A Nice Cup of Tea [Lydia/PM for Entry]

[Bryn]

The Horse's Head Inn was an establishment on the roads in between the Etrurian castle city of Taras and the various small settlements of Sacae. Initially perhaps it had been a simple way-station but frequent military action had invigorated this location; rather than being deprived of patrons this small inn had grown larger and more accommodating to the almost seasonal flux of soldiers and refugees that passed through this area.

It was on the front door of this roadhouse that Bryn found himself nursing a bit of a headache and gazing at the loud interior of the room in an exasperated manner. He hadn't planned to make a stop at this particular abode but the cloudy sky had closed in on itself and turned black, releasing at first a light sprinkle of water before unleashing a torrent that quickly attempted to soak through his mantle down to the bone.

This inn was big by his standards and yet still considerably full. There were several long oaken tables standing boldly in the center of the room filled to capacity with large men wearing outfits of a similar design, all loudly joking and belching and throwing the occasional swat at the barmaid's posterior. To the right past the head of the tables lay the bar, filled with an assortment of folk most likely friends of the owner or at least dear friends with the brew he guarded. To the left lay several small round tables. Various types loitered at those tables, but the vast majority seemed to be simple folk, trying to pass through the area. Most of the tables were centered around a large fireplace that kept the room warm despite the deluge of water still pitter-patting on the back of Bryn's cloak.

That was the place to be then. Bryn took his first real steps inside the establishment and briefly shook his body in place to get any lingering pools of water off of him before dropping the hood of his mantle and made his way to one of the few still open tables. He sat down on the wooden chair and then brushed his mantle back, letting it lay behind his chair rather than underneath his still-dry trousers. Thus comfortably settled he raised his arm at an approaching barmaid.

"Yes, hello. Could I pay for whatever meal you're currently serving and then a place to sleep for the night? An actual room would be preferable."

Bryn spared a glance at the two tables and wondered if they were mercenaries, civilized brigands, or perhaps a part of some country's militia. In any case, he'd rather not have to share the common room with them. Bringing his attention back to his server Bryn brought some gold coins out from a pouch at his side and then rummaged very briefly in a leather bag at his side, eventually revealing a copper teakettle topped with a large wooden handle.

"Also, could I bother your cook enough to fill this up with boiling water? I'll pay the proper price for a kettle of tea, obviously."

After receiving an affirmative from the woman and briefly watching her navigate through the crowded room, Bryn brought his elbows down on top of the table and clasped his hands in front of his face. His eyes roamed this way and that across the crowd of people as he began to amusing himself with people-watching.

[Lydia]

The sky opened forth, hurling down huge droplets that stung almost like tiny needles, sheets of rain soaking the ground and saturating the dark, heavy cloak that seemed to bob along the road alone. Indeed, Lydia was huddled so far within the fabric that it seemed she was not even there, such were the measures she took to try and stay dry. Alas, they were all useless, as the cold, thick rain chilled her to her core. She’d intended to be much farther along… She would have to stop. It was useless to try and continue in such a storm.

The tavern and inn near the roadside drew her in, and she opened the door, slipping inside and moving to the nearest fireplace, taking her outer cloak off and laying it as close to the fire as she could without it being in the flames. Her cloak was, in fact, flame retardant, but she wasn’t going to risk destroying it. As the cloak began to dry, she huddled up next to the fire, sitting upon the hearth and holding her arms and back to the flames to try and dry them. She rapidly discovered that this too was unsatisfactory, and pulled the shirt off, laying it to dry as well, leaving her wearing her light, sleeveless shirt, a miraculously dry purple scarf, and her dark pants, which she was drying by jamming her legs right up against the grate on the fireplace.

Her wet hair hung down, long, blonde, and dripping, in a wind-swept mess, over her chest and her back, occasionally voiding rivulets of water or droplets upon the hot bricks. The pale skin of her arms was lined and etched with red and pink, long scars and slash marks all in various stages of healing. Normally, Lydia would be extremely self-conscious, but right now she was freakishly cold and needed to warm up. Hiding the marks of her struggles would come once she was dryer.

In the meantime, the Pupil opened her waterproof satchel and withdrew her tome, opening it and studying as she sat by the fire. She had been trying to master a concept, a section of theory she had begun to work on in days prior, and was still some ways from fully understanding it. Until she grasped it at the core, she would be unable of using it, bringing it to bear in battle.

[Bryn]

Bryn had just gotten board observing a mothers's efforts to keep her boy from spilling his hot bowl of stew down the front of his tunic when the steady hiss of raindrops announced the tavern had just received another guest. He supposed that for the proprietor, such horrendous weather might be more beneficial than a clear sky. It was a queer thought, and one Bryn put out of his head as his eyes focused on the new arrival.

The cloaked figure appeared to take no notice of the room itself save for the warm fire on the far wall. Instantly Byrn was glad he hadn't been as late on his arrival as this seemingly chilled to the bone individual. He raised an eyebrow though, as suddenly 'it' became a young lady whom laid her cloak out and began to get herself situated as close as possible to the fire without catching herself on fire. He turned his head briefly to the front door for a moment, affirming she had entered alone. Curious.

Bryn was halfway out of his seat before noticing the barmaid he had called walking his way carrying a wooden bowl in one arm and carefully lugging his kettle in the other. Chagrined, he sat back down and allowed his food to be brought to him, thanking the waitress offhandedly and dismissing her. Quelling his inquisitive nature for the moment, Bryn rummaged in his leather satchel and removed a small tin can, from which he removed a small sack of herbs and a vial of golden liquid. Pouring out a cup of hot water, Bryn submerged the vial in it before tossing his tea leaves into the pot to steep. His solemn duty completed, Bryn got up from his table and made his way to the fireplace. The girl seemed to be readi- no. It couldn't be.

"Hello there. This may seem a bit out of the blue but are you perhaps a practitioner of the arcane?"

That would explain how she seemed to travel alone without repercussions at any rate. Honestly, Bryn felt a bit giddy at the thought meeting another scholar like himself. A half-grin crept onto his face before he wiped clear his errant speculations and focused again on the woman in front of him. Remembering his manners, Byrn schooled his face into neutrality, then pressed his right palm to his chest, his left arm extended to his side, and he bowed ever so slightly.

"My apologies. My name is Bryn Durnin and I am master and servant to the Nether. May I ask whom are you?"

[Lydia]

Lydia gave a quiet, contented sigh, feeling the warmth of the fire enveloping her and drying her clothes. She was beginning to feel more at ease, and she had stopped shivering. A brief touch revealed that her cloak was still thoroughly wet; her long-sleeved shirt, however, was dryer, though it was still quite damp. Shaking her head, she returned to her tome, but had scarcely gotten through another paragraph when a voice – upbeat, excited perhaps – called out.

"Hello there. This may seem a bit out of the blue but are you perhaps a practitioner of the arcane?"

Lydia looked up, one of her eyebrows raising as she saw the young man standing before her. He could not be more than two, three, at most four years her elder, and his hair struck her. That hair color… that was common of the Sacaeans, if she recalled correctly. Silence hung in the air, for more than a few seconds, as Lydia’s mind tried to process the various that had happened to her.

She was still absurdly waterlogged. Her outer clothes were still wet. Her arms were visible, and her hair was a mess. And this man had approached out of nowhere and was speaking to her about magic.

"My apologies. My name is Bryn Durnin and I am master and servant to the Nether. May I ask whom are you?"

Lydia bit the bullet; with any luck, perhaps he would not notice her bloodied arms and her wholly unpresentable appearance, and she could divert his attention with conversation until she could don her cloak and finally have some privacy and security. The Pupil did the best she could to sweep her hair out of her face, tossing it over her shoulder, and then finally broke the awkward silence, raising a hand gingerly and speaking softly, with more than a bit of uncertainty in her tone.

“Um, hi.”

Silence once more fell for a short bit, and then Lydia continued.

“My name is Lydia. I am a wielder of the infinite power of the Elder magical arts.”

Lydia started to speak again, stopped herself, and then forced herself to continue the conversation, revealing a bit more about herself.

“I am also a scientist, studying toxins and anti-toxins. I have developed an antidote that is effective against both Revenant and Entombed claw venom.”

Boy, the conversation was progressing brilliantly. What a way to talk, Lyds. Good job.

[Bryn]

The corners of Bryn's lips curled upwards again as this woman - Lydia; spoke of Elder Magic. He had met another practitioner so soon out of the city! Perhaps the practice wasn't as much of a black mark as he initially assumed. He had expected some friction from his admittance, at the least. After her introduction she paused so much so that Bryn opened his mouth to fill the silence, only for her to awkwardly rush into her toxicology studies. That certainly got his attention, and he affixed an earnest gaze on her.

To Bryn's knowledge the Entombed and Revenants were some sort of byproduct of a historically recent battle, but besides the offhand comments of traveling soldiers he hadn't had much exposure to their ilk. Even so, this young woman proclaimed not only to have knowledge of them but to have devised a cure for the specific venom they excreted. At once, he was both disbelieving and intensely curious.

"Those are simply dead bodies, aren't they? I'd assumed any illness received from either source would've been caused by disease or a simple infection. Wouldn't a simple cleansing of the wound work? Th..."

Bryn wanted to add 'They're not snakes after all' but he let his thought drop. It was already incredibly rude to question her research, joking about it may alienate her. Lydia did appear nervous. Distracted even. She seemed to be anxious to retrieve her cloak from it's place by the fire, despite the unappealing puddle it made on the floor. Then Bryn's scrutiny found the scars and his eyes widened almost imperceptibly. That was... quite a collection of scrapes. Had she managed to get those nicks from Revenants? Was she applying her own anti-venom to herself? That seemed incredibly dangerous. Suddenly aware that perhaps staring was not the most diplomatic gesture, Bryn returned his eyes to Lydia's face and asked the most reasonable question he could think of.

"Would you care for a cup of tea?"

[Lydia]

Thankfully, the young man was more conversationally gifted than she, and was quick to question her, trailing off after his brief thought dump on Revenants and Entombed. Smiling, with no condescension or patronization in her tone, Lydia shook her head and explained, gesticulating artfully and for a brief moment forgetting her appearance.

"No, no. You see, that's what I thought at first. But from my studies of the physical claw, there are actually little cavities in the claw that house and deliver venom. I'm not entirely sure how they produce it, or what exactly it is, but a combination of some fairly common materials forms a potent and efficient antivenom. The real challenge was then making a compound that could neutralize both Revenant and Entombed toxins. It took quite a while; I believe I tested one hundred and sixty-eight different recipes of compounds. I'm also not sure exactly how the venom works; I know from my dissections and autopsies that an animal killed by Revenant or Entombed poison becomes almost literally a shell -- their inner organs dissolve into a dark, soupy fluid that can even eat away at soft metal."

Lydia opened her bag and removed a vial, almost handing it to Bryn, but then withdrawing her hand and checking the markings on the glass tube's label and nodding before finally extending her hand all the way to pass it to him.

"Here, you can have this! It's one of the first full batch of the working formula that I produced. Ideally, I'll market the antivenom to monster fighters, mercenary bands, and guilds. The funds, of course, will go to helping me afford more experiments and more tomes. Science and the Nether... my two passions!

It was then that the young woman saw Bryn staring at her arms, his gaze a bit...surprised, if she read it right. Flushing slightly, and a small scowl coming over her face, Lydia grabbed her long-sleeved shirt. It was still slightly damp to the touch, but for the most part it was dry. It would have to do. She quickly donned the garment, her discomfort at Bryn's stare very evident from both her nonverbals and the cold, almost tangible silence that fell between the two.

"Would you care for a cup of tea?"

Lydia was surprised. Usually, people ostracized her, or tried to lecture her, or insisted on doing something else that they assured her was helpful but that she just found insufferable, or pointless, or just plain aggravating. But it seemed that Bryn had moved on, and so she accepted, albeit cautiously, a small note of displeasure still hiding in her voice, though minuscule and well controlled.

"I - yes, that would be all right. Thank you."

[Bryn]

"I'm just over here."

Bryn motioned with his arm in the direction of his table, inwardly scolding himself for making the young lady self-conscious. As he stepped away from the fire to direct her to his table he distinctly missed the overbearing heat of the fire on his skin and an unconscious shiver ran down his spine. That cup would be good right about now. Hopefully the leaves will have had time to steep properly.

Sitting down in his chair, Bryn pushed his uneaten stew to one side and reached for the tin can he had left unattended at the table, gently upended it with a hand at the rim. He slowly removing a large amount of cotton several roughly folded papers marked with their specific blend of herbs, and then one delicate porcelain cup. Cup received, he began packing it all in again an then gently set the small vial Lydia had gifted him into the tin softly nestled in the container.

"I used to have a whole set of these at home, though I'm afraid my collection is dwindling. I'll have to acquire more someday."

Bryn admired the delicate cup briefly as it sat there. His mother had owned the set and he delicate blue and white patterns held a certain nostalgia to them. He broke out of his reverie to pull his own golden vial out of the wooden cup loaned by the inn and held the vial aloft for inspection as he poured the water in his cup back into the pot.

"Not anything as interesting as antivenom, but honey works it's own wonders."

Clenching the vial in his fist as he lifted the kettle, Bryn poured the tea into the mismatched tableware and enjoyed the steam still lightly rising from the cups and the fragrance it carried with it. Setting the pot back down, he twisted off the cork on his vial and let the heated honey dribble out of it's container into the teacups.

"You mentioned your passions being magic and resea- science. Herbalism happens to be one of mine. I can make minor salves, disinfectants, and tea as it turns out. This one here is a mix of mainly Rosemary, Chamomile, and Lemon Balm. Generally it's good for relaxation and improves the mood, but it also quells migraines, encourages uninterrupted sleep, and has a host of other smaller health benefits."

Passing off the porcelain cup to his guest, Bryn took a slow sip of his own mug. It tasted of lemons and apples, the honey doing it's job to cut the bitter herbal kick in half to a more pleasant undertone. Satisfied in the brew, he turned his attention back to Lydia.

"Now let's talk of the arcane. I was taught primarily by my mother, and apparently my family had a sort of flair for Elder Magic. Most of our knowledge was lost in my mother's generation but I should have an unusual attachment to the Nether, regardless of my lost opportunities. That being said, even if I were to set flattery aside you seem to be remarkably well taught for someone so young. Were you properly taught by another or are you forging your own methods?"

[Lydia]

"I'm just over here."

The Pupil followed Bryn to his table, leaving her heavy cloak drying but taking her bag with her. No one would try to steal a cloak, especially not one in the condition and of the age of her well-worn outer shroud. But a bag of provisions, her tome, her research journal, and her samples? Those were worth more to her than their weight in gold coins. After all, money only got you so far.

Bryn sat, and Lydia did likewise, sinking into a chair and noting with satisfaction that her pants were quite dry, warm against her skin as she relaxed and watched the young man prepare and serve the tea. He offered her a cup, and she took the porcelain, the fine piece of tableware resting lightly in her hands as she cupped the little eggshell of white with gossamer filaments of blue between her palms. Raising it to her lips, she took one shallow sip, holding the liquid in her mouth and tasting the nuance in the blend. As Byrn spoke, she swallowed, gently, and then took another drink, enjoying the tea. It reminded her of a hexagon – there were distinct points, but overall the shape of the flavor was roundish, each note transitioning into the next. A very soothing tea.

“I admire your skill. If all of your herbal blends are as well-crafted and meticulously prepared as this one sample, you must be quite dedicated to the craft. This is by far the best tea I have ever consumed; I thank you for allowing me to share it with you.”

The Pupil exhaled slowly, feeling herself sink a little into her chair. It was not so much a literal movement as a relaxing of the tension she felt throughout her body, a loosening of her spirit and a banishment of the prickly, unpleasant feelings she had allowed to surge through her when the man had stared at her disfigured arms. The warm tea certainly did help calm her, assuaging the nerves that had been chafed from hours of being on edge as she traveled.

When Bryn spoke of his introduction to magic, Lydia listened, noting with interest that he had been instructed formally in the Elder Arts. That was quaint. She hadn’t heard of many families passing on their magical gifts, but perhaps that was because she kept the company of other poor and voiceless souls, not that of members of the higher castes of society.

“Ah, Bryn, do not be so quick to judge. You overestimate my abilities, I am sure, and underestimate my age. I would not consider myself skilled at all in the Elder Arts; in fact, I am only a neophyte. There is a long road ahead before I would dream of being labeled ‘remarkably well trained.’ I have never received a lesson in anything pertaining to the arcane in any form, excepting perhaps a history lesson wherein I learned that Etruria produces many practitioners of the arcane arts.”

Lydia chuckled slightly.

“But I certainly have studied the Elder Arts for quite some time. My bond with the Nether began when I first read the theory behind the basic skill of summoning a tendril of darkness. I was captivated, enthralled by the prospect of harnessing the power of an infinite void, and at thirteen years old, perhaps I was too young and naïve to truly understand where it would lead.

Now, at seventeen, still I find myself drawn to the power of the Nether, its unending possibilities and myriad implementations, ever more interested in refining my craft and always hungry for more knowledge. It is an insatiable hunger, a desire that cannot be satiated.”

Falling silent, the Pupil took another sip of her tea. She was certainly more at ease.

[Bryn]

Byrn took a slow sip, directing his eyes over the rim at the pupil in front of him. His eyebrows raised a bit as she admitted only recently beginning to study dark magic. She denied any form of schooling and Bryn got the impression she genuinely hadn't had much instruction in her life. He set his mug down on the table still clasped in his hands and leaned forward.

"If that's the case, then that's even more impressive. From the time since the emergence of the monsters to this present day, I've seen no signs to even suggest of their touch being tainted, yet here you stand with a cure in hand! Not a sage in his high tower, wizened by years and funded by some baron; but you. A mere slip of a girl. It's rather remarkable."

Pausing his encouragement, Bryn wasn't sure his message was getting across. Learning from books from his experience, left a lot of questions unanswered. He supposed he couldn't avoid preaching at Lydia some.

"I've been taught that most of a practitioner's power is fueled by themselves.I'm not talking about simple spells which come to us most freely, but the more dangerous and unique aspects of our magic. A Shaman's knowledge, experience, and personality will be seized by the Nether and used as tinder in our moments of strife and struggle. I like you, have a thirst for knowledge. To fully understand and experience the world. Most shamans that you come across will, simply because to lack that drive means they are almost certainly very close to be fully consumed by that which they seek to control."

After that sentence Byrn stopped in silent moment of respect to the fate most wielders of the Nether would eventually face. It was a bit sobering, but at the same time a Dark Mage's life was still one of discover and hope. And if he was to expire pursuing that which he loved, wasn't that still a life well lived? Taking another sip of his beverage to wet his throat, Bryn cracked a smile at his companion.

"This all may just be my warped viewpoint, but your success is already a beacon of things to come. I can't help but to view your future with a bit of envy."