A nondescript wooden door opens outward revealing the small figure of a girl fully covered in a black dress and black cape with a hood thrown up to cover the majority of her face in shadow. Black gloves sweep any remnants of ash on her clothing as she taps her moccasined feet to shake any ash loose from her soles. These movements had a secondary use, to scan the immediate area around her. Red tiefling, male, 5’ 8”, normal walking patterns, heading east. Bronze dragonkin, 6’ 2”, hanging out at a ground floor window talking to another dragonkin, doesn’t appear to be moving any time soon. Her hooded head shifted up and down the street, taking note of a group or two further down and then finally softly stepped out onto the street, quietly closing the door behind her.

Tellan Eleint, despite her relatively decent academic education from the elder, is thoroughly incapable of shedding her long standing street urchin habits. Those habits kept her alive for this long and she has seen no reason to lose a single edge in favor of her survival. Her purpose of leaving the safety of the tavern turned temple was that it was required of her to expand her experiences of people and the city. If Tellan was to fulfill her purpose, she would need to be able to gather information and blend in with crowds. So off to a tea house on the square, the perfect spot to sit and people watch.

The soft swish of the hem of her dress was the only sound Tellan made as she obsessively places her moccasins on the cobblestone street in such a manner as to walk as quietly and efficiently as possible. She kept herself to the edge of the street, making note of the location and length of each alleyway she passed by and the behavior of others who were walking with her or passing across from her. Her hood moderately disguised the fact that Tellan’s head was on a constant swivel, monitoring as much as possible within her field of vision. Her arrival at the townsquare was greeted by a multitude of crowds meandering about with individuals breaking away here and there as they arrived at their respective destinations.

Her destination was a couple of streets up on the left, a quaint wooden tea house with tables set out on the square, a cloth overhang, and a bar in the interior. A couple of waiters moved through the tables with tea pots in hand and menus tucked in the frontal pocket of their white aprons. One of them placed a menu in front of Tellan as she delicately sat down at one of the few empty tables, making sure that there was the least amount of people behind her and she was facing where the most potential threats could appear. Tellan smoothed the skirts of her dress over her legs and quietly ordered a black tea local to the Ashlands and wondered what the rest of the day would bring.

Another day, another contract completed.

Cyran wished he could remember how many this would mark, but the number had been lost to time, only growing as the years passed. In an elven lifespan, the blip of time hardly meant anything- and yet, Cyran couldn’t help but feel the drag of it all, left with a sense of loss every time he finished a job, as he was painfully reminded of exactly what he had turned to for a living.

It could always be worse, a small voice reminded him. He could have always ended up like the unsuspecting victims on the receiving end of his blade. But he was alive to live another day, and time marched on, as all things did. He was adjusting to his new lodgings- Darkveil was a harsh and strange city, but it was a place he could make a living, perhaps even plant roots. He’d been here a few months now, and finally had a good enough lay of the land that, after this particular job was complete, his feet guided him to a nearby tea shop in town square with a mind of their own as he was lost in his own thoughts.

The streets were busy today, filled with people keeping their heads down as they hustled to their respective destinations. As such, not many paid attention to the elven man that breezed through the crowd, boots barely making a sound as they struck the uneven cobblestone. The shadows seemed to cling to him as he walked, reaching out to grab at his heels. Even his own shadow seemed confused, hesitantly flickering in and out of existence.

Even the tea shop was busy when he entered, with hardly any empty tables for Cyran to claim. He let out a soft sigh, resigned to picking a table with the least amount of people and hope they would be amenable to sharing. He had hoped for some time alone, but he’d grown fond of the tea here- it was a far cry from the tea he was accustomed to in Moonglade, but he enjoyed the somewhat bitter taste.

He tried a few tables, a few of whom told him politely to piss off, and some that merely laughed at him. Not to be deterred from his drink, Cyran scanned the shop once more, when he spotted a table nearby with only a single occupant- a hooded figure, one that might have been a woman, though Cyran had a difficult time making them out from this distance. The location they had picked was an ideal table for keeping an eye on everyone while ensuring that they were not noticed in turn, the place one hid when they wanted privacy. He didn’t want to intrude, but surely, it wouldn’t hurt to ask…

He approached the table, a sheepish expression affixed on his face as he addressed the hooded stranger. “Begging pardon, but do you mind if I sit here? I won’t interfere with you business, I’m simply looking for a place to sit and enjoy a cup of tea…”

Oh dear. Searching gazes always make Tellan feel extremely self-conscious, especially when she started doing the math on seats, tables, and vacancies that the inevitable was apparent. Social interaction. No escape for young Tellan from having to have a conversation with this silver haired elf whose silver eyes looked to be very determined to find a place that equated an opening and therefore service. Tellan well knew that look from observing customers at a bakery that she consistently staked out on certain days having figured out the pattern that the owner would overproduce in case of a rush and would throw out leftover pastries that wouldn’t hold for the next day. It was that look of a customer who knew what they wanted and didn’t understand that the baker didn’t have any more of cream filled croissants.

Only moments to compose, just moments to settle the fidgeting toes and pause the twitch in her left eye. Moment? Moment gone. Everything in its place, everything still. The swirling colors of her eyes decided a faint shade of green was good enough for this occasion as they were revealed by black gloved hands pushing back the hood that was hiding them from the elven stranger who had just finished his approach to the table that the physical form of Tellan currently occupied, in spirit she was definitely feeling a bit of warmth from the eternal flames of the damned. Mentally she was recording every muscle twitch, every shape this elf’s mouth made, every sound he produced, any tics, or gestures he used while speaking. Perhaps strands of his hair had fallen in front of an eye, perhaps that sheepish expression was just for show? Processing, cataloging, observing, repeat.

Her eyes had not blinked, the colors around her pupils had swirled around again to form a placid blue grey. 5 seconds of dead silence, then abrupt rapid blinking as she returned to the shared reality and realized she needed to respond to his polite request to sit at the table.

“Yes, you may…?”

The may was supposed to be said in a quiet confident tone and instead a hoarse hiccup squeak replaced it. Tellan’s gloved hands immediately covered her mouth and her pupils widened in shock and embarrassment till the blue barely outlined the black. Can’t leave, she acknowledged his existence and gave permission to sit here.

In the eternity of worlds that made up that particular pregnant pause, one of the waiters drifted by with Tellan’s black tea and dropped a menu off for the silver elf and upon waiting for his order added another loop of eternity of the opening steps to this interaction in Tellan’s impressionable young mind. One of those things where you wake up in a panic dripping with cold sweat from a memory that happened thirty years in the past.

Silence.

The longer Cyran’s question hung in the air, the more he wondered if perhaps he shouldn’t have intruded upon her solitude, seeing how much distress he’d caused. Cyran worried his lower lip with his teeth, the seconds stretching on as she pushed back her hood, revealing sharp green unblinking eyes, swirling with more colors than Cyran could place. Just as he was supposed to apologize, and find somewhere else to sit, she offered her hesitant acceptance.

Cyran blinked, just as surprised as she seemed to be at her own declaration, barely a quiet gasp before her hand flew up to cover her mouth, and the stilted conversation fell quiet once more.

“Are you sure? I wouldn’t want to impose…” He trailed off, but she had already gestured to the empty seat across from her own, and social niceties dictated that he needed to sit now that it had been offered. The sound of the chair’s legs scraping against the floor was far too loud as he pulled it down, back ramrod straight as he sat. A waitress came around with the lady’s tea, and a menu for him- he ordered his regular and handed it back.

He drummed his fingers against the smooth table, looking everywhere but at her at first. He kept a keen eye on his surroundings, the people that entered and exited the shop. Darkveil had no shortage of threats, and even in a place as innocuous as a tea shop, Cyran was always on guard, searching for threats in the shadows. Nothing jumped out at him, but he could not bring himself to relax. Eventually, the waitress came back with his tea, a dark and bitter blend that he sipped at.

The silence eventually grew heavy enough, weighing on his shoulders until he felt the need to break it.

“My name is Cyran.” He said, words slightly stilted though still with the faint impression of someone who had been raised with manners. “I hope I am not intruding on any private business.”

Impose? Ha. A name? Ha, ha, ha. Business? Ha, ha, ha, ha…… What started as an internal monologue trailed off into internal screaming and then abruptly ended in an internal sob. Some major fakery of composure finally took hold of Tellan as she prepared for her first foray into having an actual conversation with a person that wasn’t a part of the temple and nor were they actively attempting to harm or capture her, so you know what? Positive thinking.

“Ah… No. No, private business, uhhh….. Just kind of walking around, I guess? You?”


At this point, Tellan’s true purpose for adventuring forth into the city was some vague thought slowly dissipating like the smoke of a fire that was all ash and cinder. Instead the mental processing began of the man who’s given name was Cyran. Private business was such an interesting phrase to use in this situation, perhaps a hint of projection? Recent private business of his own mayhaps? A scandalous affair, a sordid situation, a back alley dalliance that he just escaped from a vengeful paramour who was attempting to duel him to regain their honor. Perhaps even darker, a midnight blade, a poisoned chalice, a silver haired elf playing a mummer’s farce of decency as the deep shadows of night disguise the blackening blood pooling in the gutters of the cobblestone streets.

Truly fascinating what Tellan’s mind could conjure up, completely ignoring the fact that she never provided her own name in response and instead at this point was oblivious to the holding of her cup of tea halfway to her lips. At some point her gloved knuckle that was lightly resting on the outer tea cup wall felt very very hot and reality came sharply back into focus as she fumbled with the tea cup in an attempt to place it down and stop potential injury. It was at this moment in time that Tellan remembered that she should also introduce herself as Cyran had given his name. In achieving this realization of her social faux pas Tellan simply went through another spiral of anxiety and the return of the internal monologue that resembled the face from the painting titled The Scream.


Such a level of ‘complex’ thoughts only took a few moments and Tellan managed to vocalize that her name was indeed,

“Tel–lan… I’m Tellan Eleint. Sorry.”


The apology at the end was more whisper than sound and her swirling eyes stared at her own reflection in her black tea. Which was odd, since it seemed that her hands had finally settled down and were no longer causing minute vibrations while holding the tea cup.

In the same stilted manner of speech she’d used before, she assured Cyran that he had interrupted nothing, though he still couldn’t help but feel a lingering sense of unease, as if he had ruined her plans. Even though she insisted she had none, even a simple day out on one’s own could easily be ruined by the presence of a stranger.

As the question was flipped upon himself, Cyran grew hesitant. Not for the first time he cursed the duplicitous nature of his line of work, forcing him to speak in half-truths and vagaries. Cyran was not an especially adapt liar, and even concealing the lies in careful truths left a sour taste on his tongue. Unfortunately, such lies were necessary.

“I am… a hunter.” He began, defaulting on an old lie, paper-thin and likely as believable as the promises of a crooked charlatan. “I just returned from a trip outside the city searching for game.”

This one was nearly more unbelievable than the first, as Cyran was obviously clean and devoid of any signs of outdoor activity, but he would stick with that story now that he had spoken it into reality. He wondered if she even heard him- she didn’t respond for a long time, frozen still while holding her cup in midair, as if she’d been petrified mid-movement. The stillness was broken, however, when she seemed to burn herself from the heat of her drink and hastily set her cup down, fumbling for a moment while she composed herself and gave her name.

“It’s lovely to meet you, Tellan.” He tilted his head to the side, brow furrowing in confusion as he tried to parce what she could be apologizing for. He chalked it up to Tellan being the nervous sort. He searched for the right words that might settle her words, blissfully unaware of what had shaken her in the first place. “I appreciate you letting me sit. I’ve never visited this shop during its rush hour, and I wasn’t aware it could get this busy…”

He trailed off before asking, in a voice much quieter than it had been a moment ago, “Are you a regular here?” He’d only visited a few times, but never seen her around. She dressed like a native of Darkveil, in a dress and garments that looked like they were functional for guarding against the ash from Mount Drakolt, but he had never seen her around before.

She was not one to leave the city, let alone really venture out of the comfort of the temple which was precisely why Tellan was sent out into the city as the elder viewed it as an opportunity for education and so when Cyran, her current tea company, said that he was a hunter there wasn’t really penetration through to her current cycle of dark and sordid fantasies. Her eyes had begun entrapped by the motionless tea forming a mirror, swirling in that notable pattern of a loading screen icon. Tellan’s subconscious was also sure that other words were spoken to her, but it wasn’t really as important as the fact that she wasn’t trembling with anxiety at this exact moment in time. A collection of vocalizations from Cyran that ended in an upward note signifying a question shattered the fascination and the loading screen swirl came to a sudden halt on the color blue.

“Regular? As in frequency? Uhhh………”

How does one explain that she spends her time reading and doing physical training all by herself in the depths of a temple that was converted from a bar? You don’t, at least in the mind of Tellan that would be unfathomable to express out loud to a stranger, irrelevant of the fact that her hands have actually stopped being agitated.

“I heard it was popular from, uh, acquaintances? Yea, acquaintances.”

Acquaintances was definitely the right word, as the term friends was definitely out of reach for Tellan and she didn’t need to start her first real interaction with an outsider with a lie. She did in fact hear about this from acquaintances, if you define that word as people she overheard talking about the tea room and how cute of an atmosphere it had last week while she was emptying out the refuse pots from the temple. Tellan supposed that it was the right move to continue the conversation, but she was unsure of what tact to take. With the pondering came the swirling colors, like a visible way of tracking her brain as it processed information and made a decision on what exactly to say. The swirling solidified into purple indicating that the processing had finished.


“What exactly do you hunt?”

The question was asked in that same quiet innocence from before and with quickness as Tellan hid her internal embarrassment by taking a long sip of her tea, face downward to the tabletop, as she wondered how does one exit a conversation now that she was in one.

Her explanation made sense as to why Cyran had never seen her around before. He frequented this establishment as often as he could, and made a habit of remembering the faces he saw. He could see the fear swirling in her oddly-colored eyes, the indecision as she debated how she would answer. He didn’t think she was hiding anything- not yet- but he could tell she was doing much the same as him, picking her own words as to carefully not reveal the wrong thing. Both were being honest, but were holding their own cards close to their chest.

He would not begrudge her that.

“It’s a good choice. Though it can get busy at times… perhaps you’d prefer someplace quieter?” He knew a few places that might be easier on the poor girl with her social anxiety. “I know a few places around here with good tea that would be less overwhelming.” He would be more than happy to show her, but he was not sure how well she would respond to such an offer.

Cyran blinked as Tellan seemed to be deep in thought before turning back to him. Weren’t her eyes green just a moment ago? He couldn’t seem to pin them down, and the thought unnerved him. He’d met shapeshifters and those capable of changing their appearance, but never in just the eyes.

And then, she turned the attention back to him.

“Who, me?” He blinked, sipping at his tea to avoid answering the question right away. “Oh, you know. Whatever I can find around here, mostly.” He waved a dismissive hand. Truth be told there was not much game in the area, but he had hunted monsters in the Ash Lands before. He concealed the lie in another truth, further cementing his story. “A while back I tracked down a basilisk with a friend on Mount Drakolt. That is probably the biggest creature I’ve seen in the area…” He trailed off as he realized this was probably not the most appropriate topic of conversation for a young lady to hear.

How old was Tellan? She seemed quite young, but as an elf it was difficult for Cyran to discern where a human was in their lifespan based on appearances alone. He did not wish to scare her more than she already was by his intrusion. “... But I will refrain from bothering you with the details.”

Someplace quieter? Less overwhelming? By the Dragon’s grace, was young Tellan already being courted by the men of Darkveil? Pinks, purples, reds, violently swirled within her eyes even going as far as to cover the pupils that had constricted to barely the size of pins. The violent swirling was a glimpse at the rapidly increasing inner turmoil that also caused a combination of lightheadedness, hyperventilation, and spreading numbness to the outer limbs as all of the blood in her body rushed to her facial extremities causing it to be vibrantly red against the deathly paleness of the rest of Tellan. Ultimately these sequential events would cause those swirling eyes to turn blank white, indicating that young Tellan had lost consciousness and was now crumbling off to the side of her chair and to the cobblestone pavement. The heap of black clothing, a good representation of the black void that we all return to when our time to move past this plane of existence arrives.


Or was this a ploy to attempt to get her to a secretive spot so that she could be kidnapped and interrogated about the temple then disposed of like so many others in this treacherous city. Of course this sort of thinking was too late to save young Tellan as her unconscious body grew comfortable on the cold wet stone. One could wonder if Cyran the hunter was conscious of the words that he chose to speak or if he was just following common parlance and was actually thinking about Tellan’s social anxiety induced stress levels. In any case, there was definitely an unspoken forgiveness as Cyran could not know of the full extent of her issues that lead to this exact scenario. Young Tellan’s first foray out into the city certainly has been full of excitement for her, even if it was just barely a quarter of a conversation over tea with a stranger.

Cyran was not sure what he said that caused the shift.

One moment, they were conversing, though still in stilted, halting words, and then the next moment, Tellan froze up, the rapid shifting of the color in her eyes the only sign of her turbulent thought process. They eventually settled on white before Tellan immediately crumpled to the ground. Cyran tried to catch her in time, chair scraping as he leapt out of his seat, but he did not manage to grab her before she hit the pavement.

The assassin would normally consider himself a composed person, though there were a few things that could rattle him- namely, when his worry for others got the better of him. This was one of those moments, especially considering he had a feeling that he had inadvertently caused this reaction somehow. The sound of faint murmuring of concerned patrons behind him barely reached his ears as Cyran tried to backtrack through their conversation. Was it the mention of the basilisk? Had he scared her enough with talk of monsters, or was it something else?

Just as he bent down to nudge her, try to wake her up, a server came up from behind him, hesitantly calling out to him to grab his attention. “Sir? Is everything alright here? Do we need to call a healer for your friend?”

Cyran leaned down, checking for any head trauma from the fall. It didn’t look like she’d hit herself on anything, but while he had a general knowledge of anatomy, that mostly extended to ways to end a person’s life, not help them.

“I’m not sure- do you have water, or perhaps a cold cloth…?” He asked, and the waitress bowed her head as she scampered off to the kitchen. A few moments later, she returned with a cloth soaked in cool water that Cyran pressed to Tellan’s head. He was not sure how much it would help, but he hoped she would at least wake up long enough so he could figure out whether he needed to take her to a healer, or even her home if it was close enough. She was clearly in no condition to stay around the tea shop any longer.

“Tellan? Are you alright?” He asked, but she did not stir right away even at the mention of her name. He frowned, wondering if there was a chance that she had hit her head after all. To the nervous waitress who was still hovering behind him, he said, “Maybe you should go find that healer, after all.”

He hoped she awoke on her own before their arrival, though.

It was a struggle worthy of the tales of Heracles, the void combined with the cold familiar cobblestone street was one of the greatest temptations for Tellan to just remain where she was, unconscious in a heap of black clothes. Unfortunately there were apparently people who still showed concern in this city of thieves and her tea companion, Cyran, was one of those at least in this particular moment in time. The struggle was ended early by the dampness of a cold wet cloth placed on Tellan’s forehead. It was as if a few volts of electricity went through that heap of black clothes and Tellan quickly propelled herself into a sitting position. Due to her height, the top of her head may or may not have perfectly headbutted just the lower half of Cyran’s chin causing either a scare or a potential knockout blow of her own.

Tellan still didn’t know what it was to be touched in a manner that wasn’t in some way hostile to her well being, even in the temple with people she nominally trusted she did not allow herself to be touched. So this particular instance was quite the shock for young Tellan, enough of a shock that she scrambled away a couple of feet from the potentially dazed Cyran and curled her knees to her chest and peaked just over her kneecaps toward Cyran. Perhaps Tellan would see the unconscious form of Cyran replicating her own instance of unconsciousness from earlier, perhaps she would see that he was perfectly fine beyond having to rub his sore chin from the accidental collision with her head.

Tellan never acknowledged that there was a waiter nor the fact there were the other patrons of the tea shop that no doubt would be wondering what in the Dragon’s name was going on over by the outdoor seating during this newly discovered catastrophe of a conversation over tea. Nor was she at this moment in time aware of the passersby that would also be looking at the commotion. At this particular moment in time, Tellan’s brain was entirely worrying itself to death over whether or not she had hurt this person and whether she needed to start fleeing before the police showed up or if she could somehow make her heart stop right in the middle of the street so she wouldn’t have to feel this overflowing of embarrassing emotions.

All at once, as Cyran was fretting over the poor unconscious girl, Tellan bolted upright with surprising force and speed, and Cyran did not have time to dodge as she knocked into his chin. Cyran saw stars as he recoiled, rubbing at his chin which would no doubt blossom with hues of purple and crimson in the beginnings of a bruise, but aside from a little dull pain that faded to a gentle pounding in his jaw as the seconds ticked on. When he opened his eyes, he found Tellan curled up in a little ball, bright eyes peeking over her knees, but very much conscious.

“Ah… you’re awake.” Cyran smiled, relieved, even though the motion reminded him of his still-sore jaw. “That was quite the fall you took there.”

He was distantly aware of all the eyes on him, their gazes like spiders crawling along his back, and the waitress who was still hovering over his shoulder, all whispering amongst themselves, wondering what was going on.

“Are you alright?” He asked, more concerned about her, given she’d been the one that fainted. She didn’t look too terribly hurt, but given the swarming crowd, he was worried that she’d be overwhelmed by the people, given everything that happened. “What happened? You were fine only minutes ago…” He asked, voice quiet one would talk to a small mouse in an attempt not to startle them. “You just fainted out of nowhere- if you’re not in any condition to be out in crowds, then perhaps I could take you home, or to a hospital.” He offered. Given that he was still unaware of exactly what had caused her to faint, he did not mean to stress her out with his suggestion, but this crowded area was certainly not a healthy environment for someone who’d just passed out.

Her heart stopped for what felt like a minute as the aftermath of her actions resolved themselves. It seemed that she had only grazed Cyran’s chin and did not in fact knock him out which was good. The perception of an unconscious body that Tellan had caused to exist would not be good for her immediate future in this current reality and she was doing so well to try to become more a part of the general reality of Darkveil. Speaking of which, this could be an interesting opportunity for young Tellan to gain that experience through an intermediary instead of sacrificing her emotional wellbeing by putting herself through a continuous stream of new and more people. Ignoring questions about how she was doing, Tellan got up to her feet and brushed off ash, dirt and soot from her black skirt with black gloved hands and took a deep breath in before asking a question of her own.

“How well do you know this city, Cyran?”

Her eyes had finally settled on a shade of robin egg blue and with the lack of swirling and normalized blinking patterns, Tellan could almost pass for an actual functional person, but that was a facade that would only hold up to passing gazes and nothing more. Her question was to deflect, because there was no way she was going to have an outsider take her back to the temple or for her existence to be recorded at a hospital. It was apparently very important to the temple elder that she remained as just a rumor, a whisper made even quieter by the falling ash.

This question had a secondary nature to it, if Cyran was a hunter of some sort he would know things about people who wanted things hunted, who they were, what they did, where they were located. Which also meant that there was a black market side to these things and that would be a good starting point for this investigation to discover the identities of the false Ashen Fathers. That in particular is why Tellan is currently out and about away from her temple.

Cyran’s inquiries about her health were brushed off as easily as the ash and soot from her dress as Tellan rose from the ground. Any further objections Cyran might have offered, asking her to move slowly for her own health, died on his lips as Tellan steeled herself and asked, with considerably less hesitation than she had before, if he was familiar with the city. There was still a hint of anxiety in her voice, but it was surer than it had been before, as if she’d been invigorated by some newfound purpose that Cyran was unaware of.

The change was jarring.

He pulled himself to his feet as well, feeling rather silly being the only one on the ground. “I do live here, but my move was… rather recent.” His knowledge of Darkveil’s streets were cobbled together from Iryla’s help, who had shown him a thief’s perspective of the city, and from his own lurking and scouting. By now, he would describe his navigation skills as passable. “If there’s something specific you’re looking for, or just a general tour guide, I could serve as one…”

Though he wasn’t quite sure where this was coming from…

Had she been hit on the head hard enough to trigger such a spontaneous change in attitude? There was determination in her blue eyes that Cyran was certain had been green before, or even lavender… come to think of it, he was no more certain of what her eye color was than of what had spurred this sudden attitude change.

Cyran may have been the self-proclaimed hunter between them, but he was struck with the sudden feeling that Tellan had caught the scent of something she was after, and would not let it go until she’d found it. Well, if she was determined to go after it, and not home or a hospital, then Cyran figured it fell on him to watch after her and make sure she didn’t get hurt.

When he spoke again, his voice was somewhat resigned, like a man who had already subjected himself to the whims of someone younger and far more energetic than him. “… What do you wish to see?”