Cirine woke from a fitful sleep to the sound of pounding on her door. At first she attempted to ignore the noise but as the pounding on the door increased in volume it began to sync with the pounding behind her eyes and she knew there was no chance of falling back asleep with the hangover that was brewing in her head. Calling out to the person pounding on the door she crassly informed them of where she believed their first would be of more use and demanded "a fucking minute for a young lady to get dressed in peace.”
Well at least that shut them up Cirine thought as she put on a night smock, shifting piles of open books, notepads, and sketching slates from her bed to the floor making room for her to reach the edge of her large fungal mat bed. Rubbing the bridge of her nose she grabbed her glyph pen off the small table next to her and uncapped the fireheart fragment in the tip of its silver length, both to light the dark room and also to protect herself should the unwanted intruder prove to not be the friendly sort.
As the light spilled from the glyph pen it lit her room with the brightness of a small candle, the sliver of fireheart was no larger than a candle flame after all and revealed the chaos that was left over from the night before. Her experiments cluttered the small table pressed into the dark corner of the room, piles of shavings taken from the firecages of leviathans small and large, small boxes containing fireheart slivers, each dated and catalogued precisely by species, size, and hue. Small porcelain preservative jars filled with a multitude of solvents each labeled and expertly sealed with wax. And above all else books. Piled on the corners of her bed, strewn open in circles around pillows on the floor, even stacked in leaning towers between items on the desk, books dominated her room.
Against the far wall two heavy black woolen curtains were drawn and latched over the two small wooden framed windows in the brick wall above her bed, giving no hint as to the time of day outside. A wash basin and chamber pot occupied one corner of the room, the other two were taken up by simple wooden wardrobes while the center of the room was dominated by an old fireheart furnace.
By far one of the most pleasant inns she had found herself visiting in many years she thought as she stumbled to her makeshift desk and uncorked a small porcelain solvent. Working off muscle memory and instinct she began expertly portioning ingredients from various piles into a small bone kettle that she unearthed from a pile of books and loose papers that had accumulated on the sturdy wooden stool that stood before the table.
3.4 Hair (1.5 g) iron flakes for heat.
2.2 Hair (.97 g) dried leviathan blood of at least Prince purity.
6.5 Hair (2.87 g) of any purity firecage shavings.
10 Hair (4.4 g) dried powdered vaccie root. (Best if aged at least 5 years)
15 Drops (.75 ml) of her own blood. (Like most essence pills, the remedy would only have effect on the one who's blood made the base)
3 Blood (13.5 ml) firestone Alkahest. (Cirine donned thick hide gloves while pouring the Alkahest. Taking care to not spill a single drop of the incredibly precious and dangerous liquid.)
Her hands moved deftly as she prepared the solution. She had no need for formulas or measuring devices as she worked from decades of experience. Even in her exhausted pained state she was still confident of the accuracy of what she created.
As soon as the Alkahest was added to the solution the kettle started smoking and giving of a sound like deep ice cracking. Taking care to reseal and place the Alkahest on a relatively clear portion of her table she swiftly removed the gloves and took her glyph pen off the pile of books where it had been lighting her work.
The silver rod sizzled as it plunged into the liquid, giving off a black curl of smoke as the Alkahest attempted in vain to dissolve the silver it was made with, plunging the room into darkness, only lit by the soft gold glow that rose from the kettle.
With practiced movements she began to stir the kettle in small figure eights with the fireheart sliver on the end of her glyph pen. The fireheart reacted with the solution causing sparks and bubbles to form as the dissolving iron shavings heated to molten white at the touch of the fireheart.
As soon as the elixir boiled thoroughly, she removed the pen and waited for the liquid to cool. Most of those who practiced the art of crafting elixirs would pour off the solution into pill molds at this point and wait for the elixir to harden before consuming it.
Cirine lifted the kettle and poured a shot of what looked like glowing molten gold down her throat.
Almost immediately the dry ache behind her eyes subsided and was replaced by a mild euphoria. Releasing a long breath, she exhaled a cloud of golden fog, picking up her pen in one hand and carrying the kettle in the other as she walked to the fireheart furnace in the center of the room.
"Truly one of the greater injustices in the world. Any glyph that fixes hangovers also "fixes" my ability to get drunk." Said Cirine to no one in particular. "In fact!" She exclaimed stopping to take another gulp of the golden liquid "I think it's wholly unfair, don't you Hasp?" The last word was a breathy word that seemed to come entirely from the front of the mouth but was accompanied by a deep rumble that seemed to originate in her chest causing her whole body to vibrate. The vibrations moved down her legs and through her feet to the wooden floor and were intense enough to rattle the large fireheart furnace in front of her.
"Whoops, inkeep isn't going to like that one is she?" Cirine said as she took a handful of iron shavings and sprinkled them through the furnace grate causing the ancient nearly dead fireheart suspended in the bone furnace to give off a low light and produce enough heat to keep the morning chill at bay.
"You know? I actually don't mind there not being a glyph for this." She said draining the last of the elixir that had already started to turn into a sludge like white substance that would have eventually hardened into a light gold pill. The effects of the elixir were in full effect now, but the euphoria had already started to lessen leaving her in a sour mood, much less than a few minutes past, but still sour.
Taking a moment to enjoy the small luxuries she had grown accustomed to while in this town she walked to the basin and tried to rouse herself with the chilled water that poured from a stone tap set in the wall.
The pounding resumed on her door, sounding rather insistent and immediately ruined the good mood she had been working so hard on. "Just a moment if you would please man! Or would you burst in the chambers of a young woman dressing herself?" Cirine yelled to the door. Checking herself in the polished brass mirror that hung over her water basin she attempted to put on a presentable face. That having failed she quickly went to work with a brush trying to convince her bushy brown hair to come to some sort of agreement.
Several broken bristles and a drop or two of krin seed oil later she had dark brown hair that fell in glossy sheets to her shoulders. Reddening her lips with a touch of colored oils and straightening her smock to come down between her breasts she confidently strode to the door with glyph pen in hand. Only thinking as she opened the door to put the hand with the pen behind her back as to not frighten whomever was beyond the door.
The door opened to bright sunlight which immediately made Cirine regret leaving her bed as her eyes seared and throbbed reminding her of her night before. "What do you want?" Cirine barked at the vaguely man shaped blur that was all her sun shocked eyes could see through the doorway.
"Y-y-you were suposto speak at the academy today!" Yelped a young man with dusky colored skin and dark hair of maybe 15 years who was indeed wearing academic robes. "The professor said the class would wait an hour for me to find you and return. It has already been forty minutes." He had a deep resonant voice that sounded years beyond how old his face looked even if it did crack as he spoke. His pale blue eyes kept shifting to her exposed breast and hip then quickly back to her face as if a child stealing sweets in pain view, knowing that he was being caught but too tempted by the treats to ever consider stopping.
Cirine couldn't help but be amused by the way she saw men look at her here in these lands where women lived so wrapped up the sight of an ankle is considered risqué. In her village clothing was optional but when it was worn it was used to embellish the beauty of the body beneath it, not hide it.
Eyes adjusted to the bright day outside and head seeming much subdued in her amusement she chuckled at the boy and waved him in. He entered hesitantly, closing the door behind him as he nervously looked around the messy dark room.
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Cirine spoke with a husky teasing tone that she was sure would get her anything in the world from this young man in front of her. "The way I see it is I have to get changed and I have to ask you some questions, if I were to do them separately I might be even more late." By this point she had already pressed the glyph pen into his surprised hands. Walking towards the wardrobe she had begun to untie the waist wrap of the smock tied at her hip. As she dropped the band to the ground, she said over her shoulder with a half hidden smirk "Or is that too embarrassing for you?"
As if snapped out of a spell the boy responded as quickly as he could "ThatWouldBePerfectlyFine! You know I was trained for battle with a grown leviathan so I think I can handle..." His story was cut short by a finger pressed against his lips.
"Let me change then we can talk on the way there." Cirine said with a knowing smile. "I would love to hear all about how strong you are and all the battles you've won." She said playing with his jet-black hair with her free hand as she unlaced the two knots at her waist pulling her smock aside and onto the floor beside her. "But first I need to find something to wear to this presentation."
At this point the boy’s face was firefern red in the flickering light of the glyph pen and Cirine was having a blast. Nothing feels quite like the undivided attention of lust she thought as she took her time slowly getting dressed in front of her wardrobe.
She gave the poor boy a moment to recover after she "dropped" a hat in front of him and "had" to bend down away from him to pick it up. But as soon as his color returned, she began to question him about the engagement that she must have agreed to one of the nights she had been out drinking. To his merit the boy really did manage to put most of his sentences together correctly and even tried to maintain eye contact when she spoke to him.
Apparently, she had agreed to share her knowledge of the seven principle materials with the class of a professor that she had, go figure, met while drinking. She also learned that the Rola city academy was considered the greatest repository of arcane and leviathan knowledge this side of the lake-sea. And yet they taught of only 5 principal materials. The obvious juxtaposition consumed her thoughts as she finished dressing, having the boy she now knew as Tomaim lace up the side of her dress. She took a quick look at herself in the mirror.
Dark green eyes covered in thin intricate lines of branded flesh starred back at her. Those eyes looked amused yet intense. The eyes of a condemned woman who could still laugh at her own plight. Those eyes found themselves in the heart shaped face of a young woman barely still in her teens. Short of stature but commanding of presence Cirine Sky Lord found herself almost accustomed to the face that looked back at her. Thin red lines of branded flesh led from the corners of her mouth and eyes to a cluster of intended glyphs that formed a circle around each of her temples. Each mark held dormant power that would activate whenever she was casting. One enabled her to see clearly for miles even on the cloudiest of nights. Another strengthened her jaw so she could bite through enemy armor and bone alike. These were just two of the ten intended glyphs she had marked around each of her temples. A small part of the whole canvas of brands that covered her body. Worried for a moment Cirine turned to Tomaim and asked in what was maybe a little too leading of a tone "Tomaim am I pretty? Even with all these scars?"
Impressively he held his ground much longer then Cirine had expected him to, taking time to look over her head to toe before saying anything. He took in her dark silky hair spilling around her pale heart-shaped face, her stunning black woolen dress that exposed all the right side of her body from ankle to shoulder aside from a leather belt that crossed over her hip on the right side. Not wanting to miss his opportunity he took a step closer, holding the glyph pen less than an arm's reach from her as he slowly walked around her. Gone was the blushing boy who stole glances and in his place was a man appraising every detail of her person, looking intimately with a critical eye he somehow raised a blush in Cirine she didn't know she had.
Emboldened by the blush, not shying away from his task at hand he closed the final step between them as he began running his fingers along the streams and straps of her dress as if looking for any fault or flaw he could find. After the dress passed his inspection his fingers began to wander to her skin. At first, he just traced the brands that crossed over her exposed shoulder, fingers ever so lightly tracing the lines from one set of glyphs to next, but soon his hand began to wander tracing the lines of seared flesh up her neck and across her face.
A ragged breathy gasp, that she didn't realize had been growing in her chest, burst from her mouth as she felt Tomaim’s other hand slip in her dress from the side reaching toward her womanhood. She firmly grasped both of his wrists and stepped back while holding them in front of him. She was more than half a foot shorter than him but at this moment with nothing more than his hands in hers and a quiet reproachful look she held complete control over him.
Tomaim looked quietly to his feet already hunching his shoulders to fend off the scolding and yelling that he was certain was coming his way. Cirine took a deep steadying breath, composed herself, and began packing the leather tote that lay on the ground next to her desk. Several heavy moments passed before Tomain spoke.
"I'm sorry. I just wanted to show you how wrong you were for even questioning yourself. I wanted to show you how I saw you. I wanted you to know you were the most beautiful, entrancing, woman I've ever met." He paused for a moment seeming to struggle with what to say as she continued her packing. "You know my mother was branded too. Not nearly as many as you have. I've never seen that many brands on a person before. But still my mother has had them my whole life, the older girls at the academy have already started earning their brands too. And look!" He nearly shouted as he parted his robes showing the single brand line that crossed his chest and spread down his four limbs.
Taking a moment to look at the brand work she noted that while the brand seemed to be very crude in origin and calligraphy it was still a powerful endurance brand that would provide strength and durability to whomever wore it, considerably less whenever not casting, but still enough to make this young man much stronger than he looked.
Finished packing her bag Cirine stepped up to the confused and hurt looking young man that she invited into her room and held out her hand for the glyph pen that he still held. He reluctantly gave it to her accepting the silent treatment that she gave him knowing that he deserved it. She took the pen from his hands and quickly covered the fireheart fragment with its cap plunging the room into darkness again.
Immediately Tomaims senses were overwhelmed by the smells, tastes, and tactile sensations that assaulted him. The taste of old wine, hot musk, and sweet lip balm invaded his mouth felt smooth lips press and part against his, a foreign tongue exploring his mouth as he breathed deeply through his nose filling him mind with the smell of her. She smelled like a woman should, sweaty and sweet, flowery and musky, with a hint of something he couldn't place and was too preoccupied currently to try.
Again, Tomain let his mind and hands wander as he fell deeper and deeper into this pitch-black kiss. He began by tracing the muscles of her back with one hand as the other lifted her leg around his waist and explored the area close at hand. This time Cirine did not hesitate or pull back, instead she entwined her hands in his thick hair and pulled his body closer to her with her leg around him. Letting ragged breaths escape from between their lips the kiss lasted less than ten seconds but felt like much longer to both parties lost in the moment.
Tomain was so lost in the sensation and pleasure of the moment he didn't realize it was over until he felt his wrist being firmly pulled from where it had strayed too far between her legs. But even as she pulled her soft lips away from his he still rejoiced in her closeness to him and her not removing his other hand from her breast seemingly ok with that show of affection.
Both of their ragged breaths filled the scene for a moment before Cirine spoke. "You didn't need to apologize Tomaim." She said in a content voice. "It is me who should have apologized to you. Bringing you in here and teasing you like a boy. Not recognizing the man you had already become." As she was talking, she braided together the fingers of her hand with the one she had just removed from her dress, drawing little swirls in the back of his hair with her other hand, leg still wrapped comfortably around his hip. He found himself tracing the contours of her bare hip, focusing mainly on the part that if he brushed just right sent shivers through her entire body.
"But then what did I do wrong? Why did you pull me away from you twice?" Tomaim asked as he leaned down and began kissing lightly along her neck, paying attention to how every part of her reacted to his touch.
Thoughts broken by a low moan she tried to collect herself enough to say at least one of the quips she had been saving for this moment. Oh gods, it was easy to forget that not much more than a youth sat before her in the dark. Especially when he spoke in that low rough voice so full of need, running his strong calloused hands over her breasts like he was doing now. She tried to think of the quip she had prepared earlier and after the third time she forgot what she was saying, mind to muddled by wandering hands and lips, she just said what came to mind. "Didn't your mother ever tell you to knock before coming in?"
Instantly the room was dead silent as both parties took a moment to process what she had just said. Hearing Tomaim shift his arm she reacted quickly. "I swear if you knock on me, I will never speak to you again." She heard his arm quietly lower, somehow sounding dejected even in that small movement.
Sighing and unwrapping herself from him she walked over to her bed and opened a curtain letting daylight permeate the room. "What I meant to say was would you enter my home without knocking? It was intended to sound wise and sexy. But as it were, I couldn't quite focus at the time." She said while digging through the books on her bed for the one she would need. Looking back up at him smiling like a little kid made the age gap feel as expansive as any ravine.
"So, you're saying that all that was stopping us was me asking permission?" He asked in that particular way men had of taking what you just said and saying it back in the worst way possible.
"No. It's much more then permission." Cirine attested, "Its consent. I am not permitting you to touch me like a schoolteacher permits you to go to the restroom or a guard permits your entry into the city. I am giving my consent from equal footing. Remember that next time." She commanded as she put the last book in her satchel and placed it over her shoulder.
"Next time?" Asked a stunned Tomaim.
"Next time." She whispered as she passed him on the way to the door. Grabbing her bone stave from where it leaned against the bed. Stopping in the now open doorway she turned and smiled.
"Well aren't you going to lead me there? I'm afraid I've never been to the academy in this city before." She said in a playful manner.
Snapping out of what he was sure wouldn't be the last time his brain stopped working on him today he hurried out the door and began the process of leading them down larger and larger roads as they approached the inner city.
"So, what can you tell me about this professor I will be speaking to today?" Said Cirine smiling, deciding she had enough things to be happy about with a day as nice as this.
"Well fist to note that he is the city governor." He said with a suspiciously straight face.
"Oh, I hate working with city royalty." She said with some spite. "Every single one is a pompous good for nothing who sits on an inherited throne boning their cousins and sisters while honest people doing honest work would rather have their heads off then deal with all the rules they pass down."
Tomaim made a sound similar to a choking toad and turned about the same shade of green.
"What did I say? Are you not allowed to criticize city royalty in Rola?" Asked a concerned Cirine in a hushed voice.
"No, I wouldn't quite say that's that problem." He replied keeping his unhealthy hue.
Stopping he turned to her and despite the emptiness of the alleyway around them nearly whispered "He's my father."
"Oh, oh shit."