Closed Unearthing The Past

[Velho]

༺༉❁ May 1st year 124 of the third age ❁༉༻
<notes>

Reflexive anger was something that Velho had come to see as a bit of a weakness, too; something he'd endeavored to iron out of himself over the course of his life. When he lashed out now, it was almost always a fully conscious choice. And in his eyes, striking a young Blighted for not being in control of their hunger would be like striking a leopard for having spots; unproductive nonsense. Most learned that control better, too, in environments where they themselves needn't be battling the fear of repercussions on top of their exigent hunger.

"Am I?" He'd ask as his hands fell away and Vivian stretched. "I think I'm simply being pragmatic, fair; whom would it serve to strike you?" Neither of them, in his mind.

As Vivian stepped out of the water, Velho followed suit, his movements almost mantis-like, but somewhat shaky compared to normal due to what they'd just done. The sight of the water almost made him blush, but at least he wouldn't have to worry about draining it. That bath was an elaborate feat of magical architecture and plumbing; through both Draoidh and Terra, those who helped build the tower managed to construct a false spring in a rock chamber they made and then embedded beneath the tree, within the lake. Perhaps excessive, but the Æld'Norai were known for being a bit overboard with their luxuries.

The Ferrier himself took the time to enjoy the soft texture of the towels as he dried off, pleasant as such was on his delicate skin. But when Vivian mentioned his predicament about clothing, Velho chuckled. "Tempting," he began. "I wouldn't be opposed to that when you're on this floor, but any of the lower ones and I'd prefer you blend in with the rest of the staff– maintain the verisimilitude that you are one of them, too, so people don't ask me too many questions."

He'd take a breath, pushing out Ashes in the process. "And to that, I'll have appropriate clothing provided for you in time. For now, at least, I did have what you were wearing cleaned. You can redress in that– or not, provided you don't get too near a staircase," he added with a short laugh at the end. "They're on top of the dresser I put the cocoon in front of, at the foot of the bed," he clarified.

Velho began to redress into what he had been wearing, as he'd not actually been wearing that particular outfit for very long before he'd taken it off. "But, if you'd like to look over those books, the library is on the third floor. We both ought to be decent for that, though, lest my staff become a bit more confused than I'd like them to be."

"I'm also not surprised to hear he was half decent– being your Domitor and all, he's certainly an experienced Rusalka himself; they're usually adept manipulators once they've lived long enough to get used to their condition," or even before, really. Many of those chosen to be converted were already good at such things prior, relying only upon mundane their skills and charisma.

As he answered Vivian's last question, he would guide the boy over to where his clothing had been left. "I run a funeral home, as well as a medical practice. A bit morbid, to some, to meld those two things together, but…I'm very good at both. The things Devorare allows for me to do with flesh border upon miraculous even to the many Draoidh within Ælheim," he paused. "That being said, most people think I weave some odd marriage of Malediction and Draoidh. And of course, that's not entirely untrue; I simply incorporate all three."

Continuing, "...and here's a fun secret: all of the notable Æld'Norai funeral directors who call themselves Ferriers are Blighted– Scourges, like me. I won't bore you with the history there, though-... unless you want to know." From the way he said that, it'd be obvious that he would be more than happy to share that tale.

"The point, though, is that Scourge allows us to connect and interact with the dead far easier than any other method devised by Mysticism." It was exceedingly rare that Velho was able to speak so freely about these things. He genuinely enjoyed talking about both his work and Blights, too, especially in the context of teaching somebody else.

If Vivian was dressed by the time he'd finished explaining this, Velho would move to collect the ornately carved cane he used– it had a lovely spider at the top, one carved of black star diopside, and a gnarled texture to the dark wood that composed the rest, inlaid with the glowing, Saol-touched veins one would expect to find in Ælheim sequoia wood. Once he had it in hand, he'd escort his lovely new fledgling down from the fourth floor and back to the third.

The general layout of the third floor was that it was an imperfect circle, built into the wide trunk of a tree; one half of it was dedicated to the kitchen and living quarters of what staff lived there full time, and the other half was a very well stocked personal library. The two halves were bisected by a hall in the middle– that same hall Vivian had scuttled into the day before, through the window at the end opposite to the stairs.

Once they entered the library, Vivian would note that the high ceiling allowed for a loft to have been erected, creating a room with split elevation and thus more room to shove shelves. It would come across as very packed, because while Velho could simply expand the room, he generally avoided doing that as he thought it was a pain. And thus, he was seeing how many shelves and books he could shove in here before he had to expand it.

The center of the room, however, had a large, heavy looking table and a few chairs. The table's surface was littered with open texts and notes; clearly Velho had been busy with something over the past days or weeks. "Wait there," he'd say, gesturing over to it. "I'll go fetch the volumes I think ought to be most relevant."

It would take him a few minutes to wander through the weaving shelves, haphazardly organized as they appeared to be. And yet, the Devorari moved with a purpose, as if he knew exactly where he was going. When he did return to Vivian at the table, he'd sit down, placing three books on the table.

Gesturing to them, "...this one is a compendium of invertebrates one can find in Ælheim, and this one relates to those that are more worldly– there's some overlap, but also some species that are unique to one or the other. The third is dedicated specifically to moths and butterflies, and has some things that neither of the other two do; I know you said worms, but maybe it was a caterpillar?" He wasn't quite sure, but these three, thick as they were, had to be a decent place to start.

"Take your pick and leaf through, let me know if you recognize anything," he'd add, his voice reassuring, his features patient. He didn't mind if it took a minute to find, either, as he had other things to look at– namely what he'd left open on the table before.

Though Vivian would be unable to read ælvish texts, he'd see that what Velho had been looking at contained myriad anatomical diagrams, tables, graphs, and so on– mostly pertaining to fae. Sidhe, to be more specific.

 

[Vivian Kreine]

​

"Cleaned? Shocked they didn't fall apart." Vivian joked, looking over his shoulder at Velho as he sauntered into the bedroom. Despite their lovemaking, he moved easily. He was used to having his body completely wracked out in bed, and kicked out just as quickly as he came. A whore who couldn't spring out of bed and make a swift exit was usually a dead one. Vivian snatched up his clothing and tugged his pants over his hips, shrugging the ratty coat over his shoulders. He had no shoes or shirt to speak of, and his pants were barely clinging to his hips as it were.

Vivian eyed the cane Velho grabbed. The question hadn't crossed his mind before, but it did now. Just how old was Velho? Certainly not that old. He would have made love in his youth, surely. He followed him downstairs, shrugging to himself. Hells, what did it matter if the man was twenty six or sixty? He was a good lay and was volunteering to help him. Worst case scenario he keeled over during sex and Vivian got to loot the place.

They entered the library, and Vivian perched himself on the edge of the table in the middle of the room. Velho must have been researching something; there were open books and papers everywhere. Nothing Vivian could read, but he glanced at them anyway out of sheer curiosity. There were a lot of diagrams, anatomy, of creatures that Vivian didn't recognize. Well, the man had said he specialized in the dead.

Vivian turned his attention to the books. Picture books, thank heavens, nothing he'd have to awkwardly squint at. The first he found easily, and tapped it. He turned the book around to Velho. "This was the first." He told him. A hammerhead worm, a brightly colored flatworm that preyed on earthworms. It was neurotoxic, excreting venom through the skin to paralyze its prey. The prey was swallowed alive, and dissolved in the animal's gut. They were hermaphroditic by nature, voracious predators.

Vivian flipped through to find the next. The Tiger leech, a beautiful striped worm that fell from trees to suck blood from its prey. They were fast, aggressive, and the wounds from their teeth were particularly difficult to heal. Vivian ran his fingers over the image. The leech had gotten stuck in his throat, made him choke and bleed. He'd had to bite it to get it down.

The last was a very familiar sight. The humble cat flea, which granted Vivian his golden chitinous armor and ferocious teeth in battle. "Such a little creature. But so fierce." Vivian chuckled, showing it to Velho.

​

 

[Velho]

<notes>

Velho waited patiently while Vivian leafed through the books, though it did not take that long for the young man to find what he'd apparently been feed. Two worms, and…a cat flea? What fascinating choices, those.

The old ælf squinted at the flea, but after he thought about it for a moment, scaling up the little insect's attributes onto a person would actually be rather useful. Their jumps were powerful, and one could never really run amiss using insect carapace as armor. In that regard, however, he thought that shiny black beetles were far prettier– perhaps vain, but function aside, if he had to make armor out of any insect it'd be a darkly colored beetle. Plus, he quite liked the antlers of stag beetles.

Still, as each of them were pointed out to him, Velho would read out their descriptions in turn– the tiger leech he needed to translate from ælvish, as it was from the one volume not in common. With this knowledge, however, Vivian would be more able to consciously utilize the abilities of his Imprints.

"Curious choices. I wonder after your Domitor's motivations behind each of those," he'd comment, voice holding a placid, hard to read tone.

"Further, though, do you see anything else in there you admire? If anything catches your eye, I wouldn't mind helping you procure a specimen to Imprint upon." Maybe this sounded generous, but frankly, if Vivian had a more fleshed out repertoire of Imprints, this only served to benefit both of them.

"We can even travel to collect them ourselves, if you'd like. I do need to get out more…" he trailed off.

Of late, he'd been taking on quite a few more cosmetic patients simply to fill his schedule with work. His repertoire of skills was vast and consummate within the field over which he held dominion, but when that dominion was death, one wasn't exactly swimming in work– the Æld'Norai were, after all, immortal, and to Fælnir, he was mighty expensive. So if he wanted more 'work,' generally that meant accepting more frivolous patients into his medical practice. Still, he didn't mind why a person showed up; he quite liked flesh sculpting.