune telling aspect of the Air’riela greatly interested in the half elf. As such, he was mesmerized by her words for a moment, knowing that she possibly knew the secrets to the tarot cards. But he relented in asking her, especially after her straightforward response. Once, he had been interested in the future, but it was all in the past. Why would he want to know about the future, when the present was so horrid itself? Still, the interest to learn how to read fortunes never left his mind. It lingered there, dormant and waiting. His father had refused Tyraen’s endless pleads to learn the skill. Though it stayed a childhood wish, he hoped to fulfill it one day, if not for the curiosity, then for the power to look in the futures of others.

His eyes filled with displeasure at her remark. The way she presented the sentence irked him, but he did the best to hide his annoyance. It might have worked, as the half elf felt he was getting better with each new try. “With all due respect I rather not jump. Someone like me has no desire to discover their future or whatever my palm tells about me.”

Ilfirin stood still, even with the other so close to him. He generally preferred to stay a longer distance from people, feeling that it was suffocating to be any closer. However, the usual feeling of not being able to breathe disappeared this time, replaced with curiosity. There was little doubt in his mind on whether she followed the ways and customs of the Air’riela.

“Yes…an interesting bunch, indeed.” He refrained from mentioning the question in his mind. It would continue to stay there…for the time being. There was little chance that she would feel obliged enough to answer the question.

He turned swiftly as she neared him, never once taking his eyes elsewhere. An overwhelming fear had washed over the half elf. Was it possible that she would disappear from his eyes? He frowned. That was a possibility that he wanted to rule out.

Even then, he closed his eyes. With great difficulty, he opened his eyes again, biting his lips. His eyes grew distant and his arrogant demeanor diminished. “Only someone with Air’riela blood can possibly comprehend the greatness of their culture. Surely, you do not mean your words?” He did not answer her question, but neither did he decline to reply.

It was strange. On odd brightening, the half elf might have agreed with Anora. There would have been a clear agreement that the Air’riela were a terrible group. However, on even brightening, the half elf would find himself in full defense for the Air’riela.

The line between love and hate was never too far, and Ilfirin stood on the border.

[Anora Eventide]

He moved in response to her approach, pivoting like a man on guard. "An interesting bunch". The description amused Anora and she only purred a non-committal response.
"Indeed."

The woman was on the brink of passing him, finished with seemingly purposeless inquiries. Had Ilfirin not eddied in response to her approach they would have been nearly shoulder to shoulder. But the half-Elf shut his eyes, struggling through his thoughts.

The glimmer of inner conflict made her pause, an intrigued spectator. She lacked the capacity for robust emotional turmoil, so the hesitant Ilfirin's show of feeling was like watching a rare bird up close. He wanted something, but cold not articulate it.

He's peering into a well, searching., Anora thought, How fortunate it must be to really desire something instead of carrying out a task foisted upon you.

It seemed a labor to regard her again, but when he did Anora's blue eyes were observing him with a feline interest. While all else about her was almost airy, easily overlooked but for its neatness, her eyes seemed capable of dividing joints and marrow.

Then a flutter of her eyelashes and she was but a well-dressed pedestrian. She moved a little further on, giving Ilfirin her profile. The hem of her bell skirt rustled near his ankle but she passed no closer. It seemed the prim woman was finished with this particular exchange.

At the mouth of the alley, she turned back toward him, a soft silhouette with the sun filled street flowing behind her. The ice in her relented, perhaps moved by Ilfirin's brief expression of effort. It was… unpleasant to be a soul in division from itself. And while Anora had mean understanding of internal passions, she knew the keen strain of a perpetual dichotomy.

"Great? No singular culture is great. Cultures are powerful, beautiful and complex, but never great. My interactions with Air'riela have brought me more pain than pleasure, but I cannot deny its sway in my life. Air'riela blood makes you fated, more than any other people I have observed."
Anora gave a wan smile, and her hand reached up to brush a curl from her face. She had spoken more than she preferred.
"That is what makes it unique."

She tilted her head, absorbing Ilfirin and then a slim, knowing smile formed around her words.
"Perhaps it is what makes you unique. I have not seen an Elf like you in some time."

In a rare mood, Anora extended her hand, palm downward. What motivated the gesture was inscrutable. Her secretive looks whispered interest and diversion in equal parts.
"Come now, if you want to be curious, you can take me to tea or the Raven. If not, we can go our separate ways."
Anora seemed on the brink of withdrawing her hand.
"An alley is no place for a lady to linger."

[Ilfirin Tyraen Chumomisto]

The only skeptical motion he made to her comment about the phrase “an interesting bunch” was a raised eyebrow and slight twitch of the mouth. There wasn’t any too expressive on his face, but his eyes would reveal the truth. Though crimson was not a particularly good color for affectionate and loving eyes, there was nonetheless a soft kindness when it came to the Air’riela. It was subtle, almost non-existence, but it was real.
He then nodded to her comment, as if a student would to a teacher.

She knew about the Air’riela very well. The validity of his statement was questionable. Only knowing that she was part Air’riela proved nothing much, except that he had been right that he spotted another Air’riela. There were doubts, when he first noticed her. The gypsies he heard from rare tales always moved in a kumpania. But again, he wasn’t exactly traveling with one. It was quite possible that she could be lying as well. Though, he could see no reason for her to. What difference did it make in the grand scheme of events?

People, he believed, were bound to a mold when they breathed their first breath of air. The ignorant ones claimed that they weren’t, but they were. He was sure of it.

Then, when she stared at him, he flinched. Though proud and arrogant, he was the least comfortable when a pair of eyes were on him. Hers didn’t seem the least friendly. There was some type of hidden power that hid in the eyes of a soul. Ilfirin did not know the words to describe his fear, but he found it nerve-wracking, and so, had to literally stop himself from pulling on that hood and draping it over his head.

He stiffened when she went a bit closer though he made no movement, except for the sudden gasp that escaped from his lips. It was a quiet hush, audible to only those that would strain their ears. It was easy to see the relief in the half elf’s eyes when she stopped. Personal space had become a necessity for the Air’riela, more so than others.

Perhaps it had been a mistake to follow her. The half elf paused in his thoughts, recalculating the risks. No. She was Air’riela, and that was all it mattered. Why had he been so frantic in finding one of them? Even the half elf had trouble answering his question. Instead, he let it sit at the back of his mind.

“And why can’t a culture be great, if it is all the things you said?” The gleam in his eyes twinkled. Curiosity was often the driving force of his existence. But, he held back on commenting about her next statements. The words came too close for comfort. He could have said them in place of Anora and it would have made no difference to who said them, as long as the words applied. So, the half elf pretended to take no notice of those words, acting as his ears had suddenly gone deaf. “Never have I been affected by my Air’riela heritage. If anything, I was pushed away. So, I apologize, but I do not believe that I am marked by fate.”

The words came out bitter, sounding of resentment at the Air’riela. After all, everything the half elf had done had only succeeded in bringing him closer to the elven heritage. His father and his gypsy heritage would soon all be lost…

“Yes, unique.” The half elf answered her words, but not really. He remained deep in thoughts over her last few sentences, gazing off and becoming detached. It had become a bad habit, but there was no attempt to fix it.
“Of course not,” he snapped, finally turning away from his worries, “There are only the Vysstichi here. I doubt that many Silrosian elves will dare enter Vortex.” He paused midway, heaving a sigh. He had said too much. There was another reason he had chosen to wear a cloak. It was to hide himself amongst the races of the city. He wondered how she might use this information. His memories at Herozzal kindly reminded him that the dark elves disliked anyone that wasn’t part of the race.

“Did…Did I not disturb you with my attempts at following you?” It sounded bizarre now, coming out of his mouth. What had caused the half elf to commit such an act? However, he took her hand. “To the Raven then?”

He had kept his comments quiet, but she was quite the interesting figure herself. It wasn’t often that one saw someone like her strolling in Vortex.

[Anora Eventide]

"Disturb me? More surprise."
She smiled richly and looked above her head. A crow perched on the edge of the building, meeting her gaze. It did not dance and flutter like a common bird, but regarded her emptily and relentlessly.
"I have been shadowed by grimmer things and kept worse company than you."
Her eyes returned to him, "Unless my appraisal of you is wholly amiss."

Amiss or not her fingers closed briefly about his hand.
"So, you are not marked by fate and yet you have found me."
Her touch was cool as crystal and just as light. She had not met hands with anyone for some time, at least not with good intent. It was a brief salve.
"I kicked against the goads as well. But every tarot card I drew had the same face."

The woman stepped back with Ilfirin in tow, turning into the current of normal folk weaving casually through one another in the streets. Full sunlight made her appear less unsettling. She was common flesh and blood, humming pulses and casting shade.

She released Ilfirin's hand, feeling she had pulled the wary half-Elf into a tide he would not turn from now.

Summoning memories of the fateful day amidst the cards had made Anora quiet. The nearest thing to melancholy a half-hearted woman could display. With a flick of her hand, her fan opened. It seemed smaller now, made of stiff linen. Had she changed them during this brief impasse?
She waved it at her decollatage, whisking the recollection and solemnness away.

"The Raven is in Har'oloth. Do you mind such a destination?"
She waited for him to be somewhat in step with her before continuing.
"It is a dim place but it is quiet in the afternoon, as music begins more towards the darkening. I used to frequent it but I have been gone from Vortex for a space."

Introduction were an afterthought, but she pronounced hers politely.
"Call me Morwen, by the way. The name from my Chumomisto side."

[Ilfirin Tyraen Chumomisto]

“I see you are not one that is faint of heart,” Ilfirin observed. His gaze lingered on her eyes, as if to determine the validity of her statement. The half elf followed her stare till he saw the crow himself. He found his own eyes moving to the crow, as if mesmerized. Even in childhood, the half elf had been told that crows were a symbol of death and that he should avoid them. So it was because of that he found it strange, that such a look from the crow could be directed to the half Air’riela. Who and what was she exactly…? She could be an Air’riela and yet be so much more. The stalker could be easily become the chased, if he wasn’t careful.

“A guess always leads to mishaps. For all you can assume, you can be terribly incorrect. If I was a follower of Jalat or if I was bind to the Essence Plane of Death, then how would your judgment change?” A jesting tone, for the first time, was evident in the half elf’s voice. But it still lacked the relaxed feel of someone who was comfortable with talking. The words were nearly forced out of his mouth and there were several intervals of silence as the half elf paused for more breath.

Though an initial reaction of the half elf would be to wince at her cool touch, the brightenings spent at the Temple of Jalat had caused him to grow accustomed to the cold and bitterness of souls and their hearts. Not to say that she herself was a harsh individual, but merely to say that he was comfortable to the cold… That was not to say that the half elf was fully at ease. Interaction was bound to be difficult, when one isolated themselves for so long.

“I do not believe that it was fate that I stumbled across, but a coincidence. But, as you say, perhaps fate watches from behind, controlling me like a manipulator would a marionette. Whether I am led to my salvation or insanity, I know not. It could be possibly because I have not felt a strong enough pull, but rest assured, I have no intention of being controlled.”

He followed her, keeping silent now. It was strange, but he could not find the spirit to admit it. There was indeed a pull of some sorts, a force that had caused him to grow interested in this person without knowing who she really was or could be.

Once in the radiance of the sun, the half elf could fully distinguish between imagination and reality. Indeed, his thoughts had gotten to the best of him. This was not first time and would not be the last time. She had carried an air of aristocracy in the alleyway, and even more now, now that here were others to compare. But Ilfirin knew. He was experienced enough to know that humans and elves alike could be terrible creatures when tempted with evil and riches. The half elf did not bode well in the sunlight as he would have wished. Though not undead, eras of staying in the inside had nearly washed all the color from his skin. He felt the sun’s irritating beams every second of the walk.

When she let of his hand, her assumptions proved true. He made no action to turn to another path.
The brief mention of tarot cards had sparked the half elf’s interest. Even now, a pack of cards lay in his pocket, sitting and waiting. It was all useless wait as he knew nothing about readings.

Even as the half elf began to notice the stillness of his new acquaintance, he made no move to start another conversation. It had been hard to even continue an exchange, much less start one.

“You have switched fans?” Ah, it seemed that talking was easier than he imagined.

“No, I have been meaning to travel to Har’oloth. My newly acquired occupation requires me to, or at least, I have been advised that it would be wise to scout the area.” With that, the half elf had given his consent to follow her. However, there was no real eagerness that lit his face. Then again, the elf was against to displaying emotion. He believed it to be foolish, especially if an enemy were to spot it.

Though, that had all changed. The half elf’s head turned sharply towards her at the announcement of her last name. How long was it that he had heard of that name? Petsha Chumomisto. The name resonated in his mind and the image of his father was clearer than ever.
Was she related to him? He did not know the answer. Though it was more than likely, there was a possibility that the last name could have simply been a coincidence.

Still, he could not help, but wonder. Was it fate that had brought her to his attention?

No. It was strictly a chance of luck. Nothing more.

“Morwen Chumomisto,” he nodded, as if testing out the name, “Pleasure to meet you. I am afraid that because my family has moved away from the Air’riela, I have not been graced with an Air’riela name like you.”

That was entirely false, of course. He knew perfectly well that his name was Tyraen Chumomisto. Evidence of that name was with him, on his visa. There was no changing that, but he did so anyway, changing his name to a more elven one. “Ilfirin” stood for immorality, something that he would claim eventually.

“My name is Ilfirin, son of Elen.”

[Anora Eventide]

"Well Ilfirin, son of Elen and possible devotee to death..." a slim smile as she touched on his earlier jest without qualm or enthusiasm.
"...It seems you are even less a believer in the power of blood than I am. I have an anquaintance in Primus Gaudeo that you must visit, in light of that."

Her fan continued to make its lazy cadence, as she directed them onward. There was no compulsion on her part to fill the quiet, her mind was happily pre-occupied with airs and observations. A few regarded her newly plucked companion, placing him in the delicate labyrinth of her thoughts. Other musings touched her purposes for being in Vortex.

It was a blessed diversion, this clockwork of lists and tasks that came to life when she turned the key. A single monstrous concern had been brooding over her thoughts recently, its weight threatened to permanently crush the delicate mechanisms of her cogitations.

Perhaps that was why she was gracious enough to the curious half-Elf when it was in her cool nature to spurn attention. He was a distraction. Humoring him was a reminder that she was not buried alive.

It was good to help people, a simple moral edict. She had grasped it somewhat. Charity and fairness towards others made a climate less savage to the individual. There was sense in that. If society did not encourage through behavior an atmosphere of helping one another, she would never reap the benefits of being aided by those stronger than herself. Add to that the gods' judgment of those who practiced and broke such edicts.

A hollow twist of logic, but it sufficed.

In eras past she would have drawn on emotional memories of the value of goodness between her and her sister. But Avrie had ceased to exist, expunged from memory. It left Anora's moral compass spinning at times.

And so she was playing guide to a wandering Air'riela lupunza. It would not have been the first gypsy she took upon herself in Vortex. She doubted he would have more promise than the last. Nessani was such a clever girl, she even seemed fond of Anora. But her little slave and cousin had wandered off to gentler pastures. At least Anora was good enough to not snatch her back.

However, there was an eloquence and a caution Ilfirin possessed that brazen Nessani lacked. Powerful tools in Vortex, where things that crept soundlessly from the dark survived longest.

When Anora finally spoke it seemed a spark, as she had been serenely quiet for so long.

"What is your profession, Ilfirin? I am but an occasional librarian with a few modest business interests."
Or something like that.
"Har'oloth draws many trades with many markets to draw in more obscure business endeavors."
"Obscure" that was one way of putting it. The term rolled off her tongue without a trace of irony.

"But you will see that soon, we are minutes from it."

[Ilfirin Tyraen Chumomisto]

The light in his eyes dimmed. The name “Ilfirin” didn’t sound as ridiculous when he had said. He nodded to her words, regarding them more as sounds than words with content. It was the most the half elf could do without cringing at the sound of his name. Shame swarmed his chest. Though Anora had been able to reveal her Air’riela name, the half elf could not muster up the courage to return the gesture.

He found himself somewhat lacking, compared to the stranger that walked beside him. Though she did not speak as if the Air’riela culture was the most wondrous thing in the world, she had no qualms about revealing her gypsy name to him. There was a terrible urge to reveal to her his true name now, to lessen the dishonor he felt. But, he couldn’t, not with his mother still alive.

He made sure to stay by her side now. The trip to Har’oloth would not be pleasant. The mere idea of getting lost struck Ilfirin as dangerous. There was no questioning; if the Vysstichi found someone with the slightest drop of Silrosian blood, he was almost certain that said someone would never again see the light of day.

He twitched when she talked again, having not expected it. He had figured that she would talk later, when they arrived at the Raven. It was a surprisingly different topic from when they had first started talking. He couldn’t quite explain the strangeness of it all. The fact that he was able to speak with her so normally now made the past brightening feel like a dream, just his imagination at play.

He did not find her job too shocking. She was similar to the library in many ways, quiet and knowledgeable. However, he stayed quiet, especially after hearing the last part of her sentence. From what could be assumed, “business interests” at Har’oloth usually included the trading of slaves. That certainly brought disappointment to the half elf. Keen as he was to forsake the world for his own interests, he still remained stern on the subject of slaving others. It was wrong and unjust. He kept silent for now. He found no point to convince others of what he believed, and perhaps, that was why he believed himself to be idiotic at times.

“I haven’t visited Vortex’s library yet. Though, I probably will soon.” And that was almost certain. He needed to get his hands on some alchemy books…Time was the essence. One did not remain youthful for long. “I recently acquired the position of Assistant Thane. I sincerely wish to help Vortex.” How and to what extent, he did not specify.

To that, he elaborated no more. It was awfully hard to admit, at this stage, that he wished to rid Vortex of its slave trade. It mattered little, as he knew that his chance would remain slim. Not many subjects could interest him for long. Perhaps slavery would be same. He did not know.

“That’s great. I look forward to seeing how the markets operate over there.” He walked for a little longer and spoke again, "Feel free to ignore my question, as I have no intention of answering it myself. But, why did you choose to come to Vortex?"

[Anora Eventide]

"Assistant Thane?" Her eyebrow rose at this news, it was unclear whether she was intrigued or impressed.
"My congratulations on your entry into the world of politics." A realm she had considered enough to pay a visit to cousin Nell's charming husband. Vortex and Arium were a rather distinct clime when it came to the Empire's official affairs. Maybe he was as clever as Nessani.

Ilfirin's was a keen little question, Anora's brief smile was bittersweet and half obscured by her raised fan. Her already secretive expressions now came in between pale flashes of linen and lace.

"What does any Daltinan girl leave home for?" Anora glanced to Ilfirin sidelong for a beat, then she briskly went about answering his question.
"I was visiting a suitor who became my fiancée." The answer was surprisingly common, surprisingly human.
"And I was told I could find some specific tutors in the vicinity. Vortex draws a particular sort of scholar that is difficult to procure elsewhere. That is what kept me here for a time."

What made her leave was her own business. She had already been fairly generous, for her, when it came to personal detail.
"How unfair that you have dodged the same inquiry. Not to mention several others."
A soft shrug prefaced her final observation before they reached the Raven.
"But then fairness is a hope not law."

Bereft of Elven senses, Anora slowed as she moved in the murk of Har'oloth, yet her feet glided along the stone paths with a significant dose of familiarity. The transition from the limitless sky to the cloistered caverns was borne calmly as if she carried a talisman that could hedge her in protection.
She floated beside Ilfirin, quiet as a penitent in a temple. Her left arm rose to lightly trail along the smoothed walls, steadying her steps over crumbling stone. Lifted so, her sleeve slipped down her arm, showing a glimpse of a crude brand on her underarm. Lambent, eldritch light made the raised outline hard to discern, something passing through waving lines. An object in a river? In what parlor or tea party had she garnered such a mark?

Their brief descent through the gloom ended at the Raven's ebony stairs. Stepping in front of Ilfirin, Anora moved up the steps to where the guards stood. Blue flames colored her and Ilfirin's skin surreal hues as they waited at the door.

Anora was regarded by the guard and something was curtly murmured over her about how she had been gone for a spell.
Before much inspection could be given to Ilfirin, Anora took his hand, drawing him gently into the opening door.
"He is my guest."

A satisfactory answer for the time being.

Where they entered was a grand balcony that encircled the room, beneath them was a quiet stage and a lonely dance floor. The Raven's high-ceilings mimicked the cavern's grand, empty spaces and it was lit with a light only slightly warmer than what the caves afforded.

Anora remained on this balcony level, she passed between the scattered tables, her skirts gently swaying until choosing a discrete booth. She took her seat with a dancer's attention to posture gesturing smoothly to the position across from her.

"So, my assistant Thane," she purred, belying the curtness of her following phrases, "I am in a rare mood to indulge your curiosity. But I suggest you order me a glass of Cloudkiss merlot if you intend to inquire about Air'riela, as it is a subject I do not favor."
Without ruining her regal posture, she leaned in a degree to rest her chin on the top of her hand.
"If your company suits me, I might even take you to an Air'riela seer. One could call her both terrible and wise. At least in my experience."
Dispelling the confidential air, she leaned back in her seat and folded her hands in her lap.
"Has a particular talent with the deck."