The Law of Unintended Consequences [Kitty!]

[Acero Sin'mancha]

Early morning, 9 Cyraxtum
Era XI P.F.

The air was crisp, so much so that Acero had his cloak bundled tightly about him, as yet unused to the mountain air. He had not been able to ply his trade amongst the people of Riparia just yet, he felt more than saw the city guard at every opportunity that had presented itself for a grift. He had managed to find a dark alley to sleep in, but it had been a restless sleep, made so by the lack of physical security he enjoyed in his home in Port Alyxandrya. Nonetheless, he had at least been able to find enough scraps of food to get by for the few days he had been in town, but the rumblings of his stomach were beginning to be annoying.

Scrounging around in yet another alleyway, the ratta became impatient with the cold, and his tattered cloak, and decided to do something about it. Flopping down next to a cellar door, he closed his eyes and began to meditate. This had the added benefit of making the cold a minor, trifling annoyance, instead of a major one, but that wasn't his aim this brightening. After several minutes, he was able to open his eyes to the hidden world of ara and vis, that of his chosen craft. Pulling a trickle of ara aside and reacting it against his own vis, he slowly created an adequate amount of mana for his task. Bending it to his will, he used this energy to breach the veil between planes, calling out to the elemental plane of fire and drawing a small trickle of the boundless, chaotic energy there into the material plane. This he wrapped around himself, a blanket of energy called inner radiance. The purpose of the spell was to shield the mage from unwanted contact, but the side effect was what Acero sought this brightening. Soon, the warmth of the air surrounding him, which was subject to the fiery aura, unlike the elementalist who used it, began to take the edge of the morning mountain chill.

Feeling blessed warmth seep into his bones, He smiled slightly, a rare expression for the scarred rodenti. This quickly faded as the door next to him was opened a crack, tentative and probing to be sure. Someone was unsure of the day that was coming, and the ratta didn't think it was for a normal reason. This was soon confirmed by the waft of scent which had escaped the basement door, ozone and ash, sweat and blood and adrenaline were rife in the air now, along with a few aromatics which seemed hauntingly familiar. He couldn’t quite put a finger on it, but there was something definitely wrong here, and it would probably be a good idea if he were to…

too late he thought warily, as heard the telltale crackle of electricity, muffled by the door, erupt within the basement. Perhaps now would be a good time to leave he thought.

Again, hesitation was not a good idea, as the door nearly exploded off its hinges, a body flying backwards through the ruined portal to impact against the opposite wall of the alley. That had to hurt thought a completely inappropriate part of his mind. He stood up and prepared to discreetly exit the scene when a second figure appeared that froze him in place. A vysstichi female stepped up into the alleyway, dark purple skirts slashed with crimson, her long white hair unkempt and her person stained with soot and a little blood as well. Her haughtiness and command presence was surely the mark of nobility, the callous cruelty which seemed that race's stock in trade, one which he knew far too well. Her face was… her face he thought, his vision beginning to cloud over in a red haze.

Venona Ken'dasa was dead, wasn't she? He had spat onto her dead body nearly two eras prior, after brutally beating her body to vent his anger upon his former mistress. But here she was, or nearly so, it was hard to tell. Between the intermarriage of noble houses, and the Hayan rites they participated in, this one might be a near-sister, or a cousin. A misbegotten daughter perhaps? It mattered not to Acero, for the resemblance was striking, both in body and voice, and soon it would not matter to this woman either.

She began taunting the crumpled figure which was her quarry, words barbed and sharp as she seemed to think her superiority proved once again. Acero had never been taught vysstichi, he was a slave and so unworthy of the effort to do so, but he had managed to understand, or at least partly, many of the words used around him. Most of her rant was laced with vituperative epithets; one of the first things one did when learning a new language was learning to swear in it. The rest was hazier in meaning, though he did gather something about family, work (perhaps duty) and property. That was a word he knew far too well to mistake, having been subject to its meaning for patterns.

She was taunting and punishing a slave.

And Acero snapped.

Rage and adrenaline fueled him, a great leap towards her taking the vyssie by surprise, so intent she was on her quarry that she did not notice him scant feet from her position. "Die vysstichi witch!" he screamed, tumbling into her and reaching for her throat with clawed fingers. He felt nothing now, only his questing hands as they sought the woman's doom. The grey-brown ratta couldn't even smell the stench as the inner radiance began to scorch and burn her clothes and bare skin as he wrestled with the noblewoman. The fury he possessed now was unrivaled on all of Telath, and this unfortunate vysstichi was going to bear the brunt of it.

Only time would tell what the effects would be, and how the other former slave in the alley would react to his interference in their little tiff, or if he could at all, given the punishment he had already received.

[BlueberryKitty]

No one expected a bundle of rags hunched on a doorstep to attack. The Vysstichi matron was so used to having her way that she never expected attack from any quarter; from the slave she was punishing and especially not from of a bystander. She was enjoying the pain her slave was feeling; she enjoyed seeing the damage she'd done to him, and was basking in the pleasure of what she was going to do to finish him off. Perhaps his death would even serve her mistress, Haya.

The small ratta launched himself toward her throat, and so surprised was she at this unexpected movement that her hands came too late to ward the scrabbling claws from the delicate flesh of her throat. Blood welled up from the cuts quickly, spilling down the ebon flesh and staining the cloth of her fine dress. The blood didn't have far to fall, the wave of heat from the spell inner radiance scorched and seared fabric, flesh and hair with a stench that filled the streets. The wide eyes of the male slave sprawled across the road reflected the spark of flame as the clothing caught fire from the heat.

Too late, the matron's hands pushed the struggling ratta away from her face. Too late, because the heat had already done its damages. Throat and lungs were scorched as well as flesh, making breathing immensely difficult and painful both. The elf fell to her knees, reaching forward for Acero as she did, a hiss deep in her throat for the creature that had harmed her so. She made to launch her body after the rodenti.

The actions of Acero brought some small strength to the male lying in the street. As the ratta burned and scratched his denied mistress, he drew himself up to all fours, and watched with a snarl on his lips. That bitch had tormented him his whole life- he'd finally made it free of Vortex to a life here in Riparia, and she'd found him. She'd had him hunted down, and come herself to deal his punishment with her own hands. He owed her- he owed her so much pain, so much torment. She was not going to take away this second chance for hope. The anger that burned within gave him the power to lurch forward, and slam his fist into the ruined face of the seared matron before him.

[Acero Sin'mancha]

The wiry female's adrenaline-fueled strength was enough to push the husky ratta from on top of her, as she had the added boost of pain pushing her muscles to well beyond their normal capacity. Indeed the damage had been done, but it was still not over, not by a long shot in the rodenti's fevered mind. Recovering to pounce again, he lost the initiative to his erstwhile ally, who delivered a succinct and personal punctuation mark to the beating she had already received.

Standing up and drawing near to his side, Acero looked down upon the face which had known nothing but privilege and power her whole life, but now lay in ruins. A pink froth flecked the corner of her mouth, spittle and blood mingled disgracefully in the throes of agony. A gurgling cough escaped the vysstichi woman's throat, her body trying to sort itself out as quickly as possible. Obsidian eyes gazed into red, the latter wide with confusion and fear, the pair of assailants having been far too much for her to handle. The ratta thought it cruel irony, and wholly fitting, that a woman who ruled with the authority of the sword, had now fallen to it. The invincible, untouchable nobles of the underworld were altogether more vulnerable than they thought, for they themselves had bought into the myth that was their shield and power.

But that was neither here nor there, and Acero knew that if nothing else, this woman's rage and anger may just sustain her through this. One of many lessons he had learned from his former masters was the difference between an enemy and a victim.

An enemy still drew breath.

Something which Acero had never quite understood when it came to the vysstichi was the sometimes foolish idea that rubbing their victory in the nose of someone who would then carry a grudge was good sport and very entertaining. The ratta personally did not care for what this woman thought of him; what effect his success might have on her ego. The risk far outweighed the reward in this case, and that was that in his somewhat simple thinking.

Wordlessly, and with fluid motions, the grey-brown ratta drew his short blade and positioned himself properly as the noblewoman's eyes widened even further in terror. Surprisingly, the blade never touched her, Acero reversing the grip and slamming the pommel down into her throat with all of his weight behind it. A sickeningly wet snap was heard, the dull grey steel ball capping the blade more than sufficient to shatter and collapse the woman's larynx. She bucked once and began to choke, the swelling from her injury closing off the trachea in seconds. Renewed panic began to set in, and she was now scrabbling feebly at her swollen throat, trying to remove an internal obstruction from outside her body. The ratta paid her little mind, looking at his dazed, soot-covered companion and offering him a simple explanation for his actions. "Less of de red on yer clothes dis way." he stated flatly, kneeling down beside her and quickly searching her still flailing body for any money or valuables.

Not getting any help, or even a single word, from his companion, he looked up into his face, holding what little he had managed to find. "It's not like she needs dis any longer. Asides, de only way ye get away fron deir kind is te see dey all dead. I know dis, an' you need te know it also, aye?" he lectured the man, it was male at least, before standing up and freezing still a moment. Rounded ears searched the chill mountain air for the telltale of boots pounding the pavement stones, the first heralds of the city guard. Hearing nothing aside from the last few straining attempts at breath made by his victim, he returned his attention to the man he had saved, sheathing his blade and clapping him firmly on the shoulder to get his attention. "'Ey!" he barked, hoping to break the trance he seemed enthralled to. "Ye got a nice little 'ole we can lay low in? De city guard round 'ere ain't no joke. Dey find dis one dead, an' dey gonna want te know why. Neidder you nor I want te give'n any answers, aye?" he asked, hoping to cement some sort of loose bond between the former slaves, one that would serve them both for as long as they needed it.

[BlueberryKitty]

The hilt of the blade crushed the woman's throat easily, as it was intended to do. The long nails of the vysstichi's hands rose, clawing at her scorched skin, leaving trailing marks of blood where the sharpened points scratched and tore. Her back arched away from the ground of the Riparian road, writhing in the dirt as the ratta only sped up her final fate. With a final sigh escaping her burned lips, the body of the powerful matron relaxed into little more than worm feed. Perhaps her soul would content her mistress this darkening instead of souls sent by her hand.

The cloth of her dress flaked and tore easily in the ratta's search for valuables. He didn't find much; vysstichi matrons didn't tend to carry that much on them. What was useful was the golden chain around her ebon throat, and the wickedly curved dagger tucked at her side. The male elf who crouched beside the ratta and the dead matron gave himself a shake as Acero's paw clapped him on the shoulder, as if coming out of an arcanic daze. Perhaps he was. Fumbling slightly at first, his hands tore at a ruby ring on the female's hand away from the ratta, and toward himself, and his violent eyes stared at it for a few moments before a wide, pleased grin began to spread across his face. "I could care less if this one bleeds. I would bathe in her blood and laugh if I could."

His shoulders shrugged lightly, as if to say he could care less if the rodenti robbed the body. He didn't particularly care at the moment if the guards found the woman's body lying there, mutilated as it was. He'd escaped, he'd made a life for himself here in Riparia.. and then she'd come to ruin it all.

"This was my home. When the guards come... they'll know who owned the place. They'll know the name to look for at least, though I'd bet none of them have a face to put to it. Let me grab a few things; I doubt the guards will be coming in the next ten minutes." Straightening on shaky legs, the runaway slave managed to stand. He disappeared into the ruined frame of the doorway.

Minutes later, the man returned to the light of the brightening. His head poked out first, the long dirty hair revealing the pointed tips of an elf. Against his back rested an ordinary canvas pack, presumably holding the valuables and necessities he would require in times to come. Gesturing with one hand, dirty and delicate, he pointed down the street. The man followed his own advice, and began walking down the street, mincing his steps so that the shorter rodenti could keep up. He made many twists and turns, taking several small side streets in the New Court district of the city. The houses here were new and small, not all of them kept up well. Eventually he ducked down an alleyway, and opened the twin doors to a rootcellar. "Down here."

Once the ratta was inside, he followed and latched the door promptly behind them. The cool darkness closed in on them, not that it bothered the ratta, nor did it appear to trouble the elf, either. An orb of cool bluish light gathered and glowed just above the outstretched palm of the elf's hand, as he finally lowered himself and his burden down on a pile of old sacks. He busied himself with tying the ruby ring stolen from the dead matron on a cord, and fastened this make-shift necklace about his throat. "So tell me. You likely saved my skin back there, and you know it. ... Why?"

[Acero Sin'mancha]

Examining the gold chain for distinguishing marks, he pocketed it, leaving the very distinctive blade at her side, lest it mark him as her murderer. It wasn't like he was ashamed of the deed, far from it, he just didn't want the hassle if one of the dead vysstichi's family came looking to punish her killer. He might have objected to his companion's taking of the only truly valuable piece, had it not likewise been a bit unique in its own right. In addition, the frenetic hands which took it were indication that interference would not be tolerated. This was confirmed by his short statement upon his desired hygeine practices, which Acero also filed away for reference. Whoever the woman was, she wasn't well-liked by anyone he knew.

The grey-brown ratta waited nervously outside the elf's home as he packed what little he could carry, paranoia and anxiety threatening to drive him from the alleyway. Thankfully, his new friend (?) didn't tarry overlong, and the pair were soon on their way. The enclosed space was welcome both for its cozy, sheltered environs, and for the lack of ambient light, which allowed Acero to stop squinting at everything. The artificial twilight which he found himself in soon was replaced by the pale bluish glow produced by the elf, limning his delicate features as moonlight did. The golden ring glinted gently in the glowing orb's luminescence, the red ruby changed to near black by the differently-colored light.

The grey-brown ratta had to ponder the question posed to him for a moment, weighing in all that had happened during this young morning. That the elf was a mage of some power was certain, the fluidity and speed with which he had conjured the simple spell were not that of an initiate to be sure. He had strong enemies, ones which had pursued him to the surface no less, and seemed uncontent to let him leave in peace. Then again, gratitude seemed, on the surface at least, to be a trait this mage possessed. While not the most friendly of people, Acero knew that having friends in high places was certainly not a bad idea.

All things considered, he found it rather easy to trust the elf; as much as he trusted anyone, which wasn't saying much. "Aye, I reckon I did at dat." he conceded slowly, at least hinting that the elf's salvation had not really been his motivation in the first place. "I recall one such as 'er, far too well says I. I lived de life you lived, yet I got away. Ye could say I 'ave issues wit' one such as 'er." he said quietly, the thoughts of the brightening swirling in his head and mingling with those of his past.

Wordlessly, he shed the cloak covering his huddled form, turning his back partially to his newfound friend. He reached back with one hand, slowly running it up his back, against the grain of his fur. A line of skin could be seen, moving with Acero's hand as it separated the fur. Slowly, almost ephemerally, the elf could see scars criss-crossing the rodenti's back, a pattern forming in his mind as more and more was revealed. "Once dey touch ye, ye're never again de way ye were afore. Never again..." he repeated softly, a tinge of regret present, yet difficult to detect in his strange accent.

[BlueberryKitty]

The elf extended his hand, the blue orb of light glistening against the damp walls of the cellar, and against the ruby in the ring around his throat, and let it float free beside the wall. He needed his hands for things other than holding the orb all brightening long. However that particular spell, glowing sphere was hardly one that took concentration and was in fact one of the first he'd learned in his initiate training patterns ago.

He watched as Acero shed his cloak, and nodded appreciatively at the marks from the scars on the ratt's back. He at least had the covering of fur to hide such things, unlike the pale skin of the elf hidden behind the rags and tattered shreds of his clothing. He really needed to take a moment, and clean himself up; the fight with the vysstichi matron had definitely not done much for his appearance.

"That is true, certainly enough. Even when you think you've freed yourself from them, they catch up to you at the last expected moment. For six months I hid and laid low, before finally coming into a city to start a new life for myself.. " The liquid eyes of the elf softened at the ratta's healed injuries, but quickly enough turned to the task at hand. Neither of them had expected a fight for their lives this brightening and a hot meal never went amiss. They had little else to do down here for the moment anyway, he figured it would take at least three brightenings for the Riparian Guards to forget about some unknown vysstichi harlot lying dead in the streets. "I've been living here less than a month before she caught up to me. Punishment for a runaway slave is death. As I'm sure you know. I suppose I should count myself lucky she decided to have a bit of sport before handing out the punishment."

From his pack, he retrieved a small pot, a knife and some vegetables. Crouching over the pot once it was placed on the ground, he began peeling and dicing the vegetables into the pot with a practiced hand, though his crouching position made him wobble every once in a while as his balance shifted. The prepared vegetables filled the pot halfway, and then with a touch of concentration the pot suddenly became filled with boiling water as well. Poking the tip of his knife into the mixture, he stirred it as the smell of cooking stew began to permeate the small underground space.

Chuckling, the elf had one last comment. "Odd, that to hide from the Vysstichi, we retreat to underground."

[Acero Sin'mancha]

Settling in, Acero squatted down, leaning his back against a woven basket filled with some sort of root vegetable he could not readily identify, probably a local product. He drew his cloak back about him, feeling a little more secure doing so, despite the ease with which he and the elf had developed a rapport. He did not envy the mage's journey; he had at least known that every last member of House Ken'dasa was dead before he even reached the surface. As paranoid as he could be at times, the possibility of discovery would have turned him into a shivering wreck within months. It was also true that the wench had been her own worst enemy, had bought into the crutch that was vysstichi noble superiority and paid for it wit her life.

Not wanting to impose (or appear to and thence anger his companion) he stayed back a bit, despite the decent food with which the elf had stocked his pack. The aroma produced soon after was enough to draw a small gurgle from his tight belly, though that quickly faded as he realized what had been done in the cookpot. Drawing and conjuring energy from nothingness wasn't that difficult, even for an initiate, but to pull it from the ether, warp it into liquid water, and then heat it with energy from the plane of fire, all within a split second, spoke volumes for the amount of skill his new friend held within his mind. This raised more questions than it answered, really.

Ken'dasa certainly had magi among the household troops, but none of them were slaves. They were usually common vysstichi, the lower ranking magi at least, the masters being family members by design. For all their faults, Bereza Ken'dasa would never have trusted a slave with such power. A dead vysstichi noblewoman several blocks away could testify to that wisdom. So involved in this puzzle was Acero that he nearly missed the jest lofted at him by his cellarmate. He blinked once, rolling the words around in his mind like the dregs of a mug of ale, a soft, humorous snort soon followed by chuckling laughter, the utter truth of the matter quite hilarious to the ratta somehow. The elf certainly could not know where he was from, let alone the type of home (if you could call it that) he inhabited, and the coincidence was just too perfect to be anything but serendipity. "Too true, too true." he said lightheartedly.

"So what now, eh? Dere's a fair parcel of food down 'ere, I reckon. Enough fer a cycle or two. Unless you gots a way te conjure food out o' t'in air like dat water." he said sardonically, more than a statement, less than a question. The hook now firmly baited, Acero decided to see if he could get a nibble. "Dough I and I are not doubtin' ye could. Weavin' dat out of de et'er, conjurin' out o' two essences and alterin' one? Dat's a nice trick dere. I and I aren't dat good…yet"

[BlueberryKitty]

The stew was ready just as soon as the vegetables softened. This cut the cooking time neatly in half, having the water already heated when it hit the pot, though. Once it was ready however the elf ran into the difficulty of not having any serving dishes. They were going to have to share the pot it was cooked in. His once-upon-a-time fastidiousness had had such a short time to kick in with his freedom, that the thought of sharing a food dish with a ratta sent only one course of shivers down his spine. In the slaveholds of the vysstichi, you ate what you got when you got it and didn't complain about the lack of a garnish. The elf didn't know if his dinner companion had anything to use to eat the stew with, about all he had on him was his knife. If worst came to worst, they could rummage about the cellar and find something to make do.

"Now, we eat. Unless there's something else you'd like to do? A few cycles isn't that long really. Not compared to the patterns of darkness we might be sharing otherwise." With the tip of his knife he gestured at the pot to invite the ratta to have a bite to eat.

"But, if you're concerned with becoming bored, we could share stories for a time. I suppose I could teach you a bit more about how to cook for yourself as well since you already seem to know a few tricks of elementalism yourself.." The elf smiled wryly. He certainly didn't mean slicing and dicing when he offered lessons; he was thinking more along the lines of arcana.

[Acero Sin'mancha]

Acero nodded in response. "A few. A few." he confirmed, both proud of his newfound skill and distressed at its limitations. He did not have the formal education that most magi did, had not attended one of the prestigious Academies scattered throughout the Empire. He knew that there was more, but could not comprehend it, could not see beyond the limitations which had only barely been expanded from the mundanity all mortals were bound to. He likewise did not have too many thoughts on sharing the pot of food offered by his new friend, though he thought the elf likely would. Pausing a moment for a solution to the problem, he returned his gaze to the large tubers behind him. Picking one out, he drew his knife and worked at cutting it in two. This was a bit difficult and unwieldy, given the size of his blade, but he managed to get it done without amputating a finger. Gripping one half in his calloused fingers, he worked slowly at hollowing the vegetable out, taking the first paring and popping it into his mouth for a taste. It was a little bitter, but not unpleasantly so, just enough of an edge to not be bland like most root vegetables were. He tossed the first makeshift bowl to the elf and set about carving his own, having gotten the hang of it now.

The bowls were a bit messy, once dipped into the stew, but served their purpose, and were edible besides, if you were into the whole raw vegetable thing like most rodenti were. Letting the meal take its course, he related his personal story of unintentional salvation at the hands of a rival vysstichi house. This bought them no favor in the ratta's worldview, but he harbored little outward resentment for vysstichi as a whole. Bigotry was a waste of effort, as far as he was concerned, his energies far better utilized in other pursuits. He also gave a mostly factual account of his unexpected yet welcome enlightenment at the hands of a Jaedaxienne mage beneath the streets of the City of Queens. Several salient points were glossed over, omitted or fabricated outright, for his protection, but the gist of the tale was accurate enough to withstand casual scrutiny.

"So as ye 'eard tell, I know enough te know what I don't know. Fer instance, inner radiance. It works all right, enough te do de deed wit' de vysstichi witch out dere. Yet I wonder why I can't use water essence te cast it. A shield of frost, or of electricity if'n I were te use air. I'd do well te have greater variety, yet I can't figger out 'ow it's done." he said, revealing his ignorance of mana shaping, something which Paris de Montreal hadn't had the time or perhaps the inclination to instruct him in.

[BlueberryKitty]

(>< Sorry. I know I take too long for a cruddy post.)

The elf watched quietly, as Acero turned some of the tubers from the cellar into disposable bowls. It was quite an ingenious thought really, and instead of having to wash the dishes they could simply eat them. Raw vegetables didn't phase an elf in the least, but after the events of the brightening he'd really felt like having something hot and filling in his stomach. A pinch of salt would really have gone down well, or a nice crusty loaf of bread with some cool butter, though.

During the course of the meal, the elf sipped his soup quietly, refilling the tuber bowl as necessary from the steaming pot, nodding at the points of similarity in his own tale. A slender eyebrow raised as the ratta continued on, revealing some slight disadvantage to using his arcana. "When casting 'Inner Radiance', what you're doing is using your Imparted knowledge and working within those given boundaries. Really though, the boundaries serve no purpose at all, and because of that the Essence limitation isn't necessary. Because of this, you can use another Essence such as a field of crackling lightning or shards of ice to surround yourself but at this point the spell becomes the spell 'Project Element' instead of 'Inner Radiance'."

[Acero Sin'mancha]

A round ear flicked at some mote of dust or another, but Acero's attention was rapt and focused where it needed to be for the moment, and the possibilities presented by his newfound friend were even more intriguing than the limited scope he had allowed his imagination thusfar. His intent visage was melted, however, when he was shown how truly deep his ignorance of his art was. I...I don't know dat ot'er one." he said quietly, his head hung a bit in shame. "Dere's a lot I don't know, I's afraid. I never went te one of dose fancy learnin' halls I've 'eard tell of. All I got was a quick lesson under de streets fron one who weren't exactly wantin' te teach I and I real thorough-like." he admitted further, a pedigree that was humble to say the least.

"Who'd want te teach a ratta, after all."

[BlueberryKitty]

"There's no shame in not knowing things. How else would you ever be able to keep learning?" The elf gave an experimental nibble at the crunchy starchiness of his serving vessel. However, finding it not exactly to his tastes to be eating his dishes even if they were edible, he put the tuberbowl down to the side. Giving his hands a wipe on the none too clean shreds of his tunic he leaned forward, focusing for the first time on the Ratta.

Gazing at the little guy, noting the odd shadows that shone steadily behind his profile and in his fur, he realised how little he knew of the species in general and in particular. Ratta, nor any of the other rodenti really made much of an impression in the lofty streets of his elfin home, and beneath the catacombs in his vysstichi prison race hadn't mattered very much. There, anyone who wasn't a vysstichi didn't matter regardless. And so, that provided the basis for this elf being able to teach the Ratta his art, to the best of his abilities. Not that he considered himself a very good teacher, but he'd try none the less.

His own training had been at the hands of a Master Elementalist, with daily practicing and learning until such time as his Master had kicked him out to advance in his Journeymanship. From there the struggle to match his Master had taken far more time, patience and much effort, but being elfin it wasn't as if he had anything else to focus his time upon. Proud of his new accomplishment, his overconfidence had been his downfall. It had led to his enslavement by the damnable dark elves, and eventually his lesson in life had returned him to the surface with a much changed attitude.

"Well for one, I will. Why don't you start by filling me in on what exactly it is that you do know, and from there we can begin filling in the holes in your less than formal education. We can start with that particular spell."

[Acero Sin'mancha]

The gentle, almost fatherly, tone he heard spill from the elf's lips was a sop to his bruised ego, buoying his heart a bit for the time being. It convinced him to go on with what little was left to his storied, if all-too-brief, career. "Well, I gave ye de story of I and I's awakenin'. Dat's fair well all of it, really. Learned de few spells,"He said, tripping over the 'p' sound as he always did, "'e was willin' te teach." he said, listing the initiate spell list off quickly to elaborate upon the point.

"After dat, I didn't see'n again. I've practiced as I could, yet I 'aven't done dey a lot under stress, as ye could say. I've 'ad a few singed whiskers, yet not'in' too serious, as fer accidents. It's just dat, well, I know dere's a lot dat I don't know yet. And dat is truly a fright'nin' t'ing, ye know? Te see what a master can do, and den to look on yer own talents. I don't ever want te feel dat way again, ye ken?" he asked, hoping that this elf could understand his quest, his life, his mind to the point of having kinship of a sort. Their common background was certainly a start, but that didn't always guarantee two fellows seeing eye to eye.

[BlueberryKitty]

Listening, the elf continued to nod til the gesture probably became annoying. He then sat silently, thinking things over for an elven moment. More like ten or twelve minutes of silence, turning over everything his erstwhile student had just informed him. Originally he'd thought he'd just have a nice conversation with the ratta while they hid from the authorities, but it was turning out more and more that by his own standards he'd have to do this properly. The Ratta, though he said he had been taught only a few spells haphazardly by an unknown mage, had completed his initiate learning and was ready to progress onward to his Initiate.

That was going to require a promotion and imparting. This process was something that he'd been taught how to do, but hadn't actually had much practical experience doing. Certainly not while trapped beneath the ground in a rootcellar with a ratta. Phedos, had he had a sense of humour, would have to have been laughing himself silly right now.

"Alright then. If I'm going to teach you any spell, I might as well teach you the lot. I'll need to Promote you to the next level for you to learn though, which is something similar to your Unbinding. Prepare." The elf reached out his dirty, blood and stew stained fingers, and let them rest on the fuzzy head of Acero. The process was simply that which allowed Acero to access a larger portion of his Vis, yet there still remained several of the natural barriers. The elf took a moment to observe the ratta; next he would impart to him the spells for the apprentice level of elementalism.

[Acero Sin'mancha]

Awkward silence filled the gulf in conversation, so much so that the young elementalist was wondering if he had said something to offend his erstwhile friend. The feeling was not unlike being summoned before Venona Ken'dasa and being made to wait prostrate for hours before she deigned to speak to him of his latest transgression. Once the elder mage had made his decision, things happened so fast that Acero flinched backwards slightly before those slender, if dirty, fingers found his skull and the ratta's world burst into flinders.

Shards of perception danced like ice crystals in roiling water, glimmering reflections of reality flirting with clarity like fireflies on a warm summer night. The root cellar became at once gargantuan and confining, quite an achievement for someone used to both. Slivers of ice became motes of ash on the hot wind of a volcano's caldera, then sparks given off by hot coals in the hearth, shifting metaphors between eyeblinks, never allowing the young rodenti to gain a firm grasp of where this particular fever dream was taking him.

The dancing sparks swirled about him, a vortex of energy and raw power buffeting and tossing him about like flotsam on the surf which sluiced about the dock pilings of the City of Queens. He could only see a blur as he was half-dragged, half-thrown into whatever dark corner of his mind the arcana decided to visit this time. Soon enough, he was given respite, a rough, if serviceable, landing on hard paving stones extracting a short grunt from him. Rising to a high crouch, Acero's whiskers twitched in puzzlement as scent and sound seemed elusively familiar to the ratta, but he couldn'