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| Library and Luck (Open to Potatoes) | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Sat Apr 24, 2010 8:50 pm (343 Views) | |
| Tahamul | Sat Apr 24, 2010 8:50 pm Post #1 |
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Cascadia was by all accounts a jewel of a city. Naturally beautiful, its founder had decided that it would become a cultural hub and had taken in the best and the brightest traders and made them see what sort of advantages trading in rare, portable and exotic goods from different places would bring. He maybe kinda-sorta neglected to mention the routine dangers, the long distances, the cultural imbroglios, the language barriers and probably (hopefully) didn't foresee predation, assimilation and dependency and all other sort of other nasty things. The end result was, despite its real pitfalls, genuinely fascinating. Some would scoff at the idea of selling cultural artifacts. They would deride the fakeness of the event. They would tell the vendors to stop being a disgrace to such and such a culture or whoring out the priceless art of such and such a group. Some of the slightly less warlike might question who was profiting and who was suffering. Tahamul would have asked those questions, albeit for very different reasons, once upon a time. Nowadays, he could not bring himself to care. Not when his mouth was so dry and the scent of blood and iron so strong. "-kulls! Real shrunken skulls! Only twenty gold for-" Pfeh. And they called others barbaric. The vampire trudged through the crowds, unnoticed, heading towards the library of the greatest cultural hub in the world. The lore on vampires was rich, but the perspective he'd received solely human. There might be intriguing leads from other perspectives - the elves, or maybe even the dwarves. No doubt those who laired underground also had their own stories and legends - certain species of dragons, the much-reviled skin wearers, subterranean elves... maybe even those 'Cth' things mentioned so often in travelers' tales. He needed a new perspective. He was changing. Now he needed to make sure he wasn't dying. |
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| Zephyr | Sat Apr 24, 2010 9:17 pm Post #2 |
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Zephyr trudged through the City of Cascadia, his fair skin roasting, his eyes nearly screwed shut, yet still searing from the bright sunlight. He had never really been comfortable in sunlight, but since adolescence, it had become worse. He knew he wasn't truly afflicted with albinism, not with such a late onset; but the symptoms were the same. At home, he had been treated the same as the albino half-elf girl. He had to do all his studies inside, with closed windows. If he needed light, a single dim candle near his books or paper would be his only source. He wasn't allowed to play outside, which is why most of the time, he had confined himself to reading and writing. He gave up on studying magic long before his peers gave up on him. Most just believed he was sick; some believed he was possessed. Cascadia's position did little to help his situation. Located far above the clouds, there was really very little keeping the suns rays at bay. So high up, the air was thin, and there was no shade. It was a marvel that so few died of stroke up here. The height itself was an issue in Zephyr's comfort as well. As he wandered, he wondered what exactly kept the city from crashing to the ground. Suspended hundreds of feet in the air, if the force suspending it were to falter, even for a second, it could cause devastation to the hovering city, he knew. He also wondered if anyone had thrown himself over the edge, leaving a body to bob and float down the swirling streams and pools far, far below. He needed somewhere cool. He needed somewhere to relax. And he wanted something to read. He had come to terms with himself, but now he wanted to learn. He no longer denied that he was no sun elf, but, if he wasn't an elf, what was he? He sighed, spotting a pale, grey-eyed man that seemed to have a noble composure to himself. Aristocracy, perhaps, he assumed, as he floated towards him. "Sir, a library, is there one near?" he blurted out as he approached, making no formal introduction. Eloquence was not a strong point of his. |
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| Tahamul | Sat Apr 24, 2010 10:00 pm Post #3 |
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Tahamul blinked. His nose, always the most sensitive after his transformation, caught a whiff of something unusual but could not place it. Like caramel - sweet and thick and almost, but not entirely dark. A mix of fragrances. A touch of dark and a dip of light. An elf, his eyes told him. His nose disagreed. There was nothing woodsy about this one. And his throat was so dry... so very dry... "There is a library. In fact, I am... on my..." involuntarily, the earl licked his lips (not precisely unusual, his lips were chapped and peeling albeit for reasons other than the heat - Cascadia's naturally high humidity would not help him) and to hide the gesture coughed politely into a fist, "...way there myself." "Would you like to accompany me?" He added graciously. While he'd spent a year in the sewers learning to control his vampiric impulses by not letting himself out, he'd spent the other twenty-four learning to be a noble. He had the poise, grace, and instinctive bearing of anyone born and educated in privilege. You shouldn't do this, his common sense whispered. You wouldn't normally. You shouldn't now. All true. The Third Earl of Tahamul would have brushed off a commoner, elven or otherwise, assuming assassination or some form of robbery. The current Tahamul had weathered a solitary existence where he could neither eat, drink or sleep. He was a changed person. And he would never ever drink blood. But speaking of things a noble would do, he started walking, the usual assumption of nobility was that the commoner would follow. The offer extended was merely perfunctory. Regardless of what the fair-skinned elf wanted, he was now accompanying Tahamul. "What are you interested in, precisely?" He did not introduce himself. A marked departure from usual etiquette but- Well. He wasn't Tahamul anymore either, was he? |
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| Zephyr | Wed Apr 28, 2010 11:23 pm Post #4 |
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"Elves," he replied casually. Zephyr was surprised by the noble's eagerness to socialize with him, and this may have been reflected by his contorted eyebrows. His impression of nobility so far had been a dour one. The aristocrats he had come across had been haughty and condescending. It didn't matter. This man seemed to be interested in the library just as he was, and he didn't appear to mind interacting with "commoners". Then again, Zephyr couldn't be sure that this man was of noble blood. Examining him more closely, he seemed sickly and malnourished in appearance, even feverish. His hair lacked color, while his eyes lacked vibrancy. They had the appearance of Death Himself. Perhaps he was homeless, but if this were the case, he certainly didn't hold the composure of a broken man, despite his unhealthy, hungry appearance. His deathly, gaunt appearance did nothing to detract from his elegance, from the idea that, since childhood, he had been raised and schooled to be a gentleman, a sophistiqué. Perhaps it was this proud air about him that kept Zephyr from entirely trusting Tahamul, or perhaps it was the hungry, supernatural gleam in his near-soulless eyes, failing to mask a primal blood lust that his civil, suave appearance hid so well. It was this slight unease that kept him from going into details with the man, that stuck him to a simple one-word response, while simultaneously lulling him into following at his heel. Zephyr sauntered along after him, quickly enough to match the other's stride. It was surprisingly difficult, as if the counterpart were gliding along the ground, hovering an inch above the hot street. |
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| Tahamul | Sat May 1, 2010 1:59 am Post #5 |
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Was... this elf not in fact an elf? Well, that was troubling. It was rather inelegant to mentally refer to it as the 'not-elf.' Perhaps it was adopted? Or its parents were new arrivals? There were presumably many who lived in cosmopolitan cities such as Cascadia that were interested in learning about their roots. Much like adopted children sought their blood parents - some vestigial, useless instinct. Banter. Right, he was supposed to be speaking. He had asked the question after all. "Elves? An interesting topic. Their craftsmanship is unparalleled - there are many goods available in Cascadia that are of elven origin... even fresh fruit, and not the magically preserved stuff either." Tahamul paused and mentally backtracked. Cursed. No noble would say 'stuff.' He'd been associating with riffraff in his quest for a cure to his 'condition' that he'd began taking up some of their mannerisms. Disgusting. "I presume you are seeking out your heritage? Pardon my presumption, it is not uncommon in this particular cultural nexus." There, better. That sounded more eccentric than anything else. Tahamul squinted involuntarily. The sun was still up. It might not singe his eyebrows off but the sweltering heat and the rays were still annoyances. Once upon a time it'd tan but these days it left red, angry patches of skin if he was outside for any extended period of time. And his throat was still parched. As he had thought initially: bad idea. Perhaps he was losing control - he wasn't changed so much as unconsciously creating opportunities to feed. The vampire clamped down on that thought. He would not allow himself the "Ah, we've arrived." And indeed they had. The library lay just ahead. |
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8:23 AM Jul 11

