Vesta and Alphonse both gave Arkash a nod of respect to his vow of silence on the matter. While Alphonse knew Vesta could take care of herself, undue attention would still be problematic. Spreading rumor about the power of a mage would at least help to cow any ideas.
To the matter of frogs, Vesta rubbed her chin. “No, I can’t say that I’ve deanimilated anyone after they’ve earned such a fate,” she said with a hollow, ominous smile. “They’d sooner lose their minds in such a tiny body. I’m sure the frogs were snapped up by pigeons in time. A paltry meal for the order of nature.”
Alphonse gave a nervous laugh, worried Vesta would go too far in scaring their guest. “Easy there, crone, we want him on our side, hm?” Vesta gestured to her if she’d like some tea, but as always she turned it down. The bitter undertones did nothing for her palate. If not for the Ashen Elves scrounging up meat for her, she’d starve in a city with naught but scarce supplies of grains. Still, she watched him to see if the cultural delicacy would be appreciated by someone so far from home. It was plenty popular among the carnivorous Rathor back home in Tyrclaid.
“Huh, he actually likes it,” Alphonse muttered.
“Perhaps he does not drink himself ill every chance he gets until his taste for finer things rots away, Alphonse?” Vesta scolded.
“What I do in my free time--or at all--it’s none of your concern,” said Alphonse. The bickering of these two was rather intense for a pair who cared about one another. The giant Rathor made a face at Arkash. “Well I’d sure hope it was in the right place!” She knew it was a euphemism, but the lady didn’t take compliments all too well.
Alphonse crossed her arms. “A great judge of character,” she repeated in a skeptical tone. “Oh, you mean how that Dranoch had you unawares, doing his dirty work. Give it a few days, I’m sure he’d be having you kidnap children to dinner with your nads in a vice under the guise of ‘adopting’ it.” She grunted. “Manipulative bastards. I prefer to not let them speak.”
“Alphonse does have a point,” chimed in Vesta. “No matter how you manage your trust in others, your life will be measured by your peers. You put yourself in danger cavorting with villainy.” The old woman sagely nodded, and then sipped her tea. “Just as Alphonse will soon pay a price for working as disposable boots-on-the-ground, hm?” Her eyes looked to Alphonse.
“Ya’know I climbed that old library in the center of town. The tall one at the top of the hill?” Alphonse’s voice dipped lower. “It’s either this, or nothin’.”
Vesta sighed and shook her head. “I do so hope you will reinforce those insecurities that hold you back. Think of what you could be, Alphonse, if you plied your talents elsewhere?”
“This matters,” Alphonse growled, crossing her arms. Her eyes were shut, but she opened them half-way a moment later, their gaze distant as if in some far off memory. At the fore of her mind, flames danced as bodies lay still, the gnash of teeth and the pleasured sounds of the accursed ringing in her ears. “I know what I’m doing is right. Somebody’s got to make that sacrifice...”
Alphonse snapped out of it to smirk at Alphonse. “Guess there’s a trade-off for everythin’, even scales.” She itched her chin. “I think it was Vesta who told me, even a leper could unsettle somebody to get what they wanted.”
Vesta and Alphonse both looked to each other at Arkash’s singular word of a question regarding magic. “Ehm,” Alphonse began, itching her arm, but Vesta took over.
“Half those in good health who pursue a Rune end up dead or losing their minds. Four of every ten who seek a second rune suffer a similar fate, then three, and so on. The risk plummets with every Rune, but would you really trust the gods to flip a coin on whether you should live or die?” She sipped her tea. “Slaves in Daravin are often presented with the choice to take up a Rune or else live in servitude. They choose to live. Everyone from that country has at least lost someone they know to magic. It’s not so rare and mysterious a thing there.”
Vesta looked to Alphonse. “With two, you should be dead, Alphonse. The odds were against you.” She sighed. “As for me, I was a wild thing in my younger years. I was not content with the state of my power, and sought to learn and understand well beyond what I could ever hope to control. My last Rune saw me bedridden for months with a terrible magical sickness I would have died from if not for a renowned Necromancer removing the organs from my body and flushing them of corruption. Even then, he told me I had less than a ‘two in a hundred’ chance of surviving the condition.”
The old lady grinned. “Mmmh. It’s said that a mage could achieve divinity, a sort of apotheosis at the apex of their craft. I have witnessed such creatures who have foregone much of who and what they are to become Ascendant. Warlocks who could snap necks as easily as they snap fingers with unseen forces. Explorers who could weave portals and gateways into other realms. Summoners, such as Alphonse, that could call upon the spirits. I chased after such things, once, but now I know better. I am content with my lot and life, as should each of us be. I would not say those souls were happy baring so many burdens, if they even had much of a soul left.”
“Um, my soul is on fire,” blurted out Alphonse. “I mean, the Pyromancy, it... turned my soul into something else, I guess. The Remedy gave cryptic explanations, but we call it the Beacon. I guess that’s an example. The implications of having a soul ‘on fire’ would reach far, since--what if I died, right? Would I die and just turn into a flame in the afterlife? Would that be better or worse?”
Vesta looked to Alphonse with puzzlement, and sipped her tea. “Doubtful, but for all I’ve seen I know little of how life and death works as it pertains to the soul. There are ghosts, and those who venerate the gods, even the dead, but I have not witnessed such things yet. I would hardly call religion my field of study--I gave it a wide berth, for such things often lead to delusion for beings that likely do not care for you.”
Alphonse sincerely doubted the god responsible for her Pyromancy would ever grant her a boon. Aldrin was the closest thing to a god she’d ever know, and even he seemed to need help. “Don’t really care much about the gods myself,” she said.
As Arkash explained why he wished to stay, Vesta nodded. “All Rathor have a Purpose,” she told him. “That Purpose may be hard to understand even for yourself, or counter to reason, but you should feel more content with your choice. Fighting your Purpose will only drain you further, and blind you to what avenues are open to you. Perhaps one day it will change, and then you will have the Purpose requiring that you see more of the world as Alphonse and I once did.”
As Arkash announced he was leaving, Alphonse stretched. “Well, it was nice to meet ‘ya Arkash. I hope it all works out for ‘ye, and that you make a good enough score to at least live a little better in this shit hole.”
Vesta nodded to the lizard. “Be safe,” she told him. “You are welcome to visit again anytime you like.”
The pair watched Arkash leave, but the moment he left, the dull sound of their harsh, arguing voices could be heard through the walls. “You tol’ him too much!” Alphonse barked.
Vesta’s voice seemed more ...catty than usual. “He already knew plenty. I merely helped him fill in the gaps so he wasn’t manipulated by some petulant mage just for seeking answers! I’ll not have some hedge harlot leading on a possible student with empty or misleading promises! It’s important.” Vesta scoffed, calming herself as her voice lowered to a mumble. “It’s as basic and necessary as advice on how to prevent lover’s pox. He should know the risks.”
“Ugh, you’re awful!” yelled Alphonse. She almost got up to leave, but her eyes rolled. “Hnhph. What’s that thing ya do where ya don’t talk and you just sit there silent?” asked Alphonse.
“Meditation,” replied Vesta. Her eyes peeled at the disrespect.
“Yeah, why don’t we do that while I catch some sleep. It’s that time of day where it’s too noisy to catch some sleep anywhere else.” Alphonse gathered up her sack of armor and set her cheek upon it, inhaling deeply and exhaling with a huff.
“I only ever try to do right by you, Alphonse,” said Vesta softly before finishing her cup of tea and setting it down. She propped her back up against the wall and crossed her arms.
“I know, I know,” mumbled Alphonse, turning her back to the woman and curling up. That spindly tail lashes against a stray cushion. “I just worry too about a lot of stuff. Not like you’re the only one who spends too much time thinkin’.”
“I’m glad I’m rubbing off on you,” chuckled Vesta. “At least something’s getting through.”
Alphonse just grunted, blowing off the conversation to catch a bit of rest.
