Keith didn't know what it felt like to feel anymore.
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The strangest feeling settled somewhere deep in Jonah’s chest as he grew accustomed to the world he’d suddenly been thrust into. At first there was confusion — then fear. But August’s company and guidance quickly eased all of it with relative ease. For whatever reason, although August was a complete stranger, Jonah felt… comfortable with him. Perhaps it was somewhat due to the strange resemblance they had, which Jonah discovered while peering into his reflection in a nearby pond with August by his side.
August laughed in the gentle way Jonah had come to know. “It appears as if we may have been twins,” he commented. It it weren’t for Jonah’s clothing and hair, they may have been mistaken as relatives. August continued, “funny thing too. I had a brother once, long ago. You remind me a lot of him.” A brother. The word stuck in his mind for some reason. A part of him was curious as to what happened to this brother of his, but… judging by August’s diction, it might have been better not to inquire about his had-been brother. It might’ve been a sore topic, and the last thing Jonah wanted was to displease his kind host. He’d been so generous to him, Jonah hardly had any idea what to do. All the chores were taken care of in mysterious ways, for he’d never seen August actually do them… so he presumed something akin to magic was going on here. And when questioned about it, August laughed and nodded, confirming his suspicions. “You’re quite right. I do know magic. Mostly white magic — I’m something of a healer. But I do know some other utilities aside from regeneration and whatnot.” August pursed his lips a little, coming to an idea. “Actually, I think it’s about time you take up a job as well. You’ll be able to safely explore and take on jobs of your own — and I’m sure you must be bored reading books all day. My library isn’t that impressive, after all.” Jonah begged to differ, honestly. He could sit down with a good book for the rest of his life, provided it had enough pages to last that long. But getting a job seemed like a good idea, since he did want to help out as much as he could in some attempt to repay his host. Thus, Jonah left to join the magician’s guild, and proved to be quite the potentially powerful spellcaster — that was, if he could get a better grip on his control. He was clumsy at best and barely made it through training in one piece, but nevertheless he survived, and once he exited the guild hall after his graduation, he felt a sigh of relief escape him. His new hooded cape and staff were barely any compensation for the kind of trouble he went through to obtain them, but either way he figured he ought to grab a bite to eat before heading back to August’s. He made his way to the tavern, albeit tentatively. Unfamiliar crowds like the one occupying the tables now intimidated him a little. Except — oh. Oh. He caught sight of a fair-haired boy talking up another (short) kid with green eyes. He didn’t care much for the latter, instead finding his gaze glued to the former. Come to think of it, hadn’t he seen him before from training? He was… Trace. The precocious wizard-to-be who as brilliant but often in trouble with the elders for doing ridiculous things, like trying to be a human windmill, beating up his fellow students with his big stick… the list went on. Jonah smiled, glad to see a somewhat familiar face. There was always something that drew him to Trace for whatever reason. It could’ve been his infectious smile, maybe, which Trace seemed to have plenty of. Jonah picked a table not too far from Trace and his pal after ordering his food, sipping on a glass of water while he waited. Time passed slowly for the witch. It always seemed that way when every day in the woods, alone in her modest but ornate tree cottage, she spent her time idly, doing whatever she pleased in the comfort of her solitude— day after day. First the morning came with the gradual rising of the sun, light filtering through the leaves above her home. She did not like the sun very much. No— correction. She did not like the sun at all. She considered herself nocturnal, if anything, preferring to rise with the owls as the sun sank underneath the horizon, but her sleeping schedule was far too erratic for that to be the proper term. In fact, she usually slept very little— usually opting to read, write, experiment, or otherwise fiddle around. Outside of her short, infrequent naps of course. Even so, despite the rumors passed amongst the city folk (usually about how she eats naughty kids or something like that,) mornings were usually the time visitors travelled to her home in the woods, seeking out her services— whether it be commissioning some sort of concoction (aphrodisiacs— poisons— she preferred the illegal sorts,) asking for a fortune, or whatever else she was apparently well-known for. The afternoons, she preferred to nap in the branches of her tree, with her fox companion (usually) not far from her. She loved the quiet of the forest, the gentle wind, the smell of grass wafting along with it, and the hum of life which was a lullaby to her ears. Meanwhile her evenings were spent collecting various materials for her own more or less nefarious purposes, taking her to the far reaches of the forest for fae wings, dog teeth, amanita extract— whatever she found. And she would take these, place them in jars, bottles, parcels, and hang them from the branches of her tree.
This was probably one of the reasons she found a good number of her ingredients missing. Usually her bones. Such thefts could be almost always attributed to a certain swamp-dwelling priest who Malistra had the displeasure of knowing. She'd been watching over the young man for quite a long time, and yet, even so... he was always a bit of a mystery to her. Not that she tried to unravel him. Mal preferred to keep out of others' business. But she remembered, years— no, centuries ago— when the priest was first abandoned in the marshes in his infancy. She never really intervened directly, but she did her part to make sure the serpents did not get to him, or any of the other less-than-friendly inhabitants of the wetlands. Nevertheless, she seemed to have unintentionally endeared herself to the swamp prince Chiwen. And that meant she would always be in short supply of bones. Recently, however, she felt a strangeness in the air that she couldn't quite put her finger on. News from the cities came by rarely to her, and she usually cared very little about the insignificant lives of those filthy, short-lived humans, but sometimes tidbits of information piqued her interest. She had a keen sense of fate, and regardless of whether or not she gave a shit, she could feel the threads tighten and slacken beyond her control— and she noticed a few snapped unexpectedly not long ago. But more important where the threads that were now inseparably tangled. She had no idea how long ago it was when Chiwen last sent her a message. Something about taking care of the swamp, leaving on some kind of journey— something like that. She found this to be incredibly odd for the priest, who spent the vast majority of his life in near constant solitude, with only herself (sort of) and the marsh life as his constant companions. Not that it was any of her business, of course. But she figured it couldn’t possibly hurt to have her familiar check on him— just to make sure Chiwen wasn’t dead, or dying, or trapped in the stocks, or otherwise being a severe inconvenience. And now, to receive news of his return— and with a strange man in tow, no doubt— well. Mal felt a distinct sense of… something. Something she didn’t understand. It was a feeling somewhere between annoyance and concern, except it made her want to throw a couple rocks at Chiwen’s head for being such a dunce and bringing strange people into their sacred land— and also, she had to wonder exactly how and why her fox came back to her in such poor condition. It was annoying. Nate was hardy, but he wasn’t immortal, and frankly, only she had permission to do those sorts of things to him. So Mal promptly sent a message over to the priest and his… human. Summoning them to her immediately. When she heard the knock on her door, she opened it just a little, to examine the unfamiliar male from the comfort of her shadows. “Chiwen,” she started, opening the door just a crack more. “He smells strange.” |
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