RP:Shooty Fish (Or a Brief Reunion)

Along the Vibrance River

Kuzial was sitting on the bank of the river. In one hand is his engraved crossbow given to him by Kirien, in the other is a drow made crossbow which seems simple beside the more elobrate weapon; rare is it the dark elves make weapons that look pretty. Death is their only design, and in truth the only thing most drow care about. Yet regardless, Kuzial is using both. Sitting there in silence, seemingly alone, every so often snapping his hand up and shooting one of the crossbows into the water. He is... fishing... yet he doesn't go into the river and take the slain fishes, and if he cares about the bolts he is losing he makes no showing of it. Instead he is simply shooting fish that swim by for the mere sake of killing them. The quiver beside him seems still quite full, so how long he has been doing this isn't known, yet what is known is there is a certain peace here for the dark elf... a peace further enhanced by the few well-placed agents of House Stavret who watch this hidden entrance to the Underdark, ensuring none disturb the powerful patron drow.

Kirien is wandering, somewhat aimlessly, as he is often wont to do, but he is not lost. It's easy for a man who sees with his feet to trust they'll carry him somewhere interesting while his thoughts drift through the trees, and the tranquility found alone with the world permeates Kirien's skin and fills his lungs with clear air. As always, though, his feet have a tendency to inevitably lead him toward some kind of trouble - perhaps he shouldn't trust in them so easily. But maybe it's what he intended. Whatever the case, the empath's vulpine ears are soon twitching absently in response to the occasional snap of a crossbow bolt firing, and his heart is resonating with the sound. He pauses, hands stuffed in the pockets of his breeches, and blinks. "Ah." Realisation hits with the force of a ten tonne dragon and Kirien takes a step toward the riverbank he might be able to see through the gaps between trees, were he still able to view the world with his eyes; shards and veins of blue amidst the verdant greenery, glinting crystalline in the sunlight. He can't tell if the rushing sound in his ears is his own blood or the water.

Though he wants to follow the current and move closer, he's halted when one of the drow stationed around the perimeter makes himself known, by way of flinging an axe straight at Kirien's head. He ducks. It hits a tree behind him with a hollow thunk, while the empath quickly fumbles in his pockets for his House Stavret insignia and barks out an annoyed, drowic, "Watch it." He won't have some idiot getting in the way when he's this close.

Kuzial speaks then in a voice that is colder than the water running from the Xalious Mountains and through this secluded glade. "Do not give orders to my warriors." Without pause he shifts to drowic and tells the zealous guardsmen, who Kuzial will later reward for his actions, to stand down. The warrior nods to Kuzial's back, before walking past Kirien and tearing his axe from the tree it thudded so violently into. As he stalks back to his hidden spot he whispers in Kirien's ear that this is not done, before he vanishes into the forests, hiding with the skill only a drow can muster; greater even than their surface cousins who once plagued these forests, and far greater than the idiotic rangers of Larket who make enough noise through the trees to wake the dead. Kuzial doesn't move from his spot by the river, he continues his macabre game of shooty-fish, but it is clear by the way his warriors have not continued trying to kill Kirien that it is an invitation for the empath to join him beside the river.

Kirien's answer is a swift, unconsciously-spoken riposte; "It wasn't an order." As he speaks, his blind gaze remains affixed to the warrior retrieving his axe. Judging by his tight-lipped expression he's trying to suppress the urge to make a face at the man, which becomes all the more difficult with the murmur in his ear. Were he not drow, Kirien would probably wonder what his problem was. "I'm sure," he whispers back, frowning, before stepping out of the undergrowth and onto the grassy verge bordering the river. For a long moment Kirien watches Kuzial's back in silence, his stare boring into him, weighted, and maybe seeing more than it should - then he takes that step closer and sinks down to sit beside the drow. Water gurgles and splashes as another bolt is fired and the empath mentally adds a point to Kuzial's score when the bolt strikes true. "Have you been so deprived of killing that you're taking it out on the wildlife?" enquires Kirien after a short pause, gesturing idly to the fish.

Kuzial doesn't immediately reply to Kirien's words. His sharp hearing had picked up the brief exchange between guard and empath, but the drow doesn't overly care. Both the guard and Kirien can take care of themselves. Slowly he reloads his fired crossbow, before he finally speaks again; his voice no longer frigid, and as always it is strangely lyrical, "Perhaps it is their freedom I so envy... A freedom I can take with a small gesture... so perhaps they are not really free at all." The dark elf turns to finally stare at Kirien, his single eye looking tired, his other still bare; though thankfully the scar no longer leaks blood. "You found me." The words are accompanied with the twang of the crossbow; Kuzial shoots it blindly into the water, though even still he manages to kill another fish. "Though, perhaps I stopped hiding..." With that he reaches out and very briefly touches Kirien's shoulder with his hand. "You look... different." What he picks up on isn't clear, though the words are not spoken as a question. "The whole damn world is different." Just the smallest shade of bitterness slips through his usually enraged mood. "But such is life... or in your case..." He ends the words then with a slight and strangely languid shrug.

Kirien makes a vaguely thoughtful humming sound in the back of his throat. "I would not consider fish the most free of things, not when they're confined to water like this. Though, it's a good reflection of most who think they're free, j'suppose. You're trying to find freedom, now?" His head tilts just slightly so he can catch Kuzial's gaze with his own. Kirien is not tired, but it seems as if he's still searching for something, even after finding what he looked for for so long. Lifting a hand, he brushes his fingertips just below the drow's missing eye, the touch delicate and fleeting, but the weight behind it is something only Kuzial would feel, like the sensation Kirien gets when the drow touches his shoulder in turn. "I found you," he confirms and smiles brightly. "You're different, too." He told him he'd change, whether consciously or not. "But still you. That's good. I worried, at first, that you might become someone else, but your letter told me otherwise." The empath's hand lowers to his chest, over the breast pocket in his coat, and he pats it lightly, the crinkle of paper under his fingers.

Kuzial makes no move as Kirien briefly touches the flesh beneath his new scar, nor does his face betray what he is thinking. But maybe the empath would know; the patron has become somewhat adept at keeping his true thoughts hidden far enough beneath his oceans of rage that even the empaths would struggle to understand his true ideas, but how effective that is... Kuzial does not know nor care. He waves away the philosophical debate of fishes freedom with a small gesture, before returning his crossbows to their spot on his belt. Beside a new weapon that has taken the place of the Penzance Sabre. A large morningstar heavily engraved with images of priestess devotion. "I am different, yet I am the same." Briefly a hand lifts to rub over his own face; a flimsy gesture that does nothing to remove the weight from Kuzial's shoulders. "And yes, I told you I'd be fine. I also told you to leave me alone... in truth, I am surprised you listened." Were he capable of it, the dark elf would have snickered. "Or at least, listened for as long as you did. How goes it, idiot? I told you it would not be so long." Months were as days to one who is immortal and one who could live for another five hundred years if no blades or bolts find his heart. "I suppose I missed you."

Kirien would wonder how Kuzial could carry so much heavy weaponry were he not aware of how easy it is for the drow to haul him about or lift him up. Walls certainly help...but they're usually only for additional support. He snorts under his breath and shakes his head, pushing back that image. With his empathic abilities he's able to see more of Kuzial than he should, than Kuzial would probably like, but as always, this man has that perplexing feel about him; his true emotions concealed beneath so much furious rage that it's like searching for a wreck on the bottom of the ocean. Kirien knows there are emotions there, and he catches them briefly when they surface, but more than anything they're hints and better read through gestures. It's what makes him so exciting, he muses. "It was difficult." To listen, that is. "I wanted to find you before. I wanted to storm into that throne room and sit there until you got back, or purposely track you down...but.." Shrugging, Kirien pats the letter again, "You promised, so I believed you." He leans over to nudge their shoulders together. "I missed you, too. It was strange, sometimes, like I'd lost gravity et was just floating around."

Kuzial snaps a quick reply, "-And- was just floating around... do not start on that jumbled common already." Perhaps the drow should take his own advice and not start on him starting on that! But Kuzial isn't one to critique himself, unless it is involving the surety of a sword strike. "You are wise not to have visited House Stavret. There were.. changes.. or will be. Trist'Oth is soon to face a turmultous time, if I have my way. Too long have we sat silent beneath the earth... it is time to once again instill the fear of death into these idiots who walk the surface." He leans a little closer, then. "Even if our illustrious leader doesn't feel that way." With a snort his voice loses some of its edge, and again he speaks after Kirien's gesture of nudging him. "You listened and I am thankful. Even though that war is not yet done, the opposition seems to have once again fled to the shadows. I should have expected such cowardly actions from those who forsake their own lives for power..." A side-long look, then; vampires do the same thing, though at least they are not also forsaking their freedom, "But such is how it is. I no longer need fear my enemies' blades, so again I shall ensure this entire world fears my own." He nods, almost to himself, before after a deep breath he turns to properly look at the terramancer. "What the hell happened to you?" The drow lifts his hand and knocks on Kirien's head. "It's not hollow, I am surprised." Despite himself, he does snicker a shade then, "But it feels like it is filled with stones. Moreso than before." That is his way of clarifying what he means by his question... and at least he didn't knock too hard?

Kirien corrects himself lazily with a dismissive wave of the hand -- "-And-, then." -- before listening with rapt interest to talk of coming changes within Trist'Oth. Brows rise as he rests his chin in his palm, elbow leaning on a raised knee, the other leg straightened out in front of him, and he considers the words for a few seconds. "So you're planning to kill more than fish soon?" He casts a glance to the river and the dead fish he cannot see, avoiding Kuzial's own gaze as he speaks of those who trade lives for power - he's one of those, yes. "If the carnage in the river's anything to go by, it'll be bloody. Do try not to waste -all- the bolts, though," muses Kirien, almost chiding, before a knock to the head has the empath blinking round at the drow again. His mouth, which had been opening to make some retort, forms a huffy pout instead. "Of course it's not hollow. Stupid." He mimics the motion, rapping his knuckles lightly against Kuzial's forehead. "Yours feels like it's full of daggers." And something more subtle, more secret, that the genasi knows only he has seen. A smile curves the corners of his lips and then he shrugs, leaning a little more against the drow. "Without rambling, since you hate it when I talk too much-- I learned to control metal, so the elementals acknowledged me, et-- and-- now I'm...fused with part of one, I guess? I also made some mistakes in Vailkrin but I made it out alive...ish, and...ah. My heart turned into crystal. I don't really know why." Laughing, he adds with his typical nonchalance, "It's kind of funny, really. People generally stab you in the heart, but I can stab people -with- my heart, if I have the inclination."

Kuzial very nearly pulls out a dagger to see quite how well fused Kirien is with the metals and how crystalline his heart really is, but he decides he should perhaps wait before trying to kill the terramancer again. Five minutes after as many months... even he wasn't quite that bad. Though... it would be fun... no! He shakes his head, the silent conversation with himself dismissed quick enough. "It appears you got into enough trouble without me around. Though, I guess it is good you made it out... whole." The word is given strange inflection, for it holds more truth than the simple stating that Kirien didn't lose any parts of himself. But again Kuzial carries on speaking, almost masking his own meanings behind his continued words. "Vailkrin is a city of the dead. There are no mistakes you can make there that matter... Sometimes I regret killing the pixie and not taking control of the city myself. I would do better than the idiots in charge now..." The drow grins, then. "Or the idiots causing trouble..." He is about to go on, when one of his guards very noisily - pointedly so - moves from behind them. In an instant Kuzial's face grows impassive, though hints of barely controlled anger mask his almost delicate features. He stands and spins in one motion, while his hand rests on his belt close to his new weapon. "What is it?" The dark elf replies not in words, but in the hand-gestures used amongst the dark elves when enemies are close. With a silent nod, Kuzial turns back to Kirien and speaks yet again. "I must go, Kirien... More than fish must die this day. But..." The dark elf reaches into his belt's buckle and pulls out an amulet. "You broke the last one, don't ask for another." With a slight grin he drops the sanguine amulet upon Kirien's lap, before turning. He almost just leaves, before he halts long enough to lean down and whisper something into Kirien's ear. Then, with that done and no time waited for a reply, the dark elf moves off with his warriors; soon vanishing completely into the forests around them with an almost magical skill.

Kirien ponders over that word for a moment. Whole. It's one of those stupid things they do, giving added depth to words that would otherwise mean little more than others in the string of the sentence - it's clear in their voices when they're lending weight to these words, and meanings only they can decipher. It's like speaking a dead language in a way because no one else can understand, he thinks to himself, before ducking his head in a nod to indicate to Kuzial that he has been listening even while mulling all this over. "I'm glad, too," he agrees, but doesn't manage to comment on Vailkrin before one of the guards shifts in a clear sign that they need to pay attention to him, and Kirien's expression is shadowed with a frown. He knows those signals, what they mean, though it takes the empath an extra second to disentangle all the sinew and bone he 'sees' creating them and work out what exactly is being said. Then there's an added weight in his lap and his fingers touch gemstone, and Kirien murmurs back swiftly, "Don't waste too many bolts," as if he feels the need to remind the drow. When Kuzial leans to whisper to him, he tilts his head slightly so as to connect their eyes in a look that lasts perhaps a second too long, and his fingertips just barely catch a strand of long white hair. He gives a light tug, a faint grin on his lips. "I know." The drow vanishes into the forest, and the genasi turns to squint back down at the rushing waters before him, and says to himself with a laugh, "I'll be another dead fish."