Unlocked Mind

Log Info

• Title: Unlocked Mind
• Emitter: Ezil
• Characters: Ezil, Cryosanthia, Malik, Garrett
• Place: A07: Fernwood Pub
• Time: Saturday, February 08, 2020, 10:17 PM
• Summary: Ezil is reviewing his notes from the last few days, when Cryosanthia and Malik arrive. The second Tsuran is immediately drawn to the first, and they talk about home and the quality of Alexandrian food. Cryo defines her role as a Speaker, being one of facilitating communication and understanding how language shapes how people think. Malik has to leave, Garrett makes a surprise appearance, and conversation turns to locks and theivery. Cryo carefully disapproves, while Ezil assures that Garrett is a good soul. Finally Ezil's notes are reviewed again, and the danger of his thoughts being so easily accessible is raised. A 'Handy Haversack that's a book', is imagined, and the two head off to bed. Separate beds in different rooms, because sith take some getting used to, both awake and asleep.

-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-<* A07: Fernwood Pub *>--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-

The common room of the Fernwood Pub dominates the inn, spacious and airy because of the high, vaulted ceiling. Ornately carved beams of dark, polished wood form a lattice overhead, supporting the arched roof two storeys above the floor. To the right of the double-door entry is a spiral staircase, winding upwards to a balcony that rings and overlooks the main area. Large windows at this level grant an excellent view of the river to the west and colorful market stalls to the north and east. An air of coziness is salvaged by keeping the pub dimly lit; parchment-shrouded mana lanterns hang at intervals from the base of the balcony, nestled amongst lush, magically propagated ivy and ferns that grow over this false demi-ceiling and the struts that support it.

The bar is sleek and simple, comprised of meticulously polished black lacquer. Tables are set under the darker niches formed by the balcony floor as well as on the balcony itself. A few are deliberately sized to accommodate halflings and gnomes, but the majority are meant for human-sized individuals. A large common table is on the main floor, set before a semi-circular stage situated against the western wall. Beside it, with pipes mounted upon the wall and running up past the balcony and almost to the ceiling, is a refurbished pipe organ made to look like the one lost when the Fernwood was destroyed during the Merkabah Siege.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-  Appearing, in Order  =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
Ezil         5'11"    175 Lb     Human             Male      An armored man with dark skin, and grey-blonde hair.
Cryosanthia  6'7"     245 Lb     Sith-Makar        Female    A dashingly tall, lithe white lizardgirl with tattoos.
Malik        6'2"     195 Lb     Human             Male      A sandy-haired tsuran with blue eyes.
Garrett      5'8"     160 Lb     Half-Elf          Male      A human in black leather, constantly wearing a hood                               
-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-

While it's not snowing, it seems the dark clouds and winds have driven more than a few patrons indoors with the counter being fairly full, but most seem to be minding their own business on this drab evening. The tables are mostly empty, the dinner rush having ended, and what is left being the lounge drinkers, and those with no better place to be. One of those being Ezil.

The Tsuran sits at a corner table, his small-beer half empty. Before him is a roughly made leather journal that seems to have some scribbles written along it's pages. He's reading intently, occupied and sitting alone while the night seems to dwindle as he takes his time with his rather weak choice of drink. Whatever he is searching for, it's clear he thinks the pages should contain something, flipping them now and them, seeming almost random.

The door opens and a blast of cold air blows in Cryosanthia, the white sith-makar. She's wearing her usual leathers, short cape and hat, looking overall underdressed for the weather. White dragon blood has some advantages. She takes her hat off and adjusts her cape, making sure it flows nicely behind her and looks around. She holds the door open with her tail, the wind flowing past her, giving the effect it's coming off her.

She looks around and spots Ezil, tarrying a moment while the shadow traveller she spotted approaching gets close enough to enter also.

The shadowy traveller, it seems, doesn't take long to catch up to the others, stepping inside with a brief nod to the white sith-makar holding the door, even if the other patrons might grumble about the cold air blasting its way in. Pulling back the hood of the otherwise nondescript green cloak, he reveals himself as yet another tsuran, from the olive skin and features, heading toward the bar to get something to drink -- but not before spotting the paladin reading in the corner, a curious raise of his eyebrow obvious to anyone happening to look in that direction.

Mission accomplished, the white-scaled sith heads over to Ezil's table and slides herself onto a bench.

Ezil shivers, looking up to see what keeps that door from closing, spotting Cryosanthia and then another figure head towards the bar. A hand is raised in greeting to the white Sith-Makar, but as the other Tsuran drops there hood his attention shifts for an instant. It's always strange seeing those so far from home, but despite his thoughts, he looks back to Cryosanthia with a smile despite the cold breeze. "Not working tonight, White-One?" he calls towards her, a thumb used to close the book before him. He seems to give up on whatever he was doing for the moment. "Want to join me?" his small-beer taken up and sipped, giving Malik another glance from across the bar, offering a subtle nod towards them if they're still looking.

"What cha reading?" Cryosanthia says, a teasing lilt to her voice, as she leans and cranes her neck to look. Her long neck definitely adding to the effect, as it snakes into a 'S' to allow her to properly peer at the closed book. More normally, she continues, "Only if it gets busy. I can get you something if you want though, I was going to see what's in the pot. Maybe Chef worked some magic with Kaelyn's spices."

Malik gets whatever he's drinking from the bar, still watching the pair curiously, starting to head over as the conversation starts. "If it's anything like the rest of the food in this city," he offers, "then magic is precisely what you'll need. Or maybe a miracle. I'm starting to believe that the denizens of this land have forgotten about flavor for so long that they've developed an instictual aversion to it." He nods toward the empty chair. "Room for one more?" His gaze, too, goes to the book, though his curiosity seems to be more passing, at first glance.

Ezil motions to the chair Malik is talking of. "Always room for another at the All-Friend's table." he offers, looking to Cryosanthia with a wink. "Nah, I'm good. I appreciate it though." declining her offer, but answering her question. "Master Padaryn had given me a list of names, and I know I wrote it down, but... I can't remember where in my journal I wrote them." his glance falling to his mug. "With all the demons, and strangeness I've been investigating. The names of these Frostmantles got lost." he notes, looking back then to Malik. "Sorry. I don't mean to talk business. It's just been a long few weeks."

"It tastes Ok to me." The white-scaled sith says. Faint praise, coming as it is from a species related to both dragons, which blast their meals with elemental enegry and dine raw, and aligators, which stash theirs underwater under rocks for days until it has reached the right level of putrifaction. She smiles at Malik as he moves closer, showing off a long mouth full of pointed teeth, designed to tear not chew, further emphasizing her meal evaluation abilities. "Peace be upon your nest. I am Cryosanthia, Speaker of the Sith Makar. Also if need be, your server for tonight."

She stands, "I'm going to grab a drink and see what's on. I can help you look when I get back if you like. I'm amazing at spotting words. You want anything, sir? The Blandness Surprise?"

Malik can't help but give Cryosanthia a smile of his own, eyes sparkling at the last comment. "Perhaps one of the meat pies that they make," he suggests. "I can always add something to those if I find them lacking. Just tell them to put it all on my tab. If you're going to act as the server, the least I can do is pay for the meals, no?" Though as talk turns to a familiar name, Malik's gaze goes to Ezil once more, raising an eyebrow at the mention of 'Master Padaryn', and the names of the Frostmantles that Ezil seems to have lost. "Name," he starts. "Singular, if memory serves. Clarvon. And even that one we are somewhat unsure of, at the moment. It would be easy to lose such a thing in pages. It was certainly lost in many when we found it the first time."

Ezil looks up as Malik speaks, his surprise evident on his face. "Yeah, that was one of them... but there were three murderers, yes?" he asks of Malik, shifting in his seat giving a precarious glance. "I am Ezil." he says with a bit of caution. "How did you know that name? Are you acquainted with the Temple of Vardama, or do you know Seldan?" he asks, seeming to gauge the other Tsuran with his glance.

"White-One, would you get me another beer?" Ezil's eyes snapping from Malik, a tension he needed to break with a brief change of topic as he calls to the Sith-Makar. "I'll let you read my journals anyway if you do." he muses.

Cryosanthia glides around Ezil on her way to the kitchen. "Sure thing." She continues on, in high spirits if her tail is any indication, which trails behind her in the air at waist height, counter-snaking to the motions of her hips, like a slow motion-blur effect. She winds through the seating plan and into the back. A few moments later she returns with a tray, collects some drinks at the bar and heads back.

A meat pie for Malik, as requested, along with an Ale. A small-beer and a beer for Ezil, and another beer for herself along with a bowl of what appears to be yesterday's special, gone cold, then baked on a crust with an egg and some bread stirred in. It's also covered in a lot of pepper, yet still fails to seem appetizing. The white sith distributes them, then settles on her bench again. "After I finish eating, wouldn't want to get food on them."

"Knowing things is one of my specialties," Malik answers in kind to Ezil at the question of how such things are known to him. "But in this case, I was there when it was found in the first place. Not that Seldan wouldn't have told me when he came home, anyway," he adds, for good measure. "Just as he told me of a promising new tsuran in town. A rare sight, outside of the Vast. Rarer still, to find one other than me that he speaks highly of. It's a thing that I had to see for myself." He offers a hand. "Malik."

Though as Cryosanthia returns with the food, his attention wanders that way, glancing curiously at what she's selected for herself. And smiling approvingly at the generous dusting of pepper. He takes the ale, asking curiously, "You said your title was 'Speaker'. I can't say that I'm familiar enough with the Sith-Makar to know what such a thing might mean. What does a Speaker do?"

Ezil huffs a laugh, the praise causing him to finish his small-beer quickly, trying to hide his embarrassment. "We have two other cousins in Alexandria." his glance taking a while to find Malik once more as he shakes that hand with a firm grasp. "I don't deserve any praise. I mostly left the Faring Ways behind." he notes. "I remember the tales, and that's about it."

For Cryosanthia he turns to her as the handshake ends, smirking. "I spilled tea on it the other day. You couldn't do any more damage than I." though he does take it off the table's top after the chance of mess is mentioned. For the rest, he will let her answer.

"Oh! Well..." Cryosanthia puts down the fork with her first mouthful on it. "What the name says. We're direct that way. A Speaker talks. We're the negotiators, the diplomats, the advocates, the communicators and facilitators. Translators, Storytellers and messengers. Entertainers, I love to perform, for example. The Lore-Keepers and the Shamans know the history, and the rituals, but if they need help unpacking it and simplifying it for others, they come to us."

She holds her hands up in demonstration, to help her explanation, swaying them from side to side, her head moving with them. It's mildly hypnotic. "You know how Warrior Caste and Hunter Caste can get all stiff and stoic. They're basically on the same page, books again, heh! On the same page, but just won't get it and say it because they've got their traditions and ways of thinking. We'd come in and sort it out. Historically. Once Am'Shere started interacting with outsiders and softskins on a bigger basis, our roles expanded to that. So, go places, learn stuff, talk to people."

"We all adapt, outside of the Vast," Malik counters softly. "Just as we adapt while we're there. Many think that they've left the Faring Ways behind. But in reality, once out long enough, they learn that they use them all the same. It's a matter of instinct. Survival. Learning to read the landscape and the dangers, and blend in. Perhaps they're not as distant to you as you believe." He nods to the book, then, changing the subject. "Tea can destroy ink, even whole pages, if left unattended."

Though at Cryosanthia starts her demonstration, he turns his attention that way, listening intently, that small smile growing a bit as he starts to understand more about her role, something akin to admiration in the look. "I see," he replies. "So first you seek knowledge, and then put it to practical use in the world around you. As much teacher as learner. A calling that I can certainly respect."

Ezil laughs with another soft huff, nodding his head. "I follow the stars as my father did. They take me to different places, but I let Telmentar guide." though at the mention of destroyed pages, he can only shrug. "It's true. I had to start those pages over, but I am no poet, and neither am I a scholar. You'll find it mostly gibberish and random thoughts." he admits, sipping his new drink as he relaxes back into his seat.

"Cryosanthia is one that can be trusted, and will be like our Elders in time. She and I have fought devils together. She's fierce." Ezil notes, heaping a bit of praise her way. <OOC> Malik notes that it is now midnight here, and sleep is calling me because I have to get up at oh-god-why o'clock this morning, so I'll be posing out on the next one.

"Thank you, Blessed Follower of the Stars, that is sweet to say." Cryo grins widely at Ezil, her eyes glittering like gemstones. She follows it up with a small ferocious snort.

Looking back to Malik, she waves her hand in the air, as if rubbing a drum top, "Yes. A lot of...surface level. The other Castes know deep but I understand enough to get across what's needed. I suppose our deep knowledge is around ways of communicating. Such as, Stealth, means different things to a Hunter-Caste or Warrior-Caste, or, someone that thinks themself a hero is going to behave a different way, than someone that defines themselves a survivor. 'Hero', 'Survivor', 'Protagonist'. Words, but if you say you are that word, it's got meaning in how you move. I like Plays, and Stories."

She goes for her food again.

"I prefer something to interact with. Watching things is fun but to help do something is better." Garrett says, having blonde hair and a green tunic with gold buttons and brown leggings.

Malik glances at something in the distance, quiet for a moment before turning to the others, finishing his ale and leaving half of the meat pie on the table. "I'm afraid," he sighs, "that duty once more calls, and I must take my leave." He gives Cryosanthia an appreciative nod. "The depth of knowledge is not the same as the measure of its usefulness," he agrees. "And knowing how to apply even small pieces of it is its own sort of battle. And requires its own sort of warrior." And then, back to Ezil. "I'm sure that we'll be seeing more of each other." He gives the other man a respectful nod as well, turning to leave as he passes Garrett coming in, leaving an opening at the table -- and, apparently, half a meat pie.

Ezil looks up to Garret as he enters, raising a hand in greeting. "Hello." he says in the Faring tradition, looking to Malik's half-eaten meatpie. "I don't think my cousin will mind." he musts, taking that plate and inching it before himself. To Cryosanthia, his smile is flashed. "Those who wander... we see each other as family. Cousins if not from our own caravans. Siblings if so. Most Tsuran's..... they will not cause another Tsuran issue." seeming to think it fine to eat another's meal.

GAME: Garrett rolls disguise: (12)+7: 19

Garett moves to sit with Ezil and he shrugs. "I am fine...a noble is in the city from Silvermoon. Real asshole of a llyranesi. I shared a class with him. Believed in stealing jobs from the poor and padding the pockets of the rich. And they call me a thief." He says as he looks to the Sith. "Do you enjoy these jobs? serving others? Too many people believe a man's life serving others is their duty, not pursuing their talents."

"Egg-Raiders!" Cryo jumps when Garrett appears suddenly. For someone who rarely blinks she's very easy to sneak up on. She also doesn't recognize him. Ezil gives the game away, "How do you keep doing that Garrett?"

She nods to the Tsuran's explanation about kinship, "This one can see parrallels with how the sith-makar view things, even if they do not align that directly."

She looks back at Garrett and nods, "I have coin enough to buy what comfort I need in Alexandria, and have a place and a home Mictlan and tasks aplenty there to be useful at. I do this for fun, to meet people, to watch distantly this excerpt of their lives, for the small social circle of the backroom. I believe... it is important to leave a mark..."

She straightens in her seat, raises her hands and grasps at air with her fingers, "The Great Dragons made this world, everything. Putting their thought and creativity into all. And then it runs. It's a duty to make a change, hopefully for the better, leave a mark. I was here. I affected this. Whatever that may be."

Somewhat literally afterwards, she draws on the table and her tattoos glow, leaving behind her mark. A dragon eye that spells 'Cryo'. This mark is on some of the other tables too, if one looks around.

Ezil smirks as he takes a bite, shaking his head as he chews. "Malik is wrong, or my family didn't cook well. This is good." though as he chews a second bite, his glance roams to Garrett. "I serve others, though these days it has been more with blade than with service." how brow furrowing as he looks between the two. "Did Malik say he lives with Master Padaryn?" just now letting that sink in. "Why do people always talk of me?" having mirth, but shaking his head a second time.

"Do you mark for ownership, or do you mark to leave sign you were there?" Ezil asks suddenly of Cryosanthia.

"The man I was apprenticed too for four years believed in disguises...If someone thinks your another race, another gender, or a completely different age, it made catching you next to impossible." He says as Garrett watches the woman. "So I disguise myself. I actually trained myself to be able to disguise myself with anything on hand." He says calmly. He then looks to Ezil and watches the man. He then looks to Cryosanthia. "I prefer being a ghost. Being acknowledged in a place means you are simply one to blame for hardships." He says as he reaches into a pocket and pulls out a lock which looks to be built for a door. "Open this lock without the key...Most would break the door down to get in. Thats the brute's way. If you are smart enough." He says as he pulls out a pair of lockpicks from his sleeves, and begins to pick the lock before them, opening it quickly.

GAME: Garrett rolls disable device: (16)+8: 24

"Did he? I missed that." The white-sith says, looking at the door where he left. She turns back to Ezil, "That I was there, mostly. It's not my table. It's sort of for luck, too. 'Watch yourself', and 'I'm watching you'. It would probably work for scrying, if I had that kind of magic. And there is an after-life belief that where ever there is an image of you, you can see out of it, so I'd be able to watch lots of places if that's true."

She takes another spoonful of her Eel-quiche. "Funny. Some of the patrons leave tips on it, like it's an invisible glass. So my name is getting its own tiny dragon horde."

Cryosanthia listens to Garrett's explanation, and watches him work the lock, "I can show you how a brute does it, if you like. I worry that you take things, it's not good for the music of your soul."

Ezil nods to Cryosanthia's explanation, but as Garrett goes about his task of picking a lock, he watches with interest. "I would of just broke it... true. I am not as skilled at such things like many of my cousins. I was gifted with a tongue, one I use for diplomacy." he notes, finishing that meatpie, and sitting back in his seat, looking between the two.

"I can understand, our Elders pass on, and we feel their belongings still carry part of their spirit. Perhaps your markings will do the same, though..... the seeing bit with screwing. That could be useful."

"I call it a redistribution of wealth. I simply act in place of their charity...I grew up wealthy, heir to a house which ruled over Silvermoon since ancient Maldriel Son'Doriel ruled the city. I grew up alongside nobles. So I know how they think. The problem is money and power makes you superior. That by ruling over the mass, you are doing your duty. A weak man knows the value of strength." Garrett says as the lock clicks and opens. He then puts his picks away.

The white-scaled sith nods, taking several more mouthfuls and washing it down with her beer. She points at a couple other marks that are on the table. They're near the edge, easily overlooked, but spaced somewhat evenly and near Cryo's, "A couple of the other girls have started marking their names too, for tips, so even though they're not here they're a part of Fernwood."

She looks at Garrett, silent and still while she contemplates his answer. She likely doesn't have a good reply. As her silence lengthens, all of her grows more obviously non-human, alien. That she rarely blinks, that her breath is always cool, that without hair there's little of her that stirs in small air currents, and that she has a reptilian advantage to being very still. She has no pores for sweat, and scales hide small muscles twitches. If her tailtip is active, it's out of view. There is only the quiet bellow of her lungs as she breathes, and that rhythm isn't human either.

Then! She's in motion. She opens her mouth and speaks, "There's a lot I don't know, but it still sounds like you're spreading misery on people who are already miserable inside, and it probably doesn't come out well later."

Ezil shrugs as he looks to Cryosanthia, listening as he seems to not really seem to be bothered by Garrett's open admissions of thievery. "I grew up with thieves and liars, White-One. I know them better than most, but.... I don't think Garrett has the same intent as they did. Something is different with him." he notes, raising a brow to the other man with a small smirk. "I just have a hunch, ya know? Tsuran's turn an eye to the mischief of their kin, and I have a harder time when they do it than when he does." shrugging then as he finishes his beer. "There isn't a darkness, and those who misuse wealth, like a few nobles I know... deserve a bit of misfortune. A community thrives when everyone does their part. My warning though, is not to shift to darkness, Garrett. It's hard to find light after you turn too far from it."

"Another injustice is churches. They preach that the gods care for virtue, not coin, yet they demand a portion of a man's wealth to get favors." He says as he shrugs. "What I dont use I distribute to the poor. Too many people, starve while nobles eat every day and night. Infact what food a noble throws away tends to feed a family or two." He says to Cryosanthia. He then looks to Ezil. "Murder is still a sin, yet people do it for multiple reasons. The reason may be good but it is still wrong, even if you are killing an evil creature." He says calmly. "The ones I steal from are wicked men and women who lord over their wealth. I never steal to make them destitute. As I said I redistribute wealth."

It's a good answer. Or an internally consistent one. An answer Cryo can't pick apart. She takes another mouthful of food. She scratches at the tabletop with a thick finger, thinking. Her tailtip is going, if the sound from behind and below her as something scratches the floorboards is any indication. "Ok, well. That makes sense. But."

She tap, taps. "You grabbed a pendant from a youngling, and there was a good reason and for a good cause at the time, but as we dug deeper it turned out Zak had been set up, and he suffered pretty bad for his age, dungeon and everything. He's not going to forget that. Till it got sorted out. So even though the logic seems sound, somehow... in applications, bad things are happening? So, it could be off. I don't know."

"As for murder, fighting and killing. Yeah... well there's a lot more to that."

Ezil nods his head, sighing. "The devils were part of why things got awkward though. They appeared before Garrett snatched the Ancient Spark, well one had." he admits, furrowing his brow and sipping his beer. "We were too quick to think the boy was in league with them, but... I did see his dark aura. I am partly to blame." his tone lowering as he swishes his drink. "I am just glad we got it truly sorted, and we are now on to Eclavidran's plot. We don't know why he's altering time, or well... I don't really know how. I just know it's part of this Shard Tower." that whole mess making him sigh again. "The Fae Queen must be scary if someone summoned a Duke of hell to fight her."

"Elves are descended from the fey. The ruler of Silvermoon, Queen Aeslyn, descends from someone who was descended from the fae queen." He says as he shrugs. "The fae are tricky...they believe to use and backstab makes them more superior to mortal races." He says softly as he looks to Cryosanthia and he watches her. "IF my stealing offends you, then I wont do it in your presence. In the meanwhile, my skills can help people even if it means committing crimes." He says calmly as he moves to stand. "I need to head back. In the mean time, keep me informed. Maybe we can backstab some demons together." He says with a shrug and gets his lock and begins to head out.

"Offends isn't... it makes me feel bad, Garrett." Cryosanthia says, looking down at her food, chasing bits of it around with her fork. When she looks up, the man is gone. She sighs and turns towards Ezil, "I trust your ability to see the worth of someone, and that he is. It's... sith keep secrets... but not in that way. I can't explain."

"I wonder if that Demon Lord, going back in time enough, making enough changes here and there, changes the nature of the ruler of Silvermoon, of Silvermoon. Then suddenly, there are two Charnaths. Would we notice? Can it not happen because it hasn't happened? Is that why Alexandria vanished for 5 years, because it was destroyed, then something happened in time and it wasn't? Oh this is a mess."

Ezil points to Cryosanthia with a quick gesture. "Now you're thinking where my mind has been. All the mysteries and unexplained events. Things that have changed, and changed back. Records some recall, and other's don't." his sigh heavy as he waves Garrett off. "I wonder... what can be done to fix it. If it can be fixed. I wonder if the changes, or when Merek and the other's went back in time... if that isn't why.... well. Why Zak's town is so troubled." he finally says it. "Tref has been through much darkness these days, and Eclavidran is focused on the plague and some of it's people. It's all connected some way." Ezil then adds after a swig of his drink. "So, what kind of secrets do the Sith-Makar keep?"

Cryosanthia blinks at Ezil, straightening her neck. "How do the tomes not all change at once? There are some unaffected, because they are magical? If we were to ask an Elder Keeper in Am'shere, they would know a history different from one in Mictlan, because they are farther away. Is the evidence you've seen indicating this?"

She gives Ezil a long look, then slowly smiles. "It's secret."

Ezil laughs, shaking his head. "I haven't, but I have heard of changes from those who were in the Shard Tower. I have heard of the city disappearing, only to reappear days later. I at first thought it magics like The Vast. More specifically the Sea of Tsundered time, but.... I have only suspicions. It's all memories of one person, and others who don't recall. I can't even say if it's all fact. Speculation, and thoughts." he confirms, taking out his journal, and sliding it towards her. "I have no memories of any changes, other than the city disappearing, then being back." he notes. "That's gossip. I didn't witness it."

"This one was told it was five years gone. To the inhabitants, five weeks." The white sith says, catching the journal as it slides over. Opening it, looking down, she flips some pages. She stops and points, "See? Words! There's a word. Oh there's another!"

She starts reading, commenting aloud as she does, "Sith letters are made of straight lines, so we can scratch them on rocks. We have papyrus and vellum now, but the writing started on rocks, because that's easier to keep in a jungle. Carving things. Don't need a Shaman keeping an archive dry and bug free. So the letters are all sharp. So, this journal is one person's memories? Did he just... think it on the page? Are there dates?"

Oddly, the letters Cryosanthia uses to write her name are very graceful, sylvan even.

Ezil smirks and nods. "Yeah, I put dates, but mostly it's random thoughts, and notes to myself." he admits, watching her as she claws at the pages in her search. "I don't know much of the Sith-Makar writing, and only know tradespeak myself." his cheeks flushing a bit. "I saw your mark is more than claw mark, it looks like something more than scratches." pointing to where it sits on the table's top. "As for my journal, one page may be a note on what food I ate and liked that day. Another some blurb, or writing about thoughts regarding demons and churches. As I told the others, I follow Telmentar, but the church is not a place for me. It's stuffy, and I can't stand to sit and hear scripture all day. At some point, one must take the words and apply them. Be kind, help... protect the weak. You can't do that sitting behind brick and wood."

Ezil adds about Alexandria. "I can only vouch for what I have seen, but the tales spread to the Faring Folk, but as it came back.... some thought it only story."

"Oh! Right! I thought this was the guy's... oh it would be much older then, and you said it was yours... oh I'm sorry Ezil, I didn't meant to make fun of you it seemed so chaotic I thought it was by someone in broken time." The white sith gets very fidgety, moving around, her tail this way and that as she adjusts how she sits, re-crosses her ankles, straightens her back, hunches again, moves her plate, then her drink. Takes a quick sip. "I'll pay more attention."

She listens as he talks of churches, finally replying, "Nests have to be warm, safe, and dull for eggs and hatchlings, and knowledge needs a simiar space. They are not a place for me either but I appreciate the stillness."

Cryosanthia traces her arcane mark slowly with her finger, staring at it in a loving and melancholy way, "The letters are Sildanyari. Their magic script, of the Mul'niessa. I took something of theirs and made it mine. I took myself back."

Ezil nods slowly, watching Cryosanthia at her words. "We all have to reclaim pieces of ourselves as we are broken by others." he notes, smirking then as he looks to his journal. "Don't worry, I tend to be a bit scattered in my thoughts. I didn't take offense. I just.... am no scholar." he muses, finishing the second drink of his and pushing the empty plate away. "I don't know what you have been through, but I know at times I have to do things my way, or else I feel lost. If I can not be true to myself, then there is no point in anything." he notes with a bit of huff in his breath. "I will not be the Darkness." though he seems to speak of it as a person.

"That's wise. It's not good to put your conscience in another's hands, you have to do things your way." Cryosanthia agrees, looking mostly at his notebook, skimming a page, flipping, sometimes flipping back. "So the Adventurer's Guild sent a bunch to a library, to do this with a bunch more books? Oh, that must have been a certain challenge."

She reads quietly for a little bit, taking a couple sips of her drink, turning more pages. "Might make sense to get a second notebook, pull all the relevant thoughts onto a couple pages, easier to think them all at once..."

Some more silent reading. Casually she admits, "Things happened. I'll tell you one day. Don't go to Charnath. When I was a youngling, I was great at everything. I never failed. Until one day I did. Very badly. Got over it. Mostly. Still getting over. Some things. Some things are OK now, really Ok. I miss the confidence. I miss being Sure. Really Sure. Like capital 's', Sure. I don't know if I'll ever get that back."

"Confidence is different for each person. We reclaim it in different ways, or find it in different places. I can fight, and I can fight well, but I am not confident... I am pragmatic." Ezil says with a shrug. "My confidence is in Telmentar and her path. I will walk it until I can no longer. I don't have faith in myself like others, White-One. I saw what would come of me if I was left to my own desires. I am a selfish, and terrible person, one I fight every day and... those scribbles in my journal are what I use to fight that. Keep myself occupied, and worrying about others. If I have no time for myself, then I have no time to fall to darkness." being blunt about himself, sighing with a finger flicking the rim of his empty mug. "Discipline. Honor. Compassion. None of it was natural to my people."

"To always have something to do, that is one way, yes, to discipline yourself." Cryosanthia says, looking directly at Ezil, "This one sees no faults in how you follow your path. The stars seem a good guide, the traits you chase, captured. Keep making the journals, but..."

She taps gently at the page, "these betray the secret entrances to your mind, the flaws in the fortress, the back gates, the schedule of the guards. In the wrong hands, this would destroy you. One could push you into the darkness with the handles you've written here. Be careful."

"That is why I don't let just anyone read them." Ezil says with a bit of mirth, but her comments do seem to cause him some pause. He looks to the journal, and then to her once again. "I chose the path of nothing, and started over alone. The stars were all I had, and they have given me more than I can ever repay. I was blessed by Telmentar, but I don't see what was worth blessing. Like you, and how you feel your loss of self. I never thought I was worth such notice. However, I was seeking something, and something I found. So I will live for that, because unlike others, my happiness has never been found in things. It's found in people, and action." shrugging. "We could burn my Journals. Keep what is important out of some, but burn the things that need not be seen." laughing, admitting now there are more than one.

"That's a good..." Cryosanthia hesitates, reluctant to agree with destroying something which has clearly worked, "... idea. You could... separate them? Have one, that you carry around and write down as you have been. Then at night, copy over to a journal the thoughts that you found important to write, but could harm you, and the write the notes needed for the daily tasks in the carry journal, then tear out, burn the first draft pages. Watch the fire take it. A new ritual for your following practice? Keep the dangerous journals very safe, like in a temple archive."

"It might make finding names easier, with this second review." She adds, as an after thought.

"I am not one to argue over something that makes sense. I just never thought about it until Jerboba. I carried them with me, and wrote in them, but I felt uncomfortable to do so in his presence. It made me realize they were a weakness." Ezil admits, looking at Cryosanthia as she speaks. "I wish some magician or artificer would make a journal of magic or machine that could let me keep a single book, and recall the pages when I need them. Like a bag of holding, but... for words." laughing and shaking his head. "Even then, I would still write nonsense, and thoughts." he muses. "It's best they be burned. This I can't argue."

Cryosanthia blinks at Ezil, then stares, "That's a really good idea! The Handy Haversack knows what you want. A book that knows the page and words you want to see, that sounds the same! You should ask Merek, or Mikilos. Kae, I bet, could make a book that shows pages according to which gem you push, or something."

"Also, Jerboba looks like a normal human now. Is there a way, with glasses, to see him as he was? I wonder if there are other disguised demons about. We did not get much results on our request for strange rumours, that turned out to be based."

Ezil blinks slowly as she mentions Jerboba and his disguise. "I didn't even think of it like that. There could be demons all over, and I know Jerboba had allies beyond Eclavidran. I.... we need to include Merek and Mikilos on these discussions." laughing then. "Unless they think we paranoid and have too much to drink." shaking his head, and sitting back in his seat. "I worry about other things, and miss the obvious before my face. This is why I call you friend. You speak openly and without fear of making me upset."

The white sith-makar grins at her human friend, all wicked mouth with dangerous teeth, and after a meal of eel-quiche, with developing breath weapon. She wobbles her head in a silly way, then taps loudly on her arm with her nails, clicking them across her scales. "It's the sith way. Thick hide. Words, and minor acts of aggression, don't get through. I know to consider human feelings and sometimes... I remember to? Merek, Mikilos, it... it would be Ok, with them. And we have not had too much to drink. One beer will not float my mind. The food has hit my belly though, and I will want to go lie on it to digest soon. If my head drops on the table, push me over by the fire."

"I will have to check and see if Jerboba is well in his room, but you can use my room. There is two beds, though I am not sure if you will find it comfy." Ezil notes, letting out a sigh. "It is late, and I... have never been drunk, so I wouldn't know about a clouded mind." he muses. "Not from spirits or wine anyways." he says, standing and looking at the Sith-Makar. "I doubt you can make it back to Mictlan tonight, and the price is already paid."

"Not full of food! And the walk is long." Cryo laughs, then squeezes her lips together. Her tailtip is just going. "Sith... can sleep loudly. And are strongly scented for a small room. This one might disturb your rest. There owner lets me have a space at reduced rates, it would be better. Yes, to fall on a bed and fart as proudly as a great drake. This one would spare her dignity and you the indignity of seeing that." She grins and winks, then stands.

And slumps, supporting herself on the table, pushing off and upright again, "Yes. Much food. Much tired. The blood is pooling in my tail and this one must sleep now. To Bed. Beds. Blessed one. See you in the morning."

"You have your pride, and I mine. I will see you do as you wish." Ezil says with a smirk to her words. "Indeed, to bed. Well after I check on the guest. You go and sleep. I will see you on the morn, White-One. I don't know what it is the Sith-Makar dream of, but dream peacefully, and of warm nests." waving is goodbye, and departing after collecting his journal.

Walking in every way that says 'sleepy lizard full of food', Cryosanthia moves determinedly towards the stairs and heads up, with a quick wave around.

"Thank you. Peace on your Nest, Ezil. Sleep warmly."