[ Zerxus chooses one of the smaller boats - still an effort to row, but simple enough to steer - and leaps into it before offering a hand up to Kahl. ]
[ It may be the most casual he's ever sounded, as he demonstrates with the oars. He does, technically, have the strength and stamina to row the boat himself.
But then he settles back, keeping a hold on just one. ]
"Given that Asmodeus played you at least as easily as I played Usein Darre, I don't know if this is the the topic I want to take your advice on," Kahl points out.
His tone is offended, but it doesn't impact the gentle and steady pace of his rowing. "I did have a life before him. And a team that worked very well. Most of the time."
My family, were Patia's last words before she died. It's funny, the things you don't see until you've lost them.
"We called ourselves the Ring of Brass. Avalir - from the beginning it had the seven most powerful mages, and then their fourteen proteges. The Ring of Gold, and of Silver." Aimless bitterness seeps into his voice with that explanation, the sort that would have mellowed with time if so much of it hadn't been spent in Hell. "We had our own separate responsibilities, beneath all of that - Laerryn kept the city flying, and Nydas kept it funded. Patia and Loquatius controlled information, in different ways. Cerrit protected the city from itself, and I defended it from everything else."
All spheres of influence that intersected, at one point or another, and they took advantage of it.
"Between the six of us - we didn't always see eye to eye. We always knew we didn't tell each other everything. But we found ways to work towards the same thing. Even at the end."
A flying city run by a tiny arrogant circle makes him think of Sky, of course; a cold part of him wonders if it was such a bad thing, for it to come to ruin. But he doesn't interrupt Zerxus's grief.
It's the idea of a life he finds alluring, more than the people. He doesn't know how to speak about that.
Before he has to find something to say, though, they're at the lilies, firefly glimmers beginning to flicker.
Zerxus doesn't try to prod him one way or another with questions, though he's considering more details when he recognises the lilies, and his rowing begins to slow.
"We're here." His voice is soft, and he isn't quite looking up at Kahl, not yet. "Grab your cup."
Kahl leans over the side very dubiously, holding his cup delicately in his fingers, looking for all the world like a cat who does not want to touch the water.
As the glow brightens, too strong and golden to be the pale daystone glow of Sky, Kahl almost seems to cast himself in shadows, and more shadows, dark and stark in the eye-watering light, roll away from him, uncurling like vast tentacles, like paper shadow-puppets on a vast scale. The shape of a surging, coiling Kraken is illuminated through him and behind him, trailing into the water.
And in translucent wisps of golden light, there's a boy with a pointed, playful face Zerxus might or might not know from the barge, screaming and howling in silent rage and pain, as the dark tentacles drag him under the water, his hair floating around his head, the last bubbles of his breath escaping.
Kahl, focused on his cup, doesn't appear to see it at all.
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[In deference to your legs or whatever, he will walk. Also because he doesn't really know where they're going.]
What's the deal with this, anyway?
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[ The same way he'd use it in a resurrection ritual, or to purify certain wounds. ]
That part isn't difficult, we just have to be careful with it on the way back.
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[Have better taste, barge!]
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[This contemplation carries them down to the harbor.]
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Have you ever done this before?
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[He teleports into the boat, and puts a small white beach pebble in Zerxus's outstretched hand.
Is. Is that what you wanted?]
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Thank you. I just wasn't sure if you wanted to do that or not.
[ He is definitely pocketing the pebble before gesturing to the oars. ]
We've got to get a rhythm going - [ Is he a little bit too excited to explain how this works? Maybe. ]
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[He's not helping, but he is at least listening to Zerxus's explanation.]
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But then he settles back, keeping a hold on just one. ]
Do you think you can manage your half?
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But he does, grudgingly, take his oar and match Zerxus's pace.
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"You could, but this way we're working together."
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How much more does it matter?
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Kahl feels like he's being very reasonable about this.
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My family, were Patia's last words before she died. It's funny, the things you don't see until you've lost them.
"We called ourselves the Ring of Brass. Avalir - from the beginning it had the seven most powerful mages, and then their fourteen proteges. The Ring of Gold, and of Silver." Aimless bitterness seeps into his voice with that explanation, the sort that would have mellowed with time if so much of it hadn't been spent in Hell. "We had our own separate responsibilities, beneath all of that - Laerryn kept the city flying, and Nydas kept it funded. Patia and Loquatius controlled information, in different ways. Cerrit protected the city from itself, and I defended it from everything else."
All spheres of influence that intersected, at one point or another, and they took advantage of it.
"Between the six of us - we didn't always see eye to eye. We always knew we didn't tell each other everything. But we found ways to work towards the same thing. Even at the end."
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It's the idea of a life he finds alluring, more than the people. He doesn't know how to speak about that.
Before he has to find something to say, though, they're at the lilies, firefly glimmers beginning to flicker.
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"We're here." His voice is soft, and he isn't quite looking up at Kahl, not yet. "Grab your cup."
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As the glow brightens, too strong and golden to be the pale daystone glow of Sky, Kahl almost seems to cast himself in shadows, and more shadows, dark and stark in the eye-watering light, roll away from him, uncurling like vast tentacles, like paper shadow-puppets on a vast scale. The shape of a surging, coiling Kraken is illuminated through him and behind him, trailing into the water.
And in translucent wisps of golden light, there's a boy with a pointed, playful face Zerxus might or might not know from the barge, screaming and howling in silent rage and pain, as the dark tentacles drag him under the water, his hair floating around his head, the last bubbles of his breath escaping.
Kahl, focused on his cup, doesn't appear to see it at all.
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