Submersion

[Petra]

2nd of Searing, Year 4622

Like eels, perhaps even leeches, beneath his skin. Petra felt his body consumed by a weird and sickly sensation following the bout of water blasted his way by Alistair. Like something got inside of him, danced around inside of him. Took his organs for a ballroom dance? No. Too far. It hadn’t felt that bad. Just strange and hard to reconcile with himself. It was if his body had absorbed the water that left his clothes drenched. If he had known requesting such a show from the other man was going to result in that he’d have thought twice. Though, he should’ve seen it coming given that wine was a factor.

Between his untimely shower, and finding himself seated on a bed in Alistair’s home with his modesty protected by merely a towel tight around his waist, struggling to fight its confines to his mid-thigh, Petra had been offered a chance to bathe. Whether Alistair had soaked him or not, he would’ve taken it, it was just an awkward way of getting to that point. Petra had no clue how long he had been on the road, but he knew it was long enough to need some soap suds in his hair and on his body. Every part of his body. To which with a little privacy he did so. Only for a short while. He was unsure he wanted to tempt the hand of a man who’d made it sound like getting foreign boys undressed was an act of sport. It was all that in mind that had led him to the spot on the bed, with the questionable towel. Questionable in a sense that Petra was unsure if it was an ally or foe in his intent to protect his modesty.

Seated as he was with his legs pressed together, both of his hands were splayed out of his thighs where the towel didn’t extend. His body was bent forward somewhat as he stared at the ground with what could be described as a blank expression. He was trying to understand why he felt so odd after the dousing of water, why he still continued to feel slightly unnerved by it all. He wanted to question Alistair on that, on why he felt as so, but.. Holding his tongue was a slightly better move at the moment.

Instead of tackling the topic of why he felt odd, perhaps he could approach why the man had done such a thing in the first place. “I will think twice when asking for magic demonstrations from anyone in future. I suppose that was my tole? The price in which you enacted for my curiosity?” He posed to Alistair, who was standing in the room seemingly rifling through options for attire. “In the most respectful manner, I don’t believe you simply lost control,” He added, his voice phrasing it in a casual and kind way, rather than anything which seemed to be accusatory or rooted in negativity.

Awkwardly, Petra seemed to be rubbing the pad of his thumb continuously over a spot on his thigh, like he was unnerved by continuing to feel that odd sensation like something had passed into his body. The feeling of something being there was entirely in his head. It was over. Still, he had an awareness that something had happened.

[Alistair]

Once the water seeped through into Petra's body, Alistair recognized the rashness of his actions. Submersion was no simple trickle on the skin; it was absorbed through the body, it touched the outer layer that protected the cerebrum, and traversed along the muscles of the one being interrogated. The sensation for Petra was, surely, odd, and the man wondered whether he might have done some measurable harm to their rapport, their trust. It wasn't often that he thought or felt things like that, but Petra was a young man wandering through a strange land, and Alistair himself had been the one to state how essential trust would be for him. If he could not trust at least some of his peers, he could not survive. That same sentiment had quickly been called into question.

And yet, he still decided to examine the residue of the Submersion, pulling some of the water into a glob and consuming it once the Rien man was away and preparing for his bath. Upon drinking it, flashes of understanding waded through his mind; Petra was largely... uncertain, of most things. It seemed he understood little more about himself than Alistair did. The longer he meditated on the sensation, the closer he came to a conclusion that he was facing a lapse in memory; that his Blight, perhaps, was the origin point of that affliction. He had no magic and no particular ill-will; he was even somewhat trusting of Alistair, even now.

All of these things were surface level, and easy to tell. If he wanted to learn more, he would need to utilize his Moondial, or interrogate the other through the Ensign. He did not want to do that, though; Petra was not an enemy, and mere curiosity was not worth such an endeavor. He let his Ensign disperse, the water bursting out across the grass, before stepping back into his small townhome and seating himself on the couch. When Petra was finished bathing, he nodded at him and gestured him to his room, informing him that he'd freshen up as well. It felt all too much like the moments before fornicating with a partner, but his intentions weren't quite that. He didn't really know what he wanted out of the night, or this interaction, or anything.

He took a bath himself, though not one he indulged in for too long. Within ten minutes, he was done, wrapping a white towel around his waist and placing his clothing into a woven basket to be cleaned with Baptism at a later time. The man pulled the towel from his waist for a moment, drying his hair before wrapping it back around, and ultimately lumbering towards his room. He glanced towards Petra, smiling faintly. Alistair loomed in the doorway; he was tall, broad and muscular, his physique that of a trained soldier with a life of athletics behind them. There was a great contrast between them in many regards, the layout of their bodies being one.

Stepping towards his drawers to find clothes for the two of them, he turned his head as Petra offered him his thoughts.

"More or less," he answered. "I wanted to know your intentions. You see -- I am sure you have all the reasons available to be leery of or afraid of me, but in truth I carry the same worries myself. I may be much larger, but I am still fallible to death; poison, a dagger in the neck. If you are to stay here, I want to ensure that your intentions are good. That little trick I just did... ensured me that they are."

The exile turned, leaning his back against the dresser. "If you'd like, you may stay here much longer than tonight. I only have the one bed, but if you are uncomfortable being my companion, my sofa is available to you. I'd offer to sleep on it myself, but, ah... I won't quite fit."

The man rubbed the corner of his nose for a moment. "I offer this because it appears to me that you are in greater need of a friend than I thought. You can remember little, including things that might protect you in this place; the basic necessities of survival. I don't think you mind the prospect, either. From what I've gathered, you're becoming rather fond of me. As I am for you."

[Petra]

Petra thought maybe he should be a little more wary of such a large and imposing man being dressed in so little, with himself dressed in so little, but oddly he seemed to be at peace. Part in the course of that peace was that he was just far too occupied with the weird sensation that he could still feel through his body. However, it seemed to quell and dissipate with each passing moment after he understood why he felt as such. Petra had no clue intentions and such could be learnt through dousing people with magic water, but there it was. At least he’d learnt something new, both about different kinds of magic, and Alistair too. Offering a cost had bought such an inspection upon himself, but it had removed the pretext of having to explain his memory lapse.

“You jump to presumptions, but I cannot argue, I am finding myself fond of you,” Petra poked back at the other man’s words, knowing he needed to clarify them as such. “Fondness in your openness to teaching me of things before you know about what I am dealing with, and now fondness in the way you react,” He continued, carefully phrasing the words as his eyes couldn’t help but take the entire view of the man in. “I am a little cautious of you, but that’s only for obvious reasons.” The boy surmised, beginning to push himself to standing as he let his eyes card over the various garments that Alistair was combing through.

“I’m not making a comment on being your companion yet. I’m within my right to be a little jaded after you used your elemental-thing to give me a wash,” He expressed in a lighter and more humoured tone as he extended a hand outwards and gripped at what appeared to be a large button-up dress shirt. Large by Petra’s standards, however, sized to fit Alistair. “This piece of clothing will placate me,” Petra shifted their topic to the item of clothing and the need to dress. His body turned to face Alistair, one hand finding his hip, the other clutching at the collar of the shirt. “I might ‘lack the basic necessities of survival’, but I still know the value of privacy.” He challenged, eyes flicking to the doorway, testing how Alistair would respond in kind.

[Alistair]

Upon Petra's admission, the man appeared to hum, pleasingly. His magical water never lied to him, and that theme was being kept. There was a strange sort of simplicity between them, one they both appeared to enjoy. In relative terms, they understood the other's intentions, and they mutually served as a reliable window into... a certain sort of life. Alistair was curious of Petra, and it was a mutual thing. It was the first time in a long time he'd really felt some spark of curiosity. As beautiful as Genteven was, there were little people present within his own social circle that really appealed to him in a curious sort of way. The Valran were all predictable upstarts; the peasantry only wanted bread and a place to lay their head. The Entente, who were fascinating to him, were all out of reach. Petra was an oddity, wading through the realm, delivered right to him by some stroke of chance.

"Right you are," he said in reply to Petra's light-hearted accusation, bowing his head slightly as if to accept all blame. Like the gentleman he occasionally knew how to be, the man offered him the shirt he'd asked for, even if it was incredibly oversized. It wasn't like the Rien man was going out for a supper in the city, he supposed; he did not need to dress well-fitted, or well at all. The shirt served to guard his assets, which was the intention.

He lingered for a moment, imagining as men like him tended to do; imagining Petra unveiling, recalling the brief moments before they'd separated where he could see his frame through the soaked attire. Even gentlemen pondered on such things, though the moment the other questioned his respect for his privacy, Alistair bowed his head and prepared to leave the room. "Take your time," he said with a smooth voice, lifting his lip for a moment to offer a placid smile before exiting the room, and closing the door behind him. As easy as it was for him to be forceful and demanding, he found little interest in being that sort of man.

From outside the door, he began to hum an old Griscian tune, glancing across the room to see a half-worked Sunderscrap sitting on one of his tables. The man's mind wandered off towards distant things.

[Petra]

“I shall!” Petra hollered back to Alistair, even if the other was being a gentleman and actually offering him the privacy he sought. Laced within there was a sense of playfulness in Petra’s tone like he was enjoying the dynamic they were wading their way through. He did not have much of a compass to compare such interactions with, it was fresh and untrodden territory for the boy without his memories, and Alistair seemed to be treating him with the grace that demanded. “I shan’t be long,” He added, conflicting his prior statement, unable to help himself. The small glimmers of Petra finding himself endearing to the hulk of a man.

The towel was dispensed with upon the floor, his body wrapped up in the large dress shirt. When Petra pulled the door open, allowing the other back inside, and to gaze over him, it was quite the humorous sight. The sleeves of the shirt were pushed up to his elbows creating quite the puffing effect along his biceps. The length of the torso danced itself over his mid-thigh, pushing the boundaries to about three-quarters of his thigh if lucky. Given he was without any sort of further attire, he was awfully thankful it afford that protection. The top buttons were loosely undone, four of them which exposed an expanse of chest, clavicle, and neck. Perhaps a nipple, or both, if the fabric shifted in Alistair’s favour.

“I look like a fool, but it will do. I left all my belongings with my steed at the entry to the city. You know, since I didn’t intend to need a change of clothing” He sparred with the other man, in almost a similar state of undress to him, though he felt Alistair wore it better than he had. Without thinking all too much about it, Petra turn on his foot and bent over to collect the towel he had dispensed with, pressing it into the other man’s hands. Whether Alistair saw the modesty he was trying to protect or not would be something Petra would never know. “Tell me what else you gleamed from me using your magic,” He insisted, keeping close proximity to the other man, a little like he was hounding him for answers.

[Alistair]

As Alistair returned, he found himself strangely avoidant of the other's state of undress, largely because he did not wish to make him uncomfortable -- to pry, to look where his eyes did not belong. Through much of their conversation afterwards, he stood straight with his arms held together behind his back, hands clasped as he stared forward at the window like a soldier saluting royalty. His own state of inadequate dress was well on display, but he did not mind or feel flustered if Petra glanced at him; Alistair was the one in the position of power and authority, he was the one who needed to make the other comfortable and at ease.

"I apologize for making you require one," he muttered, as Petra commented on the unpredictable outcomes of their meeting. The poor lad was right -- he'd been thrown for a loop, all because of some whimsical curiosity on the Griscian's part. The other draw nearer to him, questioning him in a way that was almost accusatory as much as it was curious. To that, he finally looked down, meeting the Rien's eyes as a glint of humor curved into the corner of his upper lip.

"Not much. I know now that you're not a mage; that your intentions are neutral if not good, that you are a relatively morally aligned person, compared to most. That you are incredibly dedicated to this Blevika of yours, even though you seem to bear little understanding of her, or her theology. To learn more, I would need to meditate within the Moondial. The process of learning another through Baptism is more than just a step or two; it is an entire arrangement, I'm afraid," Alistair said.

"I suppose I'd like to offer you the chance to know more about me, in return. Is there anything you would know of me -- who I am, the place I am from, my ideals, my faith, my philosophy? As curious as I was to look upon you with my magic, I did not do so with the intention of being selfish or one-sided. You are as curious a thing to me as I presume I am to you."

He brushed past him, looking for something to wear himself. The man settled on a simple, white, form-fitting shirt, and some long undergarments. He did just fine in Genteven's summer heat -- some would say it was a property of his other genetic half, as the Orkhai were born from the blazing hills of Bel. They were forced to tolerate conditions far worse than existed in this plane.

Alistair began to slip on the white shirt, before sliding his undergarments up his legs from beneath the towel, sneakily becoming fully clothed. Once he was, he hung up the towel on a rack and turned towards the other.

[Petra]

Even if Alistair had clearly mastered the art of dressing himself wearing a towel, Petra still looked away to ensure he wasn’t going to catch a sight of anything. He liked Alistair’s body, for sure, but he need not see all of his body. The performance of it all almost made Petra miss the way the other man had not so respectfully referred to Blevika. He thought to confront it but held his tongue. They were in Daravin. No matter his views, he needed to practice control about that kind of thing. Alistair may have been a ‘safe space’ to talk about the Living Gods, but the rest of Daravin wasn’t so inclined. He’d clearly survived a little time wandering the nation, he was going to keep it that way.

“You seem like the type to enjoy such questions,” Petra jousted, flicking a finger against the white shirt, at the point where the plains of muscle upon his chest met to create quite the alluring rack- Petra was learning he was a lot more attracted to Alistair than he’d be willing to admit out loud. “The place you’re from is your past, and since I do not recall great lengths of mine, I elect we approach the topic with that view. The past is something we need not speak of. I know you in the present, and I prefer to get to know someone based on the there and then,” He expressed, awfully articulate like he had some kind of prowess for such wordcraft. Petra raised his eyebrows as if he was testing the other man somewhat, before then making his way from the room they had been situated in back over to the sofa the evening had started in.

“Your faith and ideals are interwoven I assume if you practice your faith how you are supposed to. So lest we start there?” He proposed, lowering himself down onto the sofa once more, reclaiming his spot prior to before he’d requested the magic show. “Magic should also be shelved as a topic too. I will not be the object of your spells once again.”

[Alistair]

Petra chose 'faith' as his weapon, inquiring on Alistair's sense of it, and how it interlocked with his ideals. The man took his place on the sofa beside him, stroking his beard as he appeared to contemplate. His eyes cast on a painting across the room -- a battlefield, with hussars mounted atop tall horses, bayonets facing one another. One man was halfway flung from his horse, sliding down its flank, the blade extending from a gun opposite to impale through his chest. It was a Griscian painting, of course, and in particular it was a depiction of the father and founder of House Reid, slain on a battlefield.

"Well -- faith is illegal, where I'm from," he began. "Instead, we follow the ideals of the 'Pillars.' The Pillar of Prosperity, Modernity, Honor, Duty, Truth, Reason. There are six. They are not entities, but rather... sort of, fundamental virtues of humankind. I say humankind in particular -- the other races are said to be absent such pillars; primitive, animal. I don't really believe that, but then, I don't necessarily subscribe to the pillars as my own ideals. To me it is more... complicated," he muttered out, alongside a sigh.

"I follow the philosophy of the will to power. That man should strive to achieve his greatest destiny, and should struggle and overcome in order to live, to improve, to evolve. To this effect, I am a faithful of Brazim, whose diction is Ambition. But . . . I do not bow to any God; I believe that we have the opportunity to meet them, and even to overcome them. If such a world ever came to be, there would no longer be any reason for me to follow them at all."

He glanced over to Petra, relaxing his shoulders into the frame of the couch. "It's complicated, this world of ours. It is almost certain that the Gods created us, but they clearly do not control us. My people defy them to the point of murdering their children, and they do nothing. This nation blasphemes against them, claiming that Ulen is superior to they; that they are His heralds and servants. Venadak was defeated by the Unbroken Empire, proving the Gods' fallibility. They are imperfect, and therefore unworthy of dogmatic worship. We can look to their example, but we should not cower at their feet."

The man shrugged.

"If I were to worship any one thing, it would be magic. Limitless potential, shareable from man-to-man; it can turn any mundane pauper into a weapon of destruction, or a performer of miracles. We exceed our greatest potential through magic, not through faith. That is one thing I like about Daravin, though they misattribute its source. The Gods made each magic, but 'made' feels like an overstatement. It exists, and probably always has, and probably always will. It is like a property of the universe; atoms, as they say where I am from. My ideal for myself is to achieve as much arcane power as I can, so that I may arbitrate my own destiny. All men should."

His face appeared stoic, even expressionless. There was little left of that fake charm of his; nothing of a smile.

"If any of this makes you uncomfortable, that is fine. This is my directive, though, as a man. I lost everything for it -- I lost my place at the height of the greatest echelons of the Empire, from where I could have ruled over millions with an iron fist. All for magic. To me, individual supremacy is the greatest ideal. Even Lordship crumbles to nothing before it; for all the institutional power I held, I could never have ousted an Ascended mage. I chose to lose it all so that I, a man, may parallel the divine."

[Petra]

When it came to the homeland of Alistair, Petra knew bits and pieces through his studies of the Living Gods. Committing oneself to learn about gods that were outlawed in other nations led to learning prize nuggets about said nations. The Pillars were familiar in name, but beyond that they hadn’t been a study area for Petra at all, that would’ve taken from his time devoted to other subjects. Besides, Alistair did not seem like he held himself closely to these pillars, and his explanation as such illuminated all that Petra needed. Ambition was his core, which Petra could agree with. On the topic of bowing however, he was half and half. He found it hard to imagine bowing to Blevika due to all her faults, yet he followed her message with all his being.

Alistair’s musings about worship, magic, and his personal beliefs set themselves over Petra like hardening honey. He seemed unphased by the words the man was spouting, and his reaction spoke as such. “My life and every essence of my being devotes itself to Blevika and the Red Moth in tandem. Though, I don’t look at life through this lens and block out the rest. Your beliefs have their merit, and aren’t something for me to stand over with a holier than thou attitude,” He assured the other man, aware that the path he had chosen for his life did offer such assumptions about his character. “Though, if you think yourself to one day stand on similar footings to that of the Living Gods, you would be wise to rethink your extracurricular activities. I couldn’t imagine myself paying tribute to a man who leads with such information and themselves,” He taunted but in a very Petra way. It was innocently woven, like a true piece of advice, but sheathed within that was a metaphorical dagger. Not too sharp, the right amount of poke.

“Why don’t you tell me of this plan to parallel the divine? I am sure it is well thought out, formulaic, accounts for the need to amass followers, and considers the climate to which you seem to be plotting..?” He was trying to trip Alistair up somewhat with his grand proclamations and laid his question out as such. Poke further holes into the man, and see what would flow free. Petra was not one to usually engage in such activities, but Alistair and his actions, furthermore his demeanour, it encouraged that more unruly side of the devoted follower.

[Salen]

Alistair

Lores
6 Generic Lores for Alistair
Baptism: Examining a target of Submersion
Baptism: Interpreting vague signs within the water

Petra

Lores
10 Generic lores

Loot: N/A
Injuries: N/A

Points:
8 points for Petra

5 Normal exp and 3 Baptism Exp for Alistair


Comments: Great thread, let me know if you have any questions.