Atharen, A Fantasy Roleplay Forum

Posted: **Wed Jan 19, 2022 2:23 am**

41st of Frost, Year 4621

As the deep of Frost wafted over the Rien coast with its cold, prolonged winds, the streets of Westfalen were quiet. Much of the exterior life and activity occurred within well-lit, tunnel-like bridges, surrounded by insulated stone, with the warmth of torches radiating out just enough to keep the city-folk warm as they examined goods and discussed the day-to-day, much of which somehow involved the events of the civil war.

Taelian, or more adequately 'Lord Latham Stephan Venger von Retzen,' stood idly somewhere along the street-side, peering up at the moon that rose equally as high as the sun, despite being only four hours into noon. Unlike the other men and women that avoided the open streets, he feared no frigid winds, a product of his mutagenic changes as an Argent Knight. He did not dress like one; the Lord instead donned a well-tailored grey peacoat, with a black vest and formal dress shirt beneath. He was no prowler of the streets, but rather a Lord, and his purpose for being in Westfalen was personal to his own interests, far beyond his scope of responsibility.

While years had passed, it had only been a few seasons since the start of his inquest. In that time, he had learned much. He had learned who that old, flickering flame of his was, and was not. That he was a con artist, a liar, a deceiver and breaker of hearts. That he was not a Lord, for Latham had met another man in his own circle who had, at one time, kept the company of Lord Ryan as a childhood friend. He still resided in Grisith -- he had not left, and would not be so daring as to torment his family with such liberal escapades.

Narrowing out the truth was one thing, though, and finding the vagabond was another. That had taken time and an inquiry, leveraging his position as Thespian to have a Malformer seek him out. The woman communed with birds, implanting Engrams into the minds of beasts so that they would remember him, seek him out and return to her with news. All roads led to Nivenhain at first, though as the story developed, his once-lover had crossed the Great Viaduct and made his way to the West End's darling gem.

The man wasn't so certain he wanted to meet him, even at the end of all of that investigation. He had a life, after all, and a husband who he vaguely held some modest amount of affection for, which at times dampened or inflamed. He had changed much -- the world had changed him, and he had changed himself.

He was a Draedan again, now, with a higher purpose. He was meant to expunge the Dranoch from Sil-Elaine, to rule realms, to perform great feats. One grifter in a sea of thousands should have meant so little.

And yet, after so many years, the disquiet of those old, unresolved feelings still lingered, and gripped him. They held him back, day by day, memory by memory. He dreamt of 'Lord Ryan' even now; dreamt that they were together as one, married and with children flocking around their feet. Even if words did not state it, the truth was what it was. He was in love with him still -- that had never changed.

He heard a scream. The harrowing, bestial scream of a Hollow enraged; he could even recognize its voice, Henry, the newest added to his flock. It had found its mark, and it was calling to him. Latham sought out that sound, running through the streets as his Hollows moved to gather at the site of the incursion. With how much his physiology had changed, he ran fast, converging closer upon the source of the sound before finally it was presented before him: the open, agape door of a club, this one far more contemporary than the imposter of an establishment they'd first met in. He rolled his eyes; of course fate would call him back to a place like this.

The Lord opened the door wider, stepping inside only to be met by a foyer of stunned, mostly middle-aged men, surrounded by Hollows that lurched like preying beasts upon a man who stood at the axis of all of them, standing on a small podium. He instantly recognized his face, and remarked upon it with the contortion of his features into a glare.

"Leave," the Lord demanded, not even glancing towards the men. He did not care what their caste or station was -- this was more important than them, their intrigue, their games. Latham recognized one of them, in the corner of his eye; Ser Alberic, a member of the Pact.

His acquaintance stood, clearing his throat as he gestured everyone else up. "Alright, fellows, we'd best be on our way, no? Best not interfere with Argent business." The chorus of men stubbornly concurred, grumbling amidst quiet, curious remarks and boyish speculation on what great disturbance had forced them all out onto the cold streets. As they departed, the interior of the club became empty, with Latham staring down the object of so many years of wonder and woe, and sighing.

"We must speak," he said, flatly. The man turned around to close the door of the club, releasing an imperceptible frequency through the air in case the other man attempted to flee; he would be able to track him, if he did. "Pull up a chair, Ash."

Posted: **Wed Jan 19, 2022 3:13 am**

It wasn't for everyone, but Thomas rather liked Lorien. It was cold, but he'd grown up in a country that was not known for its warm and balmy climate, after all. He couldn't generate much interest in fortune telling or medications, as they seemed content with their local means of prognostication and healing, but he'd found that the nobility and the intellectuals were monetary gifts that kept on giving. He'd long since abandoned using a fence. It was easier to go to the customers directly with whatever antiquities he found in his travels. Celebrants and Lustrians alike were ambitious enough and wealthy enough that they didn't ask too many questions. Presumably, whatever little games they were playing in their universities with one another made the risk reward calculus make sense. Thomas wasn't sure, but in either case, he didn't care.

Easy money was easy money. His latest scheme had actually worked so well he almost felt sad he couldn't pull it off twice. He'd swapped some of his normal reagent bottles with a set of odd looking blown glass objects from a glassworks in Grisic when he'd run into an old associate on the way to Westfalen. He marred them with a wire brush until they were scratched, and fixed odd, sweeping runes to the top of each bottle before filling them with brightly colored liquids that were equal parts botanicals, alcohol, and perfume. They looked exotic in other words, and for all the fact that the people of Lorien were apparently very intellectual, they were snobby, convinced of their own genius, and not well-traveled. He used the name of an acquaintance with a reasonably influential father to gain entrance, and then looked for the stooped posture and slightly outmoded fashion sense that marked people who felt they had more important things to do than be au courent. Each of them were too competitive to tell the others of the treasure they had picked up for a song, sold by a simple Nameless merchant -- his name was Lord Ashley Ryan and he was actually a Grisithian noble, not that any of them bothered asking -- who didn't know the value of what he had. A rare set of reagents, all the way from the forbidden continent!

He was sad he was down to his last set. He'd had six and sold the first five for a total of three hundred eighty farthings. Minus cost of materials and labor, he was still coming out with a reasonable remuneration for all the time and thought he'd put into this particular scam. His latest mark, Lord Heinrich Siegzollern, was pretending to authenticate them, but he could see the avarice in the man's eyes. He was already thinking of presenting some paper on their effects to his colleagues slash rivals, and winning nationwide acclaim. He'd cave, just as all the others had.

Thomas didn't notice the Hollow, at first, simply because their unsightly, unnatural presence was something one got used to in Lorien, for better or for worse. For worse, in his opinion, because it allowed a society of idle degenerates to delude themselves into thinking they were the greatest nation on the continent, but their coin spent as well as any others, so he tried not to let the unsightly wretches bother him. One hollow was quickly joined by two, then three, though, and then the first one opened its not-mouth and let loose a scream that Thomas could only describe as bone chilling. He covered his ears reflexively, but it seemed like a sound felt more than heard. More hollows joined the first few, encircling his little table.

He wished he'd brought his gun. He wished he had a gun to bring. He wasn't sure that shooting a hollow did anything to it, but he was willing to find out if it would stop this infernal racket.

While he was distracted, Lord Heinrich had taken the opportunity to get halfway across the room, leaving him surrounded by horrifying automatons who seemed intent on keeping him inside of their little circle, like they were playing a children's game with him, but if their intent was playful, they gave no such indication.

Not sure what else to do, he remained seated and refused to make eye contact. He didn't want to acknowledge them in case that would cause the next phase of what whatever malfunction was causing them to behave this way. He was so caught up in trying to remain calm with his ears still ringing from the Hollow's unearthly scream that he almost didn't register that something was happening, but the good Lords of the club seemed to be taking an interest in taking in some fresh air, leaving him quite alone with the automatons. Who parted, to reveal an absolutely enormous man. Imposing, and scary. The kind of person that made him instinctively slump his shoulders, as if trying to disappear into himself.

Yet, the name, his name. How would some Argent thug know to call him that?

"No one calls me that, Sir. You are mistaken. While I acknowledge I have no rights in this land as a Nameless, I humbly request that you depart with your hollows. I am unsure of what you seek, but you will not find it here."

Posted: **Wed Jan 19, 2022 11:55 pm**

Ash not recognizing him was... disarming, given all of their great deal of time together; the familiarity they once shared, enough so that he hoped - despite the change in his voice, stature and manner - that he would be known immediately. He posited that the false 'Lord Ryan' might have been pretending not to know who he was, but somehow he doubted that. If that was the case, he imagined the other might have been far more emotional, given all that happened between them. Then again, it was difficult to say he really knew the other man, and how he truly felt, how his mind really worked. He had found himself questioning, over the years, whether Ashley had really loved him, whether their relationship had been real or some construct meant to please him and acquire a free place to stay. The thought that it was all a user's game made him both mournful and enraged, even now. He tried to excise the thought from his mind.

Latham lifted his hand, closing and then twisting his fist. "Jal-Vek," he said commandingly, and with that all of his Hollows marched in line, one after the other, through the door. They would proceed to surround the premises of the building outside, each window and entrance, though given the curtains it would be impossible to know where they individually were. Once they departed, the man turned to lock the door, before joining the other in a seat directly in front of him. He wrapped his arms over his chest, and stared appraisingly. The longer he looked, the more he felt; a complex flurry of emotions struck him. He decided to go back to his script -- something that would indicate how much he knew, how pointless it was to lie.

"You know..." he began, "...in all of these years, I've changed a great deal. I've become a Celebrant of Lorien, an Officer within a group of powerful mages renowned throughout the continent. I've become stronger, thicker-skinned... and more jaded. You, though, appear to have changed none. I know your grift at this point, Ash. Lord Ashley Ryan is an unlikable, despicable man. He's average in appearance, tied to his family's fortune and hesitant of leaving the safety and familiarity of the Grisic Empire. An acquaintance of mine knows him well. None of these things describe you," he said. "When I learned all of these things, I was... hurt. Confused. If I recall, your excuse for not wanting to be with me -- years ago -- was your obligations as a Nobleman, the need to marry and return home. To discover that you were a free-lancing charlatan meant that none of that was true; that, instead, the answer clearly must have been that I was somehow not good enough for you, that I did not satisfy or fulfill you. That our relationship was an arrangement in which you tricked and deluded me so that you might use me, but only for so long as you did not feel stagnant or bored."

If Ash attempted to speak at any point throughout, the man would immediately speak over him authoritatively, continuing his 'debrief'.

"I know exactly what it is you do, moving from nation to nation peddling bullshit. I know you carry aliases, though I admit I do not know them. You've gotten yourself beaten to near-death, banished from towns and temporarily jailed. You've thrown yourself to the wolves, Ash, and you live a life on the precipice of terror because of it. As a man I once -- as a man I still love, I don't want to learn some day that you've been murdered, or raped, or sent to the executioner's grip for your deeds. It is time for all of this to stop. Lorien is a cold and brutal land, and as the civil war escalates, its institutions will face decay. No longer will an Argent be expected to take you to a court of law, or a prison cell. Persist and you will be diced upon the pavement before the coming Spring."

Latham frowned, shaking his head.

"I love you, Ash," he said. "I'm here for closure, but... that's not really entirely it. I'm here because I've refused, through all of this time, to give up on you." The man leaned forward, reaching out to take the other man's hand. "I... refuse to believe that all we had between us was not real," Latham whispered. "I remember the finer details, the joy I seemed to bring you; the ways I pleasured you beyond what other men could. And how safe you felt with me. I'm sure -- with that itinerant lifestyle of yours -- most men you relied on were exploitative of you. Not me. That part of me hasn't changed. Even though you're a harlot, vagabond and cheat, Ash, it still won't. Come back to me."

Posted: **Thu Jan 20, 2022 12:48 am**

It was easier to think with the Hollows gone, easier to breathe. Even after many years in less civilized parts, magic still frightened him, and unnatural automatons animated by forces beyond a normal man's control scared him even more. As the man continued what was obviously a monolog he had rehearsed for quite some time, he dared to look up, to stare his captor in the face. Could it be? The body was bigger, the eyes unnatural, the voice lower and louder and rougher, but -- who else would know all of this? He'd been tracked by ex-lovers before. This was starting to sound similar to past encounters along that line, albeit more dramatic, but he'd known, even at the time, that Latham was not one whose love was languid, that he was given to intense emotions. Evidently, while the years had changed him much, they hadn't extinguished what they'd built together in Radenor.

He wasn't sure whether to deploy Lord Ashley or not. Would the man want to see his lost lover again, or would he view it as mockery, as insult? Thomas knew that men of deep passion could also be men of quick temper, and while Latham had never been anything but kind, he'd also become a jackbooted thug for Lorien and let them transform him into one of their arbiters, so perhaps he'd changed in other ways. For now, he decided not to, letting what remained of Lord Ryan's bearing and posture melt away. He looked into Latham's disturbing golden eyes, truly as himself for the first time.

"I pray you show your petitioners more clemency than you've shown me today, Sir. You allege you have tracked me down to hear my side of the story, yet you've already decided upon why I did what I did, and I'm nothing more than a harlot, a vagabond, and a cheat, besides, so what good is the word of a Nameless peddler of bullshit against a mighty Argent Knight? Congratulations on the promotion, by the way -- I hope stepping on people like me, jailing them, and assaulting them brings you ever more satisfaction as you rise through the ranks. Maybe one day you'll be able to build a lift to the next rung of Lorien's social hierarchy out of the bones of the unfortunate, or grind them up into mortar and add a wing to whatever benighted manor you live in now."

"Perhaps your memory of our time together is faulty, because you seem to think that it ended when you quit your apartments and returned to your barracks, that it only existed during the time we spent together and, you allege, in your heart afterward. Never mind that I forsook my own needs for yours, placed myself in harm's way, and even saved your life on that awful woman's estate. You insult me, Sir, to say that I am so low a person when so low a person would have kept you in the dark, hung you out to dry, and left you to rot. If it meant nothing to me, Latham, you would have been taken by that dranoch two years ago. You would not be here today, disrupting my perfectly legitimate business venture that is nothing more than a tax on the acquisitive with more money than sense. And while you claim you care for me, you treat me like I'm dangerous, like I'll hurt you, when the fact of the matter is from the moment we met, I went out of my way to be nothing but kind to you."

"I am glad you know nothing of me beyond a single alias. You've demonstrated just what I always feared: that if you knew the real me, you would react with revulsion, suspicion, and disgust. You would be ashamed to be seen with me instead of whatever Lord you're no doubt bedding, you status-obsessed buffoon. May you split him open on that halberd you call a cock and stand trial for murder."

Posted: **Thu Jan 20, 2022 1:19 am**

For the first time since they'd met, at least to his own jaded sense of post-awareness, he found himself listening to the real... whoever the man before him was. A man without an identity. As he dreamt of this moment, he did not imagine that the other would rebuke him so, but nonetheless he listened. Much of what he said was laughable, to him. He castigated Latham for making assumptions, but did the same in return. He assumed that he had achieved his position on the broken backs of others, when he had done anything but. Even so, he waited, following each word even though many of them were poison. His words were meant to hurt him. After all of their time apart, had Ash grown to hate him?

Many of his words hurt, and many of them incited anger. He tried to still it, placing it somewhere within that same general void that he'd stored all of his emotions around 'Lord Ashley Ryan', his Nameless lover in the truest sense of the word. He listened, and listened...

...and stand trial for murder.

"Enough," he demanded, narrowing his gaze. "I haven't decided why you've done what you did. I'm angry, Ash. You left a scar on me that hasn't gone, and I can't just -- just deny it. Ignore it. I can't just have a cordial fucking conversation with you when I feel this way." He shook his head, grimacing. "I don't care who you are. You should remember this -- I came from the slums of Veranor, a filthy, dilapidated hole. I had no parents, no friends, and nothing to my name. I was nothing. The fact that you've formed this person within you to survive this world is... it's something I understand. So, then, why am I calling you a lying, cheating whore? Because I'm fucking furious. Because I don't understand.

"You tore me apart, Ash," Latham whispered, frowning. "You were kind -- even when I left you, you were still kind. I know that. Every single detail would point to the idea that you loved me; that I meant so much to you. But -- you didn't want me, even for as much as I wanted you. Did you think I wouldn't accept you? Even when I was speaking of spending the rest of my life with you? I would not have given so much as a single shit to learn that you weren't who you said you were. What hurt far more was that you didn't trust me at all."

Closing his eyes for a moment, the man sighed out, steadily bringing himself to a calm. He paused for a while, thinking, letting the boil between them fade into a simmer, until things felt quiet for a moment.

"I gained my position as an Argent through war contributions -- I have been an asset in the civil war, and that was recognized. I've been fighting to liberate this land from the Kindred, and to do away with the Nameless caste, and to make Lorien a softer and more forgiving realm. Call me status-obsessed; I don't care. I have always sought to use my position to benefit the people around me, because my duty is service. You know that well enough; that I risked my life for no compensation, serving the Remedy, fighting for ideals far beyond my own body. Do not pretend that you loathe the things about me that you once loved. There is no need.

"I told you already -- I still love you, Ash," he said, staring between the other man's lap, solemnly. "I want to disregard you, to feel contempt for you, to treat you with that revulsion you claim I do. But I can't. All I want is another chance with you. If there is no chance... then tell me one, final time, and I will return home and mourn for us. But if there is -- please, don't go away. Don't lie to me anymore. Please tell me the truth."

Posted: **Thu Jan 20, 2022 1:55 am**

"Are you really so impossibly thick, Latham? I know you to be an intelligent man, but perhaps I need to make it plain: men like you are not real. You're a storybook character come to life, a handsome white knight who helps the unfortunate and doesn't care about my origins. No one is that virtuous, in life. Everyone has an angle. I didn't grow up in --"

Thomas clapped a hand to his mouth. It was one thing to open up to Latham about what happened. It was something else again to blow his cover to an Argent Knight, who could change his mind in an instant and have him imprisoned if the whim struck him, or just cut him down right here, and be nothing more than a stain on the floor for the warrior's hollows to clean up.

"You say you grew up in Veranor. Surely, you must know, then, what it's like to struggle, and to live among others who struggle, to be someone less fortunate, to be powerless. People are not like you, Latham. Which means there must be some reason for you to be the way that you are: power, status, money, sex, something."

For the time in many years, he thought of Ned. "Or if you somehow are a truly good man, like I believed in Radenor, you are not long for this world, and I would do well not to be near when your time is up. You're a big man, Latham, not just physically. You dream, you're clearly ambitious, you-- you want things, you get involved in things. You make enemies, then, and they will win, because they will employ methods to which you refuse to stoop, and you'll fall to them, which is what happens to good men. Perhaps you are big enough, strong enough, important enough to survive such an assault. How would I fare, were I by your side? What would happen to me if a dranoch came calling, or a strong of those ghastly hollows commanded by someone on the other side of Lorien's little... disagreement stopped by for a quick chat? I'm not an important person, my lov--" he faltered, then recovered quickly, hopefully imperctibly: "--ord. I am not trained to defend myself, nor to do anything of consequence, and I can offer you nothing that will be of any help in your aims."

"To be with you, I must trust that you are an anomaly of a man, someone who does not exist, and I must have faith that life will protect us both as you try to achieve your quixotic goals. Surely, if you think of your past, you can see why this seems bound to end in failure?"

Posted: **Thu Jan 20, 2022 2:32 am**

The way the other man regarded him was impossibly strange; as some storybook anomaly, too superhuman to be real. Pondering on it, he imagined that he might have viewed the man he was today the very same way, long ago as that orphaned boy. It was not unlike how he viewed Aldrin -- peerless, powerful, and seemingly good natured... until it was clear that he was not. Like Aldrin, he was the son of an Adac. And like Aldrin, he had lofty ambitions and goals, and a willingness to do nearly anything to achieve them.

"I am the son of Venadak," he came forward abruptly, flatly admitting it. "I thought I had achieved all that I did because of my diligence alone, but I am not so sure that is true. There is, perhaps, some predestiny for me, weaved somewhere beyond the foreground of my imagination. And that is fine."

He smiled smoothly, pulling his chair closer to the other man's as he listened to him, laying one palm upon his leg above his knee, as the other toyed with 'Ashley's' fingers whenever he could. The other man was so skeptical, so... pessimistic of everything. There was no hope for anything good -- only desolation, failure, good and righteous things being torn apart. He understood that well; his own mind somehow deviated there, some time ago, though even now he continued to try and pull himself back. He wanted so much more than that -- than to succumb to the cruelty of their world. It was difficult, and he imagined he would eventually fail, but not yet. Duty still defined his character, perhaps more than goodness. His life - his purpose - was hinged on performing something of worth. Aldrin had filled him with that meaning, Venadak's imprint had solidified it. For whatever reason, even being aware of the influence from others, he could not escape that dogmatic need.

He caught Ash's words indeed: my love. The man's heart was warmed, in a way he hadn't felt in a very long time. It was a glimmer of hope, buried somewhere amidst all of Ash's negativity, the thousands of imagined failures he projected onto them.

"You have so many reasons why we can't work, and none of them are that you don't love me," he said, squeezing his hand. "I don't need to be a good man to my enemies. I hope to be a powerful man, a just man, but pointless naivety is not the path to righteousness. I have killed, and tortured and maimed, and I will again. I'd stoop to the same lows as the most vindictive Lord to protect my family, or the one I hope to build. I do not need to be an anomaly; I am practical, diligent and weathered by suffering and pain. As for what you can offer me, Ash? More than you know. You would be a great Lord -- Ser Ashley was a facade, but a convincing one. There is a power in you that can be honed. I want not just a lover, but a partner, and of all the men I have met you are most viable to fulfill both of those roles. I am impressed by you, Ash; somewhere along the way, you developed an instinct most people could never begin to harness. I--admire it. Even crave it."

He lifted the one hand that touched Ash's leg, offering his palm to him to take. "Tell me you haven't longed for me; that you haven't spent time in another man's bed, wishing I was at your side instead. Tell me you won't regret, forever, turning me away. I told you before that I would accept your answer if you told me to go away, but you still haven't. You rationalize, you dance around your worries and doubts, but you ultimately want us to be together. You did even then. Does this facade of a life really bring you so much joy that you refuse to leave it? Why do you hesitate?"

Posted: **Thu Jan 20, 2022 3:18 am**

Truly, he was making a mockery of his upbringing. He had feelings for a man who was born of idolatry, steeped in depraved magics, who had then voluntarily taken on ever more, altering his body and giving him command over abominations. Also, Thomas could admit he missed Latham's old eye color. The gold was disconcerting, and he wasn't sure he'd grow used to it. He could get used to Latham's slightly larger hands, though -- the man had never been small, but it felt nice to be touched like this. He'd willed his mind to forget how much the disparity between the man's physical attributes and his gentle demeanor thrilled him, but it was all rushing back.

His flexible mind was hard at work molding itself around Latham's desires, just like his body once had. If he were a different sort of man, he would perhaps be disgusted with himself. Other men had integrity, principles that they believed in, and it made their minds hard, angular things that couldn't contort into new positions. Presumably, Latham did as well. Thomas was unburdened by such things, though, so he merely accepted it; a rat could fit into any hole that was smaller than its head, and Thomas' mind could get used to just about anything if the situation called for it. The fact of the matter was, what Latham said was true: he had missed him, and latest brilliant scam notwithstanding, there were very few men who grew old doing what he did. He knew he would have to retire at some point, or he'd likely end up imprisoned or worse, and how likely was he to get a better offer than to live in some kind of mansion with a man he actually liked, who liked him in return? The value proposition here was irrefutable -- during their conversation Latham had gone from long odds to easy money.

"I hesitate, Sir, because you do not know me. I am still concerned you are in love with Lord Ashley Ryan, not the man behind the mask. However, if you are willing to get to know me, the real me, I will..." he couldn't say the next part. It died in his throat just like it had two years ago.

But he looked into Latham's eyes and knew he couldn't bear to stab him in the heart again. He was unsure why or how Latham had ended up this way, but he was somehow some sort of virtuous man, and even the gentlest rejection he could manage had clearly caused a lot of damage. He would not abide by doing it again, so he decided to use an old actor's trick. Quick as a flash, he slapped himself as hard as he could across the face to knock the words loose.

"I will show you me," he managed to say, though it pained him. "The real me. Don't expect to be impressed. In fact, as a condition of my acceptance of your terms, I would like you to come with me to my homeland. The best way to show you who I am is to show you where I am from. As an inducement, should you agree to this condition, I am prepared to tell you my real name."

Posted: **Thu Jan 20, 2022 3:44 am**

"Do I not know you?" he asked, plainly. "Lord Ryan was a construct of yours; a far cry from the man you modeled him after. Within him was a part of you; and that part of you, at least, I know intimately."

So much of 'Ash' - whatever his name was - was still in there, when they were together. The name and manner were different, but the core of who he was had not entirely changed. He was convinced of that, at least. Perhaps it was because he was perceptive, or because he was in love. He rarely saw the good in other people the same way he once did, but he looked as closely as he could for Ash's.

Latham suddenly rose in his seat as the other slapped himself in the face, causing his brows to furrow with a sudden, visible bewilderment. I will show you me.

"...Yes," he whispered. Like that moment years ago, he felt his throat tense, his chest bound by a strangling grip. This time, though, it was something so different; like the moment before the sun rose, as the birds awoke and the trees swayed from the breath of the land, the earth slowly unencumbered by darkness. He had been alone, or something close to it, for a long time. What Ash could be to him -- it was the end of that. It was the sun rising, all the meadows and valleys of his mind lit with warmth. Latham nodded, and grabbed his hand in his, pulling it closer to his face and kissing his fingers one after the other.

"I accept," he said. Grisic was a dangerous realm, but he could hide himself. A part of learning to be a proper Thespian, as he was within the Covenant, was knowing how to conceal and be seen for the attributes one wanted to present; how to avoid the eyes of onlookers, and how to integrate. He had another asset, too: a deceiver of exceptional talent. If he trusted the other man, Ash could guide him through that place. The man stood, pulling Ash up from the chair with a firm pull, and guiding him into his chest. He wrapped his arms around him firmly, embracing him within his warmth, running his large hands across the small of his back.

He rubbed his own finger with another, smoothing over the surface of that old, silver ring. "In another life," Latham whispered, breathing warmly over the other man. "You know -- I've died since then. I guess this means our chance has come, Ash. Tell me your name," he asked, dotting kisses along his hair. "I want to know every detail about you."

Posted: **Thu Jan 20, 2022 11:55 am**

Thomas smiled, charmed despite himself at Latham's faith that he'd seen through the veneer to some kind of true self. In truth, there was nothing behind it. All of his aliases were both him and not him, and he was an alias, and there was no alias because there was no inherent selfhood, at least for him. Thomas had tried to articulate this to a few other actors and they'd looked at him like he'd sprouted another head, so he had learned to keep these sorts of thoughts to himself, but he was certain of this: he had no core identity, just a mass of clay that could be shaped into whatever shape an onlooker needed in the moment. It was this more than anything that carried his acting, because when he played a character or used a fake name, it wasn't a character and it wasn't a fake. It became him utterly to the point where switching back and forth was more work than staying in character.

Perhaps, Latham's faith wasn't entirely misplaced. Perhaps he spoke of the clay itself, not of the shape in which he'd encountered it. Personally, Thomas doubted it, but an unfamiliar spark of hope had been lit by Latham's reappearance. The idea that someone could love him seemed preposterous, but so did everything else about the man. For instance, the fact that he'd died, that he'd become a noble through noble deeds, that he did all of this out of a sense of duty, of wanting to make the world a better place. As a professional liar, Thomas was hard to deceive, and he could tell Latham really believed all of what he said, even the impossible things -- perhaps especially the impossible things.

He didn't say much when he was hugged, nothing more than a soft "oh," at the suddenness of it, before relaxing into Latham's arms. It was nice to have someone else again, someone who could actually do something about threats so he didn't have to scan for an exit constantly. When he signaled to the man to pull back and let him go, he did with almost no hesitation, which he appreciated. Latham's awareness of how his own strength could be frightening and his consequent purposeful docility was one of the things Thomas appreciated about him.

"I'm glad you kept it, Latham. It's nice to meet you, at last. My name is Thomas Starkwayte."

Atharen, A Fantasy Roleplay Forum

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