“It's nice to have the gang back together again.” Micah's goofy grin and red cheeks said all there was to say about his current state. Tythas was about the same, though significantly more composed, or at least attempting to appear so. Brenn, on the other hand, was red down to his neck and standing uncomfortably straight, still in his armor despite the heat and the relative safety in the city. With four primus' walking about, among the people as they did only once every ten years, it was probably a bad idea to start too much of a ruckus.
“We're always together, Micah. Like... Always. What do you mean again?” Tythas slurred back at him, leaning on the only sober member of 'the boys' – Magnus. His heavy and muscular frame and lack of complain ensured Tythas would remain so. More drunk than he'd thought he'd been. It was the season of alcoholism, after all.
“Maybe he means together because Iscari is back?” Magnus proposed, slapping his hand on the shoulder of the prince. Iscari was starting to fill out and look a bit more adult, and he was made all the more handsome for it – drawing lascivious looks from men and women alike. Androgynous, incredibly beautiful, not just handsome. The prince of Varia had returned for one more semester after Tyr had departed, before going back home. Lessons with his father, he'd said, but he did visit with relative frequency. Always gone when something happened, though, which had most of them curious. He'd never answer that question, in any event, why he never seemed to be around when they really needed him. “But Tyr's not here, so we're not all together.”
“You're your own person.” Alex frowned. “You all are. Why do you keep bringing him up as if you've no identities or character of your own? Or are you aware that it hurts my feelings and do it on purpose?”
Magnus shrugged. “He's one of the boys. He'll always be one of us, you women wouldn't understand the bond we share.”
“He's an idiot, a piece of--”
“That's enough.” Iscari's voice was soft, but stern, enough to silence them all. “Your sex or gender or relationship is irrelevant, you will never understand a primus' duty. He sacrificed because he was made to, even if he wanted to leave – he only did what was right. You do not have the right to criticize him, wives or not, you'll never understand us.”
But that didn't mean he wasn't upset either, he'd called well over a hundred times and Tyr had ignored him. Even after the news that it was some sort of clandestine operation, something only Tyr was truly appropriate for given his position, the man had remained silent. He hoped to run into his oldest friend here at the trials. Ideally within the span of the three day intermission between rounds. While the independent teams in their own bracket sorted themselves to fill out a year with less teams than normal, necessary to match what was required.
Typically the empires would send five or six teams, but the attendance had sharply declined after news that Saint Lucian himself would be in participation. Passes given to the smaller countries in some form of reparation went wasted and unused, the Krieg was meant to secure five teams and they'd only brought one. The rest were just random people or guild sponsored teams who'd bought the auctioned passes, technically against the rules, but they needed the participants so it was allowed. The ascendancy trials weren't a game, they were sacred in the eyes of the church and it was important to see the slots filled.
“Yeah, yeah.” Alex glared, still as irascible as ever. Still their friend, too, and they all cared about one another. Save Iscari, they'd all fought together multiple times, even the arachne Iscari had sniffed out, nearly killing Ayla before finding Tyr's scent on her as well. Some kind of relationship existed between the two, but he hadn't asked for specifics. If Tyr wanted to lay with a monster... It wasn't Iscari's business, the woman was quite easy on the eyes in any case. For a woman.
“What's that?” Iscari cocked his head to the side. To most of the crowd, he was a giant, standing at near six foot eight inches tall. Tall enough to look even Samson in the eye, who they'd seen and spoken to for a brief moment, before learning that Tyr and the other primus' were nowhere to be found. Some mischief of his father, Iscari thought – probably involving drink.
“What's what?” Astrid asked, looking at him curiously. “Oh... Music? Do you like music, Iscari?”
“Aye, it's quite nice.” The merchant quarter and shopping district were flooded with people, but the side streets and other districts were not. Off the main path, the streets were just as wide, and a trickle of people were following the sound of plucked strings. A hard, almost violent, steely sound – somehow played in a tune that was the complete opposite. Soft and pleasant to the ear, passionate but incredibly sad. “Can we listen?”
“I'd never say no to checking out a talented musician.” Astrid smiled widely, looping her arm into his own and frowning when he pulled away from her and starting stalking forward.
Iscari didn't mean the music, he meant the thrumming. That smell of cedar and pine, the ozone that came just before lightning struck. A familiar scent. One that made his heartbeat quicken and his body sag in recognition of, a scent so perfect and whole that nature could never replicate it.
He separated from the group at a pace so brisk as to require them to jog to keep up with his long stride. Following the smell rather than the sound, finding a crowd assembled before the wide courtyard of an exaggeratedly large blacksmiths shop. Professor Valkan was there in the back, lazily stoking a forge with one hand and tracing runes in soft magicite chalk on a slab of metal with another. He nodded respectfully at them before returning to his work. Some distance away, a work table had been commandeered by a rough and rowdy group. A mix of two teams, by the looks of it.
Two of the beastkin from the Saorsan team were playing at a game of cards with Fennic and Mikhail, easily recognized was Samson, meticulously caring for a wicked black halberd pattered with intricate silver accents... Tiber was similarly caring for a beautiful azure bladed longsword with glazed and tired eyes, red cheeked and soft of smile to indicate the mug in front of him had been put to good use. The dark skinned woman and the orc from before were chatting animatedly behind them all like old friends. Most of them were from Tyr's team, except for the Saorsan's and a few others. Like the dwarf drumming his fingers and bobbing his head to the music, sticking his tongue out toward a little girl, smiling at her bubbling laughter. What appeared to be the girls parents as well, nursing their drinks and keeping a watchful eye on their daughter.
It looked like family, all of these people were intimately close with one another. More familiar than many nobles or highborn figures would allow, but there weren't many of those present.
Astrid saw Astal and Absolon, who were like uncles to her as well, chewing from thick chops of mutton and watching the show with the others. There were many people she knew here, but many she did not – waiting for Iscari to approach before doing the same. But he just stood there, arms crossed and wistful in his expression. If not for his long curtained bangs, she might have been convinced that he was... Weeping?
Sitting on the steps, a black haired and gray eyed westerner was playing alongside a masked man in black leathers – playing the same sort of instrument, though with a different build and ornamentation. Much to the delight of the crowd, who stared misty eyed at the energetic performance, standing on their tip toes and tossing coins onto the dirt. The masked stranger looked toward the westerner in silent askance, receiving a few hushed whispers and a shrug in return.
Something that sounded suspiciously like 'it's free money, man...'
Others arrived, pushing through the crowd and onto the pavilion. Kirk, who Alex had been familiar with some time ago was among them, the lumbering maxxid skirting around the crowd with a happy wave of his claws towards her. Or at least she thought so, it was hard to tell at times given his anatomy. That very well could have been some kind of curse to his people.
Another masked woman arrived, a woman by the shape of her, her mask quite similar to the man leading in the performance. Walking through the crowd and letting her hand rest on the mans shoulder before entering the pavilion and nodding to a few of the others, taking a solitary position at a table with a horn in hand. The masked stranger began to sing, then, with the plate worn on his face doing nothing to distort the words, a deep and haunting voice joined by the sing song tune of the westerner. Sounding very much like a man and a woman singing in duet.
Although they couldn't understand the words, people stared on in rapture at the beauty of it all.
A language of pure art, the western tongue. Aesthetically pleasing to their ears enough to make them uninterested in what the lyrics might mean. Alex didn't know their tongue either, but she shivered under the pressure of the performance, people were clapping in tune and celebrating. But to her, it was the saddest thing she'd ever heard in her life. Like a dirge played in the presence of watching a loved one die, a celebration of life and the peace that came after. That was supposed to come after.
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“Good gods, they've got a nice set of lungs between the two of them!” Gideon smiled widely at the performance, appearing from behind the others and making his daughter jump out of her skin. “That Daito is clearly the more experienced, but the one in the mask is a real talent.” He wrapped his arm around Asha who stepped forward to join him in the festivities. They fought on the same team, after all, so they were together for a longer period now than they had been in months. Maybe years. His wife pushed away from him with a haughty and offended look, but someone with careful eyes would catch the sight of their index fingers locking the hands of husband and wife. “Who is that?”
“I don't know.” Asha shrugged. “You're the one who insisted we come embarrass our daughter in front of her friends, and now you're concerned about some music?”
“Ah, how right!” Gideon crowed, grabbing Alex from behind and crushing her in a bear hug. Suddenly coming to realize his purpose here. “My beautiful daughter, how I've missed you! You never visit!”
“I call you every other day. I'm an adult now and you still act like this?” She winced, pulling away from him just as her mother had done. “Mother, father.” Alex gestured toward the others. “These are my friends, there's Tythas, and--”
“Oh pish.” Gideon waved her introductions away. “I'm an arbiter, I probably know more about them than they do about themselves. I have run background checks on all of my daughters associates.” He turned a steely and considerably less affectionate glare toward Brenn. “You must be Brennwulf.”
“Y-yes sir!” Brennwulf shouted, locking his knees and stomping on the ground, slamming his fist into his breastplate in an awkward salute. “It is a pleasure to meet such a well famed arbiter as yourself.”
“I don't think that's necessary...” Gideon had a mystified smirk on his face now. “We're from different kingdoms, you could just shake my hand, or...”
Introductions continued. Fortunately, there was only one paladin with them who worshiped the ground the arbiter walked on, the others gave their subdued 'hello's' and carried on watching.
When it came to 'her daughters', Asha became a completely different person. Glaring at the men as if they were piles of filth, while embracing both Sigi and Astrid with a bright smile on her face. Along with her husband, who crushed them all. Bowing respectfully to Iscari before departing to 'be about some business regarding the primus' – which assuredly meant Jartor, dragging his intoxicated self to somewhere more appropriate. The Goldmane's and the Faeron's had been close allies for generations, and they were the most loyal servants in the empire. Even when the primus did not ask, House Goldmane was known to display an initiative and familiarity that most houses wouldn't dare to. And in having the boldness to do so, it was no wonder that they were so favored.
Iscari ignored most of it, and nobody questioned that. He was not only incredibly charming by appearance and aura alone, but he was a primus. They were like that at times, rarely listening to the words of others, lost in their near alien process of thought. Sigi leaned close to him, the only one of them tall enough to speak toward his ear without a step ladder, sans Brenn – but she wore heeled boots this night, which certainly helped.
“Is that Tyr?” She whispered. “In the mask?”
The men strumming their instruments and the masked mans startlingly blue eyes boring into Iscari's own – clearly aware of his presence. They could be seas apart and still able to find one another, there was an instinct there. Something that might almost indicate that primus' were never meant to be apart, and yet they'd always remained separated except on rare occassions.
While he was loathe to lie to his friends, the near imperceptible shaking at the head spoke volumes as to wishes and wants. Tyr needed to be focused for the coming matches, he didn't need distractions. Iscari would always give him the benefit benefit of the doubt, he'd do anything for him whether it was in reason or not. He looked away from the scene before him. “Why do you ask?”
“It smells like him.” Sigi mumbled, observing for herself how she was so far away and still able to sense what the scent the man carried. Thus far, nothing like this had happened to her, it was bizarre. “Is it?”
“No.” Iscari lied. It was a strange thing, Tyr was so gray in spirit, not an evil man, but he had done things that certainly couldn't be considered good. And yet he was a god awful liar, pure as can be in the way he addressed people, his genuine nature on full display if one was willing to look deep enough. Iscari, however, was his fathers son. He doubted anyone was better than he at it, though he always claimed otherwise. Which was a lie, but so was his aspect. Hope was built on lies, propaganda, and all sorts of questionable things. There was no true purity in human emotions, requiring him to become good at politicking if he stood at chance at successfully leading Varia as its emperor one day. “It is not.”
“I see.” Sigi frowned in disappointment. “I would have liked to challenge him again, he's gotten much stronger. Not strong enough, though. He deserves a good whipping, makes me wonder how anyone can progress as slow as he had given all of his advantages.”
“Mmm...” Iscari nodded halfheartedly. "Things are so often not at all as they seem."
Turning away from the performance with a knot in his gut and moisture in his eyes. Not from sadness, but from the exact opposite. Tyr had found a family apart from them, and he knew they'd come together again one day. He had all the time in the world, and couldn't wait to hear Tyr share with him all his new talents and interests, and everything he'd done beside his new friends. Iscari just wished the man would talk to him, allow him to help in closer proximity, but that time would come. It had to, they were meant to be together, two sides of the same coin.
–
“That wasn't half bad.” Daito complimented Tyr with a clap to his shoulder that no longer managed to throw him off his feet, a sign of progress more visceral than anything that had come before. “Why the mask, though? Don't tell me you've developed an edgy 'mysterious stranger' persona. You know, I knew this kid when I was young, claimed he had the spirit of a dragon trapped inside of him and would growl at our classmates... I'd rather you not become that sort of person.”
People were clapping and laughing, heading to their temporary residences as the night began to grow darker and stretch into the witching hour. Most of the other members of their team were slouching in their chairs or already planted face first into the table. Jura's hand brushed his back affectionately, departing arm and arm with Nala, the two of them suddenly fast friends.
“Because I'm a coward.” Tyr replied softly. “I thought maybe, maybe I could do it – but seeing them all here together was too much. It's like... That arrogant part inside of me thought the whole world might freeze in time as I ran about. Or maybe there'd be a crack and a space left behind when I'd left. But there isn't, and I never deserved to feel that way in the first place. It bothers me how they moved on, I feel like we wouldn't know one another anymore. It's been years, at least for me.”
“So you won't apologize to them like a man because they all seem to be doing so well?” Daito asked. “It makes sense, I mean... Truly, I left Goroshi and his mother behind a decade ago and haven't spoken to my wife since. Granted, I have the excuse that it was a business transaction between clans to begin with, but you'll not hear a lecture about interpersonal relationships from me, man. Sometimes that gap gives people room to grow, ultimately it wasn't a traumatic or scarring experience. You didn't break them by departing, couldn't have. It's a good lesson to learn, everything is temporary. But...”
“But I'm also simultaneously showcasing my arrogance by speaking about it like that?” Tyr asked.
“I guess, in a way. There is arrogance that can be good, feed ambition, but that part of you is wretched and self deprecating, like a man grown from a boyhood spent bullied. They are all young adults now, and you were nothing more than a temporary moment in their lives. That old mantra about dying a hero or living long enough to become a villain is more real than some might think. Time exacerbates our faults to all observers, it's best to be the man everyone likes to see because you're rarely around than that drunk uncle who's always been there. That's not a metaphor of some kind, that's real life. We are all flawed, each and every one of us, staying around too long simply ensures those jagged edges of ours cuts the ones we care about.”
What he was saying, essentially, is that Tyr's fear and shame came from a place where he thought he was more important than he was, which was valid. But at the same time, he was saying the exact opposite by the sounds of it...?
“So I shouldn't face them?”
“I don't give a shit what you do.” Daito replied sardonically. “This isn't some big conflict or trial, to me it's such a little and insignificant thing. Petty triviality that only the youthful such as yourself feel in any measure. I had a similar conversation with my own adoptive father and he laughed at me, too. There's not a noose around your neck, neither is there one around theirs, they do not need you – and you need to understand that. Either face your shame and be better for it, or let it eat away at you. Or, what I would do – just forget about it. Keep on living, your life is for you and you alone, nobody can tell anybody else what to do.”
“...Forget about it?”
“Yes.” Daito nodded. “Who really cares? For some reason, your bizarre nature and misunderstanding bred from your headstrong and brash behavior pulls people to you. Like a magnet, they see it as charisma, when in reality you're just laconic and overly aggressive. A berserk man who charges headlong the incoming enemy can be seen as a hero, or you can observe the fact that he felt no fear in the first place and therefore he couldn't be one. Incredibly sage, wise words of wisdom from your glorious and handsome master.”
“You're not my master.” Tyr frowned. “Just a rather irritating mentor, I think, and like everyone else you make absolutely no sense at all.”
“A big brother figure works just as well.” Daito laughed heartily, pulling a chalky blue stick and tugging on it, igniting it with his thumb. He offered one to Tyr, shrugging when the younger man refused again. His vices had overcome him once, and now Tyr seemed almost bored with them rather than truly overcoming the addiction. “I'm going to swing by an alehouse and grab a shiner before heading back to the estate. Join me?”
“Not tonight.” Tyr replied with a shake of his head, an odd calm settling over his features. “I have something I need to do.”
“Don't kill anyone.” Daito snorted.
“No promises, old man.”