RP:This Is The Rain

Summary: After an impromptu performance in the chilling rains of Xalious, Raphaline is invited by Odhranos to shelter from the rain and partake of a dry set of clothes and some warming tea. In the exchange that follows, the pair find a common connection through their shared love of music and story. Through their stories, long-forgotten emotions rise and a sweet, melancholy meeting of hearts emerges. Rated "F" for Feels.

Mage Tower

The rain coming down is heavy and bone-soaking. People flee towards the residing town hoping to reach the porches and indoors before their clothes become soaked and their shoes fill up to the brim. Mothers are ushering crying children away while some of the monks that come here are holding their heavy sleeves up over their heads as they head for the Mage tower. One of them turns back towards the tree because they thought they saw something out of the corner of their eye. Was there someone under the tree still? He glances at the large tangle of roots, but from his distance he can’t seem to determine if there is anyone or not. With a sigh, he turns back to his companions and makes for the shelter. If you draw closer to the tree though, just beyond the side that faces out towards the entrance the park, a half-elf woman can be seen. She is of sunset-red haired and tall stature with a set of emerald, curious eyes. She isn’t wearing anything noticeable or indicative status, rather most of her clothing is made of boring, brown leather. Her shoes--which are tucked under nearby roots--are the same color and material as well. She is in the process of shucking her jacket and rolling up her pant legs when she pauses at the sound of approaching feet. Tilting her head to the right, she sees it is only a sign being blown by the brisk wind. Once her state is satisfactory she takes a few tentative steps out from under the tree and into the rainstorm. With no clear audience, the half elf woman begins to dance in the rain. Her arms stretch outward, her footing and sure and graceful while her red curls dance about her in a mixture of wet streams and wind blown patterns.

Odhranos hums quietly to himself as he tidies up around his pokey little office. Shelves have to be dusted, piles of letters tended to and a general revitalising of the room is in order. Running a cloth over the windowsill, he catches a glimpse of colour through the rain running down the window pane, a vibrant red against the muted grey and green of Xalious in the rain. Opening the heavy sash window, he leans out on his elbows and peers into the lashing rain, trying to track down that elusive colour. The wind blows curtains of water against the sides of the tower, but thanks to the large investiture of wardings, Odhranos is spared a soaking as the rain gets deflected away. Gazing into the heavy downpour, he manages to find the object of his searching, and through the grey miasma, he can just about make out the figure of a woman, dancing, of all the curious things. Intrigued, but not wishing to interrupt, Odhranos leans on his windowsill to observe, while idly dusting some of the knick-knacks lined up against the window frame.

Seeing as no one has interrupted her interlude of fun, she decides to add just a bit more to this dance. She takes in a deep breath and begins to sing a single note that is high and clear and not loud enough to carry passed the mage’s tower. That single note stirs her magic awake enough to begin reaching out towards the rain drops. When she begins to dance again, this time in whirls and spins, her singing changes from a single note to a series of chords. The rain that had been dropping down around her stops moving in a vertical fashion and instead begins to move with her in a spiraling motion. When she moves through the vertical rain, she picks up more and more droplets until there is enough to form a small spiral shape from the tips of her fingers which are above her head, all the way down to the tips of her bare feet. With enough water to create patterns with among the normal rain drops, her singing changes again. A melody that is both whimsical and yet increasing in intensity begins to command the rain around her to move in opposing spiral patterns while other move with her arms and legs whenever they extend out from her body. To someone on the outside it looks like the bard is conducting the rain with both voice and extremities. She keeps on this for quite some time, her focus mainly on her motions and magic, that is until she spots an open window in the tower and someone leaning out. Rather than abruptly stop like she did in the past, she continues until her song is finished and she releases the rain bakc to the earth. Her emerald eyes focus in on the mage as she makes her way over to the tower and stands just below his window. "What did you think?" She calls up as she flashes him one of her usual, friendly smiles.

Odhranos is quite intrigued by the performance, but once the first clear note of song reaches his ears and he observes the music's effect upon the rain, he leans out the window with open fascination. Unable to help himself, he quietly hums along as the lively melody catches in the hissing air. He hadn't seen such a display of bardic magic in some time, and it was a spectacle to behold. Once Raphaline winds her dance to a halt and the rain takes up it's own dance on the earth again, the grey-garbed mage offers a heartfelt applause as she approaches the base of the tower. "I think I was very fortunate to witness such a performance, you have a wonderful voice." Odhranos leans over the sill and smiles down warmly. "Can I offer you a towel? You must be freezing."

Raphaline cannot help but execute a small bow in response to the applause. Grinning, she turns her emerald eyes once more up to him and says, “Thank you. I was worried it wasn’t going to work half as well. I haven’t practiced using my magic when I perform in quite some time.” As for the question of a towel, her smile brightens even more. “Oh yes, do you mind if I come in for a bit and warm up?” She can already feel both leather and cotton tunic sticking to every curve of her form. If he agrees, rather than go stomping through the front entrance and getting a lot of the mage tower wet, she will choose to use the wind around her to help lift her up and in through the window. This is done in much the same manner as her earlier demonstration with the rain, instead this time the chosen melody is light, controlled and quick. Just enough magic to lift up her form and deposit her onto the sill.

Odhranos hauls the sash window open further so as to make Raphaline's ingress a bit easier, before stepping back to give the lass some room. Stepping across the room (And when I say stepping, I mean taking one stride to cross from one wall to the other) he pulls open the lid of a heavy wooden chest and fishes out firstly, a thick cotton towel, and secondly, one of his spare grey robes. Once Raphaline has gotten herself safely through the window, he proffers the towel, before placing the folded robe on the top of his desk. "You should probably change out of your wet clothes, you'll catch a cold otherwise, and Sven knows how sick the Healer's Guild are of curing autumn-time colds". Heading for the door, he opens it before turning back. "I'll fetch a hot drink, any preferences?"

Raphaline steps into the room with ease but finds herself beginning to shiver now that is out from under the water. She takes the warm towel with a gracious smile as she begins to rub at the long curls while also trying not to get everything in the room wet. As she begins to work on drying her clothes, she notices the gray robe in his hand and sighs with relief. “You are a saint sir,” she says as she steps around his things and takes the robe. At the mention of hot drink, she perks up and responds with a quick remark of ‘hot tea please’. Once he is out the room, the bard makes quick work of her wet clothes, and wraps herself in the warm robe. As she pulls it in close she catches the smell of soap and something earthy on the clothes and smiles. Small comforts are hard to come by when you travel as much as she does. Parts of the robe hug tighter to certain curves while other areas seem more broad and roomie for her. She takes a seat near the window, lays out her clothes so they can both dry and continues to work on drying her long, red hair out.

Odhranos laughs as he hands over the robes. "I'm no saint, merely a mage well used to the delightful weather Xalious has to offer. I've been caught in enough sudden showers to always keep a few spare robes on hand." Once he hears Raphaline's request, he closes the door gently behind him and sets off down the corridor in search of mugs and water. After a few minutes, the grey-garbed mage returns with an armful of crockery and a cast iron tea pot that gurgles with its sloshing load of water. Tapping his knuckles against the door, he calls out to Raphaline; "Let me know when you're decent, I'll be out here in the meantime.". Once she opens the door, Odhranos would present his findings before placing them on the large solid desk. "The tea is in that flat wooden box on the second shelf, if you could pass it down to me. I'll get the water boiling." Selecting a pair of smooth polished river-stones from the extensive collection of rocks, gems and minerals that filled the terramancer's office, he held them in his fist momentarily, before dropping them into the cold water inside of the teapot. A moment later, the two stones began glowing a cherry red and heating the water around them. "Now, that'll be ready in a minute!"

Raphaline finishes drying her hair and begins to meticulous braid each wild curl into a long, tight braid. At the sound of a knock and soon after a familiar voice, she responds with a ‘come in’ and rises to great him at the door. When she sees that he has both pot and cups handled, she moves towards the task of selecting a tea. Carefully, she pulls the wooden box down and opens it. An array of floral and earthy smells wash over her as she finds tea she recognizes and others that are new to her. Choosing to ere on the side of adventure, she picks the one with the most color and takes it over to him. Curious about what method with which he is going to use to heat the water, she pauses her soft steps just to the right of him so she can observe his work. “I don’t think I have ever seen someone heat the rocks without fire before,”she says, placing a hand on his shoulder. “How did you do that?” She cants her head to the side as she offers her handful of tea to him. At this close proximity the bard does a once over, taking in the details of this new acquantince. It isn’t often she stands next to many who dwarf her generous height of 5’ 10”but it is a nice change of things.

Odhranos accepts the tea with a gentle smile of thanks, placing it into a small wire-mesh container, that sat neatly in the now bubbling water. "Heat is just a form of vibration, so if I get the particles that make up those stones to vibrate just enough, they heat up without breaking apart. It's a handy little trick, it just took a while to get the hang of. I was drinking tea with sand in it for months." Odh jokes as he leans down to catch the smell wafting up from the teapot. "Ooh, Forest Liqueur, good choice, that's a perfect one for cold days." Gingerly picking up the teapot with the tips of his fingers, he holds it up for Raphaline to smell. The scent she would catch is the smooth, fruity smell of rum, raisin and the fresh tang of wild berries. He places the pot back down on the table and straightened, his back popping as he stood upright again. "Ugh, Xalious protect me, I need to see a masseur one of these days." Bustling around the little room, he offers Raphaline the comfier of the two chairs before sitting down himself. "So, you must be a practicioner the bardic arts of magic, hmm? You have an aura around you that's far too lively and graceful to be a fusty mage like the rest of my companions. Not to mention your singing is some of the best I've had the good fortune to hear in months"

Raphaline nods her head in understanding; it sounds similar to how her own magic works. In the middle of his story about sandy tea, she purses her laugh and tries to smother her silver-belled laugh. She clears her throat, trying to reclaim her coy yet friendly composure. Leaning towards the pot, she closes her eyes in takes in a breath of the fragrant steam. The smile that finds its way across her lips is soft but relieved as it tugs up the right corner of her lips. She opens her eyes and turns her gaze towards him when he mentions seeing a masseuse. “How about a healer of sorts? Maybe a magically gifted one might be able to help you out as well,” she says, examining in much the same manner a healer might. She clasps her hands behind her back to keep from instinctively reaching out and placing her hands against his back to heal him. To keep herself from over-focusing on him, she moves towards the offered chair and takes a seat. Rather than sit in it like a normal person might, she throws her long legs up over one arm while she leans back against the other arm. While he speaks, she slowly swings her left leg in a semi-circle pattern while her left arm traces lightly over the stone floor. Her gaze dances over the decor of the room, taking note of the detail and what it says about the owner of the room. As for his question about her magic, her soft smile turns a bit solemn before she shakes whatever thought flitted across her mind and answer with a sweet tone. “Well I can’t deny it now that you’ve caught me in the act, no? It works somewhat similar to what you were saying about the stones. I can influence the elements around me by finding the right vibration or note that matches with the element and the state with which it is in and then changing to vibration or note to cause a change in the element. It more or less comes out as a melody of sort, but something a bit more primordial than just music.” Her hand stills against the floor as she tips her head back, her gaze once more centering on him. A brief smile dances across her lips as she says, “Thank you. You should hear me sing and play the piano together. I’ve been told that that is quite a show.” She chuckles to herself as she thinks of the last person who got to hear her do that. “What about yourself? Other than be a ‘stuffy mage’ do you indulge in the performing arts as well? Musically inclinded or possibly artistic?” She swings her legs off of the arm and sits up right so she can better offer her attention to him. “And if musically inclined, what would I have to do to convince you maybe do a little duet with me?” Her question is followed by a sly, flirtatious wink.

Odhranos shrugs as he settles into his chair, taking a more regular means of sitting than Raphaline's languorous pose; his left leg is draped over his right, while he relaxes into the back of the chair, toying with his neatly trimmed stubble with one hand while the he idly drums an irregular beat into the armrest of the chair with the fingers of his free hand. "I would, but healer's fees can be quite steep sometimes, and I don't feel like it's enough of an issue to merit breaking the bank over. It's no doubt a side effect of bad posture and too many hours spent at the desk. I really need to get back into the field again, stretch my self a bit, before I start gathering dust like everything else in this room." As his guest lounges in her chair, explaining the principles of her magic, Odhranos raises an eyebrow and leans forward in equal amusement and intrigue, Raphaline has a very different character about her than the residents that Odhranos has been encountering since his return to the Mage's Tower, and her means of magic has just as much character itself, it's a magic much less academic and reserved, much more colourful and passionate. "Hmm, fascinating. I've had Brennia try explain the principles of bardic magic to me before, but it always eluded my understanding. I never thought to think of it as a sort of resonance. Absolutely fascinating..." Odhranos gazes wistfully into the middle distance as he contemplates the idea, blatantly exposing the academic within, but he is brought back down to earth by Raphaline's questions. Her wink elicits a warm laugh as the mage stands up from his chair, and reaches over Raphaline's chair to lift an exquisitely embossed violin case down from it's place on the shelf. As he does so, his long, voluminous sleeves fall back to expose his forearms, which are criss-crossed with a patchwork of what looked like burn scars, over lean muscle; surprisingly weathered arms for such a seemingly studious mage. Once he had retrieved the case, he set it down on his lap before opening it to show Raphaline. Nestled within the royal blue silk lining is a violin, but rather than being made of wood, it is instead carved intricately out of a single large crystal, so that the light hitting it dances and fractures within it's volume. "I got this as a gift from Brennia a little while after I joined the Bard's Guild. It's been a while since I last played, but I should still have the skill." He then grins wryly at his guest while he lifts the violin from it's silken abode. "As for your other question, you need only mention the word duet and I am convinced. It has been too long since I last performed with a fellow bard."

Raphaline reaches out to touch his forearms but resists her healer instincts to touch those crisscrossed scars. Instead, she settles back into her chair as she waits for him to show her what kind of instrument he owns. At the sight of the violin case she lights up, her emerald eyes full of mirth as she rises and reaches out to run her fingers along the crystal edges of the violin. Beneath her fingers she can feel the deep vibration of the element, but also the care and love put into the shaping of the instrument. “It is quite beautiful,” she says looking up to him for a brief moment before returning her attention once more to the instrument. “And I am not surprised, given who gave it to you. Brennia is a very generous woman, and even more so when it comes to other bards.” She speaks of the avian a tone of fondness and compassion for her friend has seen some very harsh times recently. Smiling, she takes a seat next to him on the floor, curling her legs underneath her. Grinning, she asks, “Follow my lead?” With a hand gently placed on his knee, she closes her eyes and takes in a slow, deep breath. At this close range the mage will be able to see that there is a bit of light scarring that encircles her wrist. Centering her mind, she runs through a list of songs. Once she has chosen a song she parts her lips and allows the first few notes to flow from her throat. Her choice of song is something she learned a long time ago from another elven singer. The song itself is in elvish, but the melody itself conveys the coming of a great change that will affect so many. The song conveys the disillusionment that the people have with those in charge who keep beating down the common people. The song peaks as the people hope for not great heroes but for the people themselves to be able to find the strength to rise together against all these atrocities. And when they strike back over and over, there is turmoil and failure but also renewed hope. And it is there on the note of hope that the song comes to its slow but lingering end. As the last of the song falls away the bard opens her eyes once more, breathing out to release all the buzzing energy and magic that always seems to rise to the surface when she falls into her music. She turns to the mage as she tucks a stray curl behind her ear. “I think I kind of lost myself a bit much into that,” she says with a sheepish tone to her voice and a hint of a blush touching her cheeks. It isn’t her first time singing that song with that amount of passion, but somehow, being so close to someone listening while singing it feels more intimate that one hundred people all watching. She bites at her bottom lip as she looks way, her hands falling into her lap as a bit of silence falls between them. Trying to think of a way to rid herself of this sudden nervousness, she blurts out, “I am also a healer. I could help you, if you’d like.”

"She is, I owe her a lot, she gave me a home when I was in a bad way, and she helped me get back on my feet again. She's a very close friend, I really need to pay her a visit one of these days." Odhranos lifts the violin carefully from the case, and tucks it's under his chin before removing the bow from it's nook in the lid. "Mmhmm, one moment, just need to check the tuning". Five rapid adjustments later and Odhranos raises his bow, ready to play on Raphaline's mark. Once Raphaline begins her song, Odh listens for the first stanza, to get a feel for the key and timbre, before he joins in with a quiet harmony, that ebbs and swells with Raphaline's singing. Odhranos' face is set in a fierce expression of concentration, as he teases each note out of the instrument, as if locked in a dance to the death. As the song reaches it's zenith, Odhranos closes his eyes and focuses his mind on the violin. As the song reaches its culmination, suddenly the sound of two more violins rings out from Odhranos' instrument, though the sound is light and ethereal, somewhat reminiscent of a crystal chandelier jingling after it's been shaken. The ethereal triad of violins sweeps along in the wake of Raphaline's voice before quietly dying to a hush, so that the song ends with the pure singing that it opened with. Odhranos opens his eyes and breaks into a wide grin. "Ahh, that was wonderful, it's been such a long time since I've had a chance to use this instrument to its full potential, thank you!" The mage places the violin back in it's case, before giving Raphaline a gentle, quizzical expression. "Oh! Well, I couldn't trouble you, you are a guest after all, I couldn't ask such a thing of you. It's really not as big of an issue as I made it out to be." Odhranos seems a little flustered by the idea.

Raphaline lingers a moment in the unique sound of both stone and string echoing within one another. She would have to inquire with Brennia about where she had procured such a beautiful instrument. To his thanks, she offers a soft chuckle as she says, "I often play with other bards. My home always has a visiting minstrel at some point, but singing with you took this from a brief interlude to something more attune to losing myself to the music. Thank you for giving me that brief depth of creative passion." As for his flustered reaction to her offer she quirks a brow at the mage as her features form a look of bemusement. "A guest I may be, but a friend you are now. And I don't allow for my friends to suffer while I am around." She makes a turn around gesture with her hand before she adds, "And lift the back of your robes so I can get a better read on what is going on." Grinning, she playfully jests as she nudges his knee, "And no worries Sir Mage, I won't tell your fellow mages nor your lover that I had my hands on your bare skin." She cannot help it, flirting so shamelessly, but he is both attractive and sweet and the bard has such a soft spot for both.

Odhranos hesitates, shooting a glance towards the closed door, it wouldn't exactly do to have an apprentice strolling into his office finding him half naked with an unregistered guest; Xalious knows professors had been dismissed for less. He sits up, about to politely turn Raphaline's offer down, on grounds of it not being necessary, when his back suddenly flares with pain. "Ahh, I really don't thi- Agh! Bollox!" The mage doubles over in his chair, while his hand grasps futilely against his back, as if trying to drag the pain out, but to no avail. Lifting his pain-contorted face, he meets Raphaline's eyes and gasped with pain; "I... It's not been this bad... in a while, I thought it had eased..." Another twinge of pain causes him to hiss in pain, before he slowly, painfully straightens to a half-upright posture. A conflicted expression flits across his face, before he seems to make up his mind. Raising one hand, he flicks a gesture at the door, and with an audible "katchak!", the lock closes. At least that would remove the issue of any surprise guests. Unbuckling the pin over the left side of his chest, he opens the top of his robe, folding it down to where his belt hold the robes closed at his waist. Underneath, the mage wears a simple white tunic, which he lifts up and over his head, exposing his skin from the waist up. The skin beneath is darkened and weathered, more like hard worked leather than the pallid soft skin one would expect of an academic, while a sparse patchwork of the same burn scars as on his forearms arrayed itself across his chest. Glancing down at his own body, Odhranos huffs in a dejected tone. "A year in the desert ruined my chances of an unblemished body ever again. Oh well..." Turning away from Raphaline, he stares at the spines of books on his shelves as she presumeably sets to her task. "On the bright side, there is no lover to take offense at anyone laying their hands on me, so you needn't fear retribution on that front." The mage laughs warmly, which would vibrate through his body and into Raphaline's hands as he chortled amiably.

Raphaline may have thought about making a joke about the sudden locked door, but his cries of agony instantly shifts her into healer mode. She rolls up the sleeves of the robe and pins them so that at no point while she is working will the hinder her view of her hands or his back. Rather than go scouring for herbs or other natural remedies for healing, she moves closer to the mage and places both of her hands at the ready on the seat of the chair. When he removes his clothes and he reveals the extent of the scarring, she tips her head to the side as her emerald eyes trace slowly over each mark. None of them look self-inflicted at first glance, so she can only guess that someone else must have hurt him. It is his comment though that stirs something inside of her, and as her brows furrow and she turns her serious gaze once more up to him, she says, “Even though I don’t know what kind of trama you sustained when getting those marks, it tells me more about your story than any perfect skin ever would.” Gently, she reaches out and brushes the very tips of her fingers over one of the burn scars on his chest. “Each of these marks tells me that at some point you were able to rise up in spite of the circumstances and keep pushing forward to live,” she says as she pulls her hand back and shifts so she can better see his back. Carefully, she places her hands first where his own had been pressing down on his back. Before she dips into her magic, she feels for what kind of damage might be lurking beneath the surface and finds there are some strained muscles and something pressing against another place in his spine that would cause him excruciating pain. The bard joins his chortle with her own soft chuckle as she presses a couple more places on his back before finalizing her plan for his back. “I’m not sure whether I should say that is too bad given you are a handsome man to look at or be thankful someone won’t try to challenge me to a fight,” she jests as she lays both hands firmly on either side of his spine. She closes her eyes and settles her mind into a calm place before she begins to sing. This song is different than what he had heard earlier, the song is gentle and coaxing in manner; it is a song for encouraging healing. The magic slips from her fingers and slowly into his skin and below where it searches for the places out of line and hurt and begins to carefully knit together the torn, relax the strained and move the out of place once more back to where it belongs. As for the pain of the body being supported into healing itself, she adds another sweeter note to try and keep her patient relaxed while she slides her hands over his back. Once she feels confident she has hit every place that needed tending, she allows the song to drift away and pulls her back. “There. I wouldn’t strain it for a day or so, but your body should be on the mend,” she says, opening her eyes and turning her gaze once more to him as she folds her hands into her lap. “If you need a bit more tending, just leave a note at my home in the Xalious mountains. It’s the Bard Lodge just east of the Highlands, I will get it and come back by if it is still giving you trouble.”

Odhranos flinches ever so slightly when Raphaline's cool fingertips graze his chest, not from pain or sensitivity, but more from... unfamiliarity. "Hmm. A living story. It's an interesting way of putting it... I hope, at the very least, that I am an interesting read." Making light of the situation so as to dispel any discomfort, he lets Raphaline get on with her work. When the bard begins to sing, Odhranos closes his eyes and lets slip a long weary breath. Bowing his head as her music and magic intertwine to carefully coax his damaged muscles back into working order, the mage's body relaxes fully for the first time in a long time, aches and pains that he had accumulated disappating like mist under the sun's warmth. "Ahh... Xalious bless and save me... you have some skill... !" Halfway through his appreciative sigh, the mage stops abruptly, sitting bolt upright in surprise. After a moment's silence, he begins to laugh, a bright humorous laugh as he turns at the waist and faces Raphaline, with a slightly embarassed colour to his cheeks, but a broad laughing smile on his face. "It has just occured to me, that I never had the good manners to ask you your name, nor offer mine." The mage's laughter doubles once he reveals his oversight; somehow introductions had gotten mislaid in everything that had happened. Once Raphaline is finished, Odhranos would twist in his seated position and offer his hand to shake. "Odhranos Kerrigan, it's a pleasure." Once the appropriate pleasantries are finally carried out, Odhranos would fill the two mugs with the warm and fragrant tea, before handing one to Raphaline.

Raphaline almost loses track of where she is in the healing when he bolts upright suddenly. With the ease of an aged healer, she moves with him and keeps focus on her song as he begs forgiveness for forgetting to ask her name. Once done with her work, she returns to the pleasantries and slips her calloused hand into his. "It is nice to meet you, Odhranos. Though, I was quite happy to just keep calling you Sir Mage. Names are introductory in the way they reveal so much and yet so little about ourselves." Grinning, the woman dips her head as she allows herself a brief chuckle before answering, "Raphaline is my given name, but I have numerous nicknames. If you spend enough time around me, I imagine you will find something more befitting." She takes the mug from him with a gracious nod, blows on the top of the hot liquid and then takes a sip. A small sound of pleasure vibrates in her throat as her eyes drift, savoring the linger mixture of flavors in the tea. "This is heavenly. You are both interesting and have good taste, sir. Be careful of those two mixes, a woman craving stories might try to steal you away." She brings the mug to her lips and takes a longer sip of the liquid. Once more she feels her senses flooded with the floral and earthy scents and tastes, and once more she cannot help the soft sound of vulnerable delight that escapes her lips. After she allows herself another silent moment to drink, she once more turns her attention to the mage. "You said you found it interesting that I look at scars as a story. I want to demonstrate where I got that idea from, if you don't mind?" She holds out both of her hands, revealing the callouses lining her fingers and darker scaring around her wrists. "In this moment, you can read that I both love to play my violin," she wiggles her fingers, "and that I sustained injury to my wrists. Both good times and bad are written here in the same space on my body." She withdraws her hand and reaches for the collar of the robe, pulling it far enough away to reveal a mottle of very scarred tissue that dips down into the robes somewhere further down her chest. Above the large scarring is a small, silver line that cuts through the part of her collar bone that sweeps up to her neck. "The small scar is from my days as a healer in Frostmaw during one of the wars. The other is from an attack. Both are just another line in the grad adventure that has been my life." She pulls the collar back into place and reaches for her mug as she adds, "So you can see why I find the imperfections of someone's interesting. Each a new thing to learn about them."

Odhranos pulls his tunic back on over his head, before lifting his robes back onto his shoulders, pinning the cloth back in place with the simple metal brooch. "Hmm, that's very true. As proven by the fact that we functioned perfectly well til now without formal names, they aren't as necessary as we might think." Picking up his steaming mug from the desk, the mage took a tentative sip, before sinking back into the chair with a content sigh. "That all said, Raphaline is a delightful name, I'm glad to be able to put such a name to such a delightful woman." The mage's cheeky grin was hidden behind his mug, but the laughter could be seen in the small crinkles next to his twinkling eyes. Leaning forwards and resting his elbows on his knees, Odhranos tilts his head to the side in curiosity as Raphaline explains her ideology on scars, nodding silently as she presents her handss and explained the significance behind each blemish. "Mmhmm, I see what you mean. We are a tapestry of our experiences, just waiting for someone to take a close enough look and understand us." Sitting back with a pensive expression on his face, the grey-garbed man nods to himself. "Yes... I like that idea. I like it a lot." Turning to face Raphaline with a smile, he places his mug back down before rolling up his own sleeve. "I suppose, the least I can offer you for your kindliness is a good story or two.". Starting with his fingertips and working his way up to his forearm, he traces his index finger over each of the significant marks and explained them in return. "You can see similar callouses here, though they have faded somewhat, it's been some time since I had the opportunity to practice. While here-" his index finger pointed at two faint parallel marks on the sides of his wrist; "Shackle marks. Probably the oldest of my scars." Not stopping to explain, as that would be an entire saga unto itself, he moves on to the begins of the patchwork of burn scars; "These are my most recent. I was involved in an incident with a number of other mages, and in the aftermath, I encountered and was possessed by an artefact, which drove me into the Nameless Desert for a number of months before I was rescued. These are the result of my time there; sunburn, windburn, sand abrasion... the desert is not a place for the unprepared. As I learned!" Odhranos laughs before lifting his hand to point at one more place. "Though I did come back with one other, more strange marking on my body." If Raphaline looks closely at where Odhranos was pointing, she would notice that the colour of his right iris was infact different from his left. Instead of a dull silvery grey, the iris in question was a burnished gold colour.

Raphaline looks up at the mage with a raised brow in response to the compliment. She chuckles, shakes her head and takes another sip of the tea. Before she leaves, she will have to ask him where he got it. She sets her mug aside, and with a warm look in her emerald eyes, she listens to every word he says and following the line of his hand. She nods, taking in each detail and committing it to memory before finally speaking up. “May I?” She asks, placing one hand beneath his offered hand and one above it. Her eyes fall first to the callouses dotting his fingers and she feels a sense of camaraderie for those scars. If he allows her, she lightly touches each callous with a an air of reverence. Each reminds her of the long hours she spent practicing with her mother in the tiny music room, in the tiny home they lived in for a few years. Her green eyes glass over for a second as she gingerly reaches for the marks along the curve of his wrist. Now these, so early and similar to her own, make the bard feel both her heart harden and her throat fill with vile disgust; how dare anyone ever chain another living being! Her gaze travels up his arm, caressing each burn with her softened gaze until she is looking into his eyes. Yes, those two-colored eyes that don’t seem so off-putting to her. Instead, she likes the similar yet different metallic coloring in them. “I quite like your eyes,” says Raphaline as she idly traces her fingers down over his fingers before, she releases his hand and looks elsewhere in the room. “No one thinks that the most joyful and delightful of us might bare the most disturbing story lines. We may be kindred, in a sense Odhranos. Somewhere along the lines we found a way to move past a shackled start.” Her smile is soft as her eyes close and then open and turn to him. “It seems we both could tell tales to one another that would last days, probably even years,” she says, her smile brightening just a little. “If I may request it of you, would you share a story with me? I promise to offer a similar one in return.” To keep her hands busy, she begins to unravel her now dry hair from it’s long braid and finger combs the curls out so that they frame her face and fall like a sunset waterfall down over her shoulders and back.

Odhranos let Raphaline take his hand, and for a moment he tracks her hand as it gently touches the raised surfaces of his fingertips, which have been desensitized from years of practice, so much so that had he not been looking, he wouldn't have felt the light touch at all. After this however, he moves to studying her face instead, so intent and focused in her study of his arm. His mismatched eyes travels her features with a hesitant speed that mirrored her light airy touch, as if he focused too hard, she might feel the weight of his gaze and catch him in the act. Getting distracted in his observation, he doesn't realise it until Raphaline comments on her appreciation of his eyes, that he is gazing directly at her, with a soft pensive expression on his face. Taking his hand back as Raphaline releases it, he looks away and coughs, trying to hide the warmth he now feels creeping up his nape and blossoming in his cheeks. Regaining his composure as she presents her request, Odhranos turns back to look at her, with the hesitance of a child who has been caught once before and it wary of being caught a second time. "A story? Well... I.. yes, I would be happy to." Interlacing his fingers, his eyes fall on the faint markings encircling his wrists. Coming to a decision, he takes a breath to prepare himself before beginning his tale; "Far, far to the east of Lithrydel, where the Great Eastern Sea truly opens its arms and swaddles the world in its cool, dark embrace, there once existed a race of people, who roamed the endless seas in great fleets of ships, ever sailing, ever moving onward, in search of the one thing they had been lacking since the beginning of history. Searching, endlessly, for a home. These people became known in the ports and harbours of the Eastern Sea as the "Oileánaí", or the Wandering Island in common tongue."

Raphaline feels her heart flutter as she holds his gaze for as long as he allows before he breaks away. A smile, bright and warm dances over her own lips as she feels a slight flush creep across her freckled cheeks. With their connection broken, she shifts her position on the floor so that her long legs can stretch out and her body can lean her back against his chair. She tilts herself just enough that if she tips her head back just a little she can look up at him. As for her hands, they are idly working her curls out of the long braid and gently finger combing them into some sort of semblance of order. When he relinquishes his hesitancy towards telling a story, she offers a soft smile tucked into the left corner of her lips. She watches the way his body speaks of what kind of story this might be and notices his glance towards the markings on his wrist. Her brows form a small crinkle between them as she reaches out to brace her left hand against the side of his knee in support and comfort. She doesn’t ask about the details given, instead she sits by quietly and respectfully, her full attention upon him. She revels in the particular way he describes certain things and displays her thought very openly by adjusting the smile on her lips or the way her brows either come together in concern or one raises in curious questioning. She could feel for these people, her own heart had never been able to find a place to fully call home, or at least home in the same way she once called the small cottage her and her mother shared for a short period of time. Her heart wanted these people to find their dearest home, but somewhere deep down, she felt like this story might not go the way she wants.

By now, Odhranos is staring into the middle distance, his mind's eye crossing the thousand upon thousand leagues of sea to the East, hearing the snapping sails, tasting the salty tang in the air. "For decades, the Oileánai crossed the vast tracts of the sea, stopping in port only to gather what supplies they could store and what rumours they could dredge up, before they raised anchor and left once more for the endless fields of waves. Whole generations lived, loved and died on those ships, their entire lives measured out in gull cries and sea-foam." Odhranos looks wistful now, as if he longs to see the grand fleet he describes, prows cutting the wind and wave as they travel ever onwards. "Every Oileánai lived in the hope of one day seeing that elusive promised land, a land unclaimed by human hands, untouched and unspoiled, a land that the vagrant sea-nomads could finally call their own. Yet it seemed like this promised land was but a myth, for every land they came to, they would find, once again, the far reaching trappings of civilisation. Though the people there would throng and clamour, there was no place for the Oileánai amongst them. Too long had they cast off the ways of the land, to venture was the core of their lives, and not until the promised land was reached could they cease in this quest. So it seemed they would travel so until the end of days. Until the unthinkable happened..." Odhranos pauses, before looking down at Raphaline and presenting her with a smile so filled with wonder and love for the world, it seems like the mage is seeing the very unthinkable he speaks of. "After countless decades of fruitless quest, the Oileánai finally found their homeland."

Raphaline listens with baited breath as he divulges each new detail with a gusto she would normally expect from full-time bards. He might be a mage, but he could very easily pass as a traveling bard as well. As the intensity of the story begins to pick up, she switches positions once more. This time she stops idly playing with her hair and moves leans both elbows on the edge of the chair while she rests her chin on top of them. Her emerald eyes widen in both fear and wonder as she sees in her own mind’s eye the waves crashing, the ships cutting through the water and the look of continued hope upon the faces of these people. She takes the story into herself and holds tight, seeing bits and pieces that could very easily be converted into a song or an entire concerto. Her own mind begins to form the notes and chords that will make up the beginning of the melody as well as the words, both his and her own interpretation that would flow easily as lyrics. Grinning, she nods along until he comes to the part about something unthinkable. An audibly gasps leaves her lips as her heart leaps both with hope that something good resulted but also in fear that something terrible might also be the next step in this story. “Was it beautiful? Paradise incarnate?” She asks in a whisper like tone, trying not to interrupt the story too much.

Odhranos nods, his eyes misty with the intensity of emotions telling the story evoked in him. "It was everything that they could ever have wished for. An archipelago of islands, emerald hillocks rising from the cool waters, fringed in a delicate lace of white-sand and crisp-edged cliffs, it was a land rich in the wealth of nature, but devoid of civilisation and the touch of man. When the first of the Oileánai set foot on the sands of this long-awaited homeland, it was all they could do not to collapse to their knees and weep. All of the nights of their lives they had been soothed to sleep with tales of the promised land, yet it had seemed like a fantasy, a tale consigned to myth and legend. Yet, as they disembarked from their home-vessels and took their first unsteady steps in this new, virgin landscape, the promised land of legend presented itself before them, opening its arms to welcome them. And... it was beautiful." Odhranos' voice catches in his throat and he has to pause and take a sip from his now cooling tea before continuing. "The islands they found were lush and fertile, sheltered from the worst of the ocean storms, vibrant and alive with creatures strange and docile, and so it came to pass that the Oileánai finally left the ships of their birth and settled in the islands that would come to bear their name; Oileán."

Raphaline wished she could actually see these islands. The desire was becoming so rooted into her need to travel she began to wonder how long this trip might take and whether or not she would be able to find someone who could take her there. Would there be ships going from Rynvale heading east that would know this region? But then a thought hit her, the story isn’t over and those islands might not be there still. So she puts a pin in her rushing thoughts and turns her attention once more to Odhranos. The hitch in voice causes her to reach out and wrap her hand around his, offering him the comfort of someone who knows what it is to miss a place and time that has long left us with only a memory. For her it is her childhood home: small, brick built and thatched roof. Her mother spent most of her time either teaching the local children how to play the piano or the violin and Raphaline would sit close by and listen to them play. It wouldn’t be too long before she began to pluck her way through a few songs on the violin and then the piano. She was going to keep holding onto a bit of hope that this story might have somewhat of a happy ending, but then again, he was here and not there so it didn’t bode well for her wishes.

Odhranos is briefly broken from his train of thought when Raphaline takes his hand, but once he has overcome the initial surprise, he squeezes her hand gently in thanks. With her support giving him the strength he needs, he begins in the second half of his story. "The Oileánai prospered in their new homelands, and before long, the seafaring merchants of the Wandering Island became famous in the same ports where they had once travelled as nomads. The islands of Oileán became dotted with small holdings, tightly-knit communities that remained as remnants of the home-vessels. These groups of families that had grown up side by side on the same wind-swept decking now banded together to form the Houses of Oileán. As time progressed onward, the old hereditary roles of the sea-faring people adapted to their new land-bound culture. Captains became lords, quartermasters to stewards, and navigators to diplomats. It was a time of unprecedented growth and cultural expansion; the Oileánai began to develop diplomatic relations with the distant lands that they traded with, and so began to attract the attention of... less favourable nations." Odhranos' face grew conflicted and he involuntarily squeezed Raphaline's hand to settle himself.

Raphaline can see the islands growing and the people changing with their new surroundings and it warms her to know they were able to have some sort of time of peace. But, like many other people, when things seem to be good, there is always someone else eyeing what you have earned and wanting to steal it away. She could feel the winds of the story changing, turning in a direction of a deluge coming to collect. She purses her lips as he speaks of these other nations, the ones she knows will come and tear everything down. Something inside of her wants to cry out and tell those other nations to keep to their own business. But what could she do now for this place now? So instead, she turns her attention towards one person she knows from this lovely place and graces him with a soft smile. It is the kind that says I hear your pain and I am here and I see you. So, when he squeezes her hand, she returns the squeeze while giving him all the metaphorical room he needs to be able to say what he needs about his story. It has never been in her nature to push people to reveal what they are not ready to divulge. So she sits and waits patiently, her gaze always fixed on him.

Odhranos steels himself, even as Raphaline's gentle, empathetic smile settles his spirit. It is time to introduce his place in this grand tapestry, a mere single thread, but what convoluted knots it made. "Out of the Houses, one stood prominent above the others; descendants of the flagship of the original fleet, the members of House Carraig An Rí were of great importance in the nation of Oileán. As the House of the High King, the children of the House were trained in their duties from birth, to aid and support their High King and their people. Trained to be warriors, diplomats and leaders, the roles of these children were passed down through generations, from parent to progeny. Such was the way of House Carraig An Rí." Odhranos' mouth curls up in a small smile, warm happy memories playing out in his mind's eye, memories of grand halls, draped in banner and tapestry, of long nights, spent in the company of kin. "There was one such child, a boy, born into the House of the High King, and so from the day of his birth, it was decided that he would follow in his parents footsteps and become a diplomat of the people of Oileán. This child's name was Odhranos Ní Charraig An Rí." Grimacing at his own name's inclusion in the story, Odhranos continued on; "From the moment he could read script on a page, the boy was taught and trained for his future role. His days were spent under the tutelage of the best teachers Oileán had to offer, and so he grew into a confident and skilled young man, who was predicted to become one of the most prominent diplomats of the High King's retinue. And so, when the nation of Oileán came into conflict with it's distant neighbour, the Kayvanian Empire, the young man was sent along with the diplomatic party in order to assist in the negotiation of peace with this warlike nation."

Raphaline can feel that is the entrance that she has been waiting for; where the narrator becomes a character in the tale. She perks up, eyes filling with curiosity as he spins a tale about his own growing up. Is she surprised he was trained to be a diplomat? Not so much. From what she could tell of his sweet demeanor, he must have made a really good one. To be a diplomat is to walk a very fine line, a line the bard herself had done only once in her time here in Lithryidel. So she listens, watching as his features move from a retinue of warmth and nostalgia to something more akin to a flinch. She can see it in his when the story moves in the direction that the scars she had seen earlier on his wrists might come into play. She makes this thought know by glancing for a brief moment down to his wrists and gingerly running the thumb of her clasped hand over the curve of his scarred wrist. I see you, the touch says. And I feel for you. A fire begins to stir in her heart as she waits for the reveal of the nefarious villain. Even though she has only known him for a brief time, the bard already possesses the beginning feelings of affection for him. With that affection comes the need to protect, and for her, she knows she cannot save him in this story. So she sits and waits, and offers him a place to hold onto as he falls back into this story.

Odhranos is in full swing now, the story is beginning to take on its own momentum and he is near helpless to do anything but be swept along. "The diplomatic envoy travelled to the heart of the Kayvanian Empire; under the banner of peace and diplomacy, they were permitted travel and lodgings in the Imperial Palace, where they would then remain for a span of three months. Though eager to impress and prove his worth at the mission's onset, the young man soon became bored with the endless discussions and lack of opportunities to express his skills. Soon, he took to exploring the palace to relieve the boredom, wandering the long cold corridoors, seeking out novel rooms and hideaways tucked deep in the fabric of the building. It was during one of these surrepticious roamings, that the he would come into contact with one of the most dangerous things a young, bored man could possibly come across - " The mage smirked despite himself, and met Raphaline's eyes, his expression one of amusement mixed with melancholy. "He met a beautiful young woman, who stole his heart away."

Raphaline is nodding along with the story, waiting for the greatest reveal. It is in this palace that she waits for the nefarious to jump out and spook her. What she was not expecting was this plot twist; a tragic love story? It makes sense, stories possess some sort of loss and love is the most dramatic. Would she describe her own interludes with romance as tragic? Probably. Instead of surprise, her features form a look of bemusement as he mentions a beautiful, young woman. “She was a very lucky woman to have earned your affections. I can only imagine she was a goddess come to earth, no?” The bard definitely appreciates the fairer sex just as much as the more masculine. Neither hold more sway in her mind, but that might be because she falls for the personality more so than the physical form. Unable to help herself she quips, “I bet there are a few from these lands who might say something similar about me and their own tragic story.” Not that she has actively broken hearts. Just, well, you know. She shakes her head, curls dancing about her features as she waves him to continue on with the story.

Odhranos smiles at Raphaline's question before continuing; "She certainly seemed like a goddess, to a young man who's life had revolved around the dry tenants of duty and responsibility, he was struck completely unawares by this bright, energetic young lady he now found in his presence. What started with a chance meeting in the dusty corridoors of the palace soon became the highlight of the young man's days in that dreary old building. Long lonely days of walking now seemed too short, when filled with stimulating conversation, warm laughter and childlike enthusiasm. Every day, he would rise from his chambers early in the hopes of meeting the elusive "Raeana" earlier than the day before, so that he might spend just a handful more minutes by her side. But come the hours of dusk, she would bid him farewell and disappear back into the labyrinth of the palace, not to be seen again until the following day. He was curious, no doubt, but so filled was his head with the perfume of young love that he was too preoccupied to see the danger before it befell him."

Raphaline will never actually admit to enjoying a good bit of romance. She will never tell someone that hearing the good parts of a romance story always seems to warm the recesses of her heart. What she might admit to is that romances are the stories that are the most fun to sing about just after tales of triumphing over true evil. She wishes, despite her knowing how this story ends, that the young man in the story will end up with the woman he loves. Part of her feelings are due to her own affection for the aforementioned young man, and partly because she wants to see someone end up happy in the end for once! Someone always dies or ends up in a very bad place by the end of them! Again she waits, her lips pursed as she shifts around in a bit of an antsy manner, ready and prepared to latch on to her new friend and hug him very tightly.

Odhranos now gazes at his hands as he speaks, his thumb rubbing idly over the markings on his wrist. "This secretive and wonderful romance blossomed quickly between the two young people, as they wandered the halls of that dreary, yet magical palace. Fingers intertwined as they spoke softly, shy glances exchanged as they walked shoulder to shoulder, and hesitant fumbling kisses given in the warm darkness of some hideway; it seemed to the young man like time had decided to stand still, that life had taken a step back, allowing space for these young lovers in their quiet world of solitude. He wished that it would last forever, this warm twilight. But life, like time, stops for none of us, and so it came to pass that this fantasy was shattered by the rude ingress of life once more." Odhranos has to take a moment to breathe. Slow, halting breaths as he recalls what happens next. Where it all truly began. And truly ended. "One night, when the young man was sleeping in his chambers, swaddled in the embrace of pleasant dream, he was suddenly roused by the crashing of his door being brutally kicked in. Before he could so much as cry out, he was torn from his bed, shackled in steel and dragged from his chambers, a blur of colour and confusion bewildering his still sleep-addled mind, before being thrown to the ground once more. When he had gathered his strength and cleared his head, the young man sat up on his knees to find himself in the centre of the Grand Hall, while a squad of the palace guard surrounded him, hands grasping their hilts threateningly. Trying to open his mouth and ask why he had been so rudely awakened, the young man was silenced by a loud commanding voice. Seeking the source of this voice, he turned his gaze to the end of the hall. Seated on his great throne, the Grand Regent of Kayvania stared down with murderous intent in his eyes. While to his left, stood the Grand Princess of Kayvania..." Odhranos' voice grows quieter, almost to a hoarse whisper; "Or Raeana, as the young man knew her."

Raphaline thought she was prepared for the turn of events, but as he heart picked up speed and the sudden realization of who was responsible for those marks, she couldn’t help the much rougher squeeze of her hand in his. This made her mad, or well, this woman made her mad. She could see it, the treachery and lies, the conniving and manipulating; it made her sick. Raphaline isn’t prone to violence, in fact she has only hurt someone in defense, but the mere thought that this woman who had hurt this nice, sweet man, might still be out there hurting other people, made her blood boil. Outwardly, the only evidence of this percolating anger was her tightened grip and the deep crease forming between her brows. She takes a deep breath in, and calms herself before she decidedly makes a fool of herself in front of her new friend. Gently, she takes his hand and presses the back of it to her cheek, hoping some of the heat she knows rose to her cheeks might warm his hand and maybe his heart just a little. She wants him to know she is still present, still listening and still here to support him.

Odhranos' eyes soften as Raphaline presses the back of his hand to her cheek, and the warmth that radiates from her dispels the anxious chill that had crept into his hands. Thanking her with his gaze, he begins to speak again; "The Grand Regent was apoplectic, he cast one damning conviction after another on the young man, who shivered with cold and fear as he knelt in chains, dressed only in his nightwear, as the Kayvanian court and the Oileánian envoy looked on in silence. Unable to meet the eyes of his people, the young man desperately tried to meet the eyes of the Grand Princess, to no avail. The young man sought desperately for at least a hint of confict in the princess' expression, for some sign that this was done against her will, that she was as much a victim in this as he was. But Raeana's gaze stayed straight ahead, and her expression set in stone. The Regent continued his tirade; for the crimes of defiling the imperial highness, the young man was to be cast out from Kayvania, along with his people, never to return. Once the court was adjourned, the Oileáni envoy were sent out from the Kayvanian lands, with diplomatic relations in tatters and a young man in chains. Upon their return to Oileán, the young man was tried in court, and soon after was declared exile; cast out of his House, disowned by his family and turned away from his people. Tried, convicted and sentenced, all for the crime of loving the wrong woman."

Raphaline is furious. Her cheeks are flushed even more so and she wants to have some harsh words with what seems to be a growing list of people. But this is not her moment, nor are her emotions top priority for her. Instead, she needs to make sure there is space for her friend, space enough he can openly express and feel all the emotions she knows are tied to this moment. At first she thought there was nothing even close in her own past that could equate to the kind of betrayal he had sustained but as she thinks of family, a moment pushed down deep comes to mind. She shakes her head, no, not right now. So she rises from where she has been sitting on the floor this whole time and leans down to wrap the mage into a tight hug as she whispers, “It is not your fault.” Because it isn’t. He made a mistake yes, but not one that deserved that kind of punishment. And those people, how could they so readily toss aside someone with such a kind heart? “You deserve so much better,” she begins to say, “Your trust shouldn’t have been broken so readily. They were wrong, not you.”

Odhranos’s eyes are already misting as he tells the conclusion of his tale, but it is only when Raphaline wraps her arms around him and whispers her comforting words that it truly dawns on Odhranos how long he’s been waiting for someone to tell him those very words. Tears begin to run openly down the mages face, and so he hides it in Raphaline’s shoulder, where her soft vibrant curls offer shelter and comfort. Wrapping his arms around her and hugging her as if she were a lifeline, the mage weeps quietly in her arms for a little time, simply letting his feelings flow unchecked, after keeping them buried so deeply for so long. After a little while, he slowly regains his composure, but keeps his face hidden, resting his forehead on Raphaline's shoulder. "Thank you." He rasps hoarsely, his voice now gravelly and strained from the long tale and now the weeping. "Thank you for letting me tell that story. And… for being so patient." He sits back from the bard, unfolding his arms and rubbing the wetness from his cheeks. "Ahh, Xalious protect me, I must seem like some weepy child. I'm sorry you had to see me like this, and having only met me too " That said, the mage's expression was gentle with thanks and appreciation for Raphaline's presence and comfort.

Raphaline pulls him in close as her left hand gently runs it’s fingers through his hair and the other is gliding up and down in back in comforting circles. She doesn’t say anything else while she holds him, but her heart goes out to him with every sob and shake of body. When he does begin to speak, she tilts her head just enough that her cheek presses against his hair as she leans in to listen. His thanks brings a small smile to her lips as she draws back as well, giving him space to recoup. Once he finishes talking, she reaches out and brushes away a tear with her thumb as she says, “No. I think it takes a lot of strength to allow yourself to experience deep feelings and then to express them openly. So I commend you, and I feel honored that you were willing to show them to me.” She rises moves towards the tea pot, and though the tea is now cold, she refills his cup and carefully nudges it towards him. “I promised to tell a tale in the same vein of whichever you chose, so, nurse your voice and allow me to render a story of my own.” She pours some tea into her own cup and drinks a bit before she sits on the floor, finding the stability of the stone comforting. To center her mind, she closes her eyes and breathes out a deep breath before she begins: “I wasn’t sure which story to tell. I’ve only been in love twice in my life, but there have been many attempts at it. Very failed one.” She shakes her head as she folds her hands into her lap, her emerald eyes gazing down at her fingers weaving together. “If you couldn’t tell, I am only half-elven,” she says tucking a curl behind her slightly pointed ear. “Which means that my beginning might have been passionate and full of love, or a brief period of fault.” She purses her lips as she recounts the face of her mother, beautiful, rounded and framed by luscious red hair. “My mother passed away when I was barely ten years old. It was an illness that took many in the village. No one there could keep me, or wanted to really. I was strange, exotic, to be admired from afar. So my father’s family came to get me.” She pauses, forming the image of the elven city and the first moment she saw those domes cresting over the treeline. “His wife was displeased with me, for I was a reminder of her husband’s constant dalliances. She constantly told me I was only brought here because somehow I was the only who displayed a gift for the same sort of magic as my father. None of my half siblings could manipulate the elements with music and magic like our father. So I was there to train, to carry on the legacy of the family’s magical heritage. To be married off when I was older to whomever my father felt suited his political needs. As for me, I was just happy to have somewhere to go, and maybe the chance at another family.” She shakes her head, her brows furrowing deeply. “My half-siblings hated me, they tormented me constantly and soon, when we all went to school, their friends did as well. I was fourteen and an outcast once more.”

Odhranos averts his eyes to the floor, deeply touched by Raphaline's comforting words. He accepts the mug of tea gratefully and drinks deeply, soothing his aching throat and settling him a little as Raphaline begins her own story. Quietly slipping out of his chair, he joins her in sitting cross-legged on the cool floor, brushing off a little dust that had found its way onto his robes. Cupping the mug in both his hands, he sips quietly as Raphaline recounts her past. His brows press together in saddened concern as she tells of her mother's passing, and her mistreatment at the hands of her half-family. His heart feels heavy in his chest out of empathy and it is all he can do not to reach out to Raphaline, but he does not want to interrupt her during her story.

Raphaline shakes her head as her right thumb rubs across the curve of her other hand as she continues, “Humans reach puberty earlier than elves, so my body began to mature faster than most of my classmates. It also became apparent that my human side was going to display itself more as well. Rather than be very tall and lithe like many elves, my body began to curve and shape in a most human like way which attracted more of the wrong attention. So either I was being harassed for the way I looked because they liked it and hated me for it, or they just hated me for being different all around.” The bard huffs, wishing just a little that she could go back and punch one of those grabby boys. “I kept trying to be a good girl and live up to my father’s expectations, but it only seemed to upset him more that I continued to take after my mother and not him in looks.” Her right hand calms its idle movement, and instead takes a hold of the end of a curl and begins to twirl it around her index finger. She loved her hair: texture, color, length. “As training became more intense, our school competed against others and that was when I met someone who was going to steer me down a very different path.” This time she laughs, almost in a mocking tone. “Well, tricked me down it was more like it.” Shaking her head, she continues her story. “I met a group of people, different from the stuck up nobles I had grown up with and we began to steal and vandalize noble houses. It is with that group I met what you might call my first love? He was tall, brooding, a roguish boy. He told me that my magic should be mine to do what I want with. What he didn’t tell me was that he was the fifth son of a royal house and just acting out. One night, we stole into one of the noble houses and things went downhill. We were going to get caught and dragged off to prison, so I used my magic to cause the building to tumble. What I didn’t know was that there were people inside that building, at least not until after I was caught. They had left me at the scene of the crime to deal with the consequences alone.”

Odhranos purses his lips and furrows his brows as Raphaline explains how, when her human heritage began to express itself, her persecution only increased. Children of that age were the same the world around; too young to understand how cruel their words could be, but too old to not notice the differences in others. He can't help the small smile as she describes her first love. He can picture the type well, dangerously charismatic with words like honey. As Raphaline explains the beginnings of her where her tragedy began, the mage tightens his fingers around the earthenware mug and open concern can be read in his expressions. The unfairness of her treatment and now her abandonment by those she thought to be friends, left at the mercy of the law for a crime she was misled into commiting; Odhranos' heart went out to the lost, outcast young girl.

Raphaline looks up at the mage with a soft smile, she appreciates his obvious attentiveness. At this point in the story she beginning to wish that the tea in said cup is whiskey, just to ease her nervous that she can feel flaring up. But, without the nerve to ask for hard liquor, she downs the rest of the tea in one swift drink before continuing her story. "I was taken to prison, locked up and told I would be brought before a trial. But there was no trial, no chance to speak my peace or learn of my punishment. Instead someone came to get me one day, clamped manacles around my wrists and dragged me kicking and screaming out of the prison and into a carriage. I was transported a far distance, and there were a few times I tried to escape, but to no avail. I could barely sleep for the three days we traveled. On the third day we arrived at what was obviously a noblemen's home. In my weakened state, I was taken into the home and deposited on their marble floors before an elder elven noble and his son--who was my friend from earlier. For a moment a fleeting bit of hope brightened my heart because I thought I had been rescued by someone I loved but that was not to be the truth. They had bought me from my father so that they could use my magic and hopefully breed the magic into their own family lineage. And this friend, he had helped plan the whole thing." She sighs as she pulls her hair over her right shoulder, idly combing it with her fingers. "They kept me in irons the entire time, for the three years I spent under their roof. The son lived under the horrendous notion that he could convince me again to trust and love him and everything would work out. They sent me off to fight their squabbles, to tear down their enemies and if I refused, they whipped and beat me." She stops combing her hair long enough to reach a hand over her shoulder to gingerly touch a place on her back where she remembers the whip. When the tears begin to well up, she closes her eyes and takes another deep breath as finishes her story, "One day, I got very lucky. I had starved myself to a point I could slip my wrists from the manacles. If luck had not been on my side that day, they were going to force me to be with that man, and I would have born more than just physical scars now." And deep in her heart, she knew that that moment was not the last time she would see that family or that man she thought she loved. She drawls her knees up to her chest and buries her face in them, trying desperately to keep her own tears at bay.

Odhranos leans forward, his heart in his mouth as Raphaline recalls her imprisonment. For a brief moment, he too holds hope that she was truely rescued, but the moment she mentions who her would-be rescuer was, his heart fell once more. Rage and despair curdles in his stomach at the injustice and inhumanity of Raphaline's treatment, in Odhranos' mind, slavery was the most damnable crime a being could commit, and to sell one's own daughter to another family to be used, used, like some commodity for the purpose of breeding and doing their dirty work, it was beyond reprehensible. It was unforgivable. Odhranos places his mug aside before he breaks it, his knuckles a pale white with how tightly he clenches them. A cold chill runs down his spine as Raphaline concludes her story and the fury boiling in him reaches a new peak. Around his study, the countless crystal and stone samples begin vibrating gently, as the mage's anger spills over into his magic, but before they can reach any sort of dangerous culmination, Raphaline seems to curl in on herself, hiding herself, and Odhranos' anger is suddenly doused with empathy and a burning need to protect and comfort. Kneeling alongside Raphalne, he enfolds her in a hug like she had done for him, wrapping her in a warm embrace of rough grey cotton, while he murmurs softly to her. "It's alright, it's over now." Resting his cheek against her crimson locks, the mage gently rubs Raphaline's back to sooth her. "You're not alone anymore, you have friends in this land who love you like you are their own family. You're not alone."

For the first few moments as her tears began to slide down her cheek, she felt like a singular being a too big universe; alone and forgotten. But then there were strong, warm arms wrapping around her and pulling her against someone. She looks up just enough to lean her face into his chest and her right hand reaches up to gather a handful of the gray cloth. She holds tightly to the front of his cloak as if this is the only way she can keep herself from drifting away into the abyss that her memories can be. So she buries her sadness in the scent of his clothes and the sound of his constant heartbeat. She pushes those long ago memories down deep, but as he says they’re over she cannot help the choked whisper that falls from her lips. “I thought that too. They found me, a few years back, and almost dragged me back to that place,” she says, trying to brush tears from her cheeks. “They tried, but I—“ she gulps, “I brought down that prison, I burned it all to the ground!” She could still smell the smoke, could still hear the sound of stone pulling free, and the sight of her red hair falling around her as she cut herself free the grasp he had on her hair. She made sure that they could never hurt another person ever again. She shakes her head, ridding herself of those thoughts. She pulls away just enough that she can look up into his eyes and see the truth as she says in a soft tone, “Please don’t think worse of me for what I did.”

Odhranos stiffens when she mentions her tormenters' return and how they were then dealt with. As she pulls away slightly, he looks down into her eyes, and he can make out the worry and pain written there plain as day, tugging at the mage's heart. "I couldn't possibly think worse of you, Raphaline. Not after the things they did." Odhranos' expression is both soft with compassion and flinty with anger at these monsters that walked in the guise of men. "They were monsters, reprehensible monsters, and you did what you had to do to see that what they did was put to an end. No, I don't think worse of you at all." Odhranos' words are delivered in soft whispers, as if he fears to speak loudly and upset her further. Lapsing into silence, the mage simply provides his presence, quiet and caring, holding her for as long as Raphaline may need him to.

Raphaline smiles brightly through her tears as relief washes over her and her taunt muscles relax once more. She leans deeply into, resting her head against his chest as her eyes close. Just sitting her in comforting silence while she follows the beat of his hard and enjoys the warm of his arms around her puts her mind at ease in such a way that she had forgotten could be possible. Who was this man who could ease her heart so quickly? Before she lost herself to questioning, she sighs with contentment and curls as close as possible up to him.