It was raining something fierce when Thalia arrived in the rinky dink tavern in Lilicors Village.

Recently, Thalia had left Eclipse City after finally gathering enough funds through odd jobs to leave it behind. She was telling herself that she was happy to be rid of the place, but the unique lullaby that she whistled to herself from childhood told her otherwise. Still, she needed to leave. Thalia couldn't stand being home knowing that as soon as her her parents got home they would be spitting in her direction for something that wasn't even her fault. It was never her fault.

But whatever, as Thalia entered the Safe Dry Sleep Eat Spot she grinned, shaking out her hair like a dog at the front stoop. She couldn't find it in her to be sad, not when she'd come so far since then! Thalia had money in her pocket, a bottomless pit of a stomach, and absolutely no one trying to hold her down. She was great, and as scary as the Marsh Flats were their threats were easy to avoid so long as she kept her wits about her. Thalia walked inside with little to no care about the looks she received, sitting down at a table with a flopping motion and kicking up her feet. She sighed heartily, a giddy smile on her face as she could finally relax.

Nothing wrong at all.

It was sometime around mid evening when she came in, so not too many people were bustling about, but Thalia was fine with that. She unabashedly watched others walk through with a smile, one that looked a little too wide for a complete stranger as she waggled her fingers in a waving motion. After sitting still for just a bit too long (five minutes), Thalia stood up and ordered herself something to eat, sitting back down. She fished out a journal with an elephant insignia and began doodling, unbeknownst to anyone else watching her.

Work rarely brought Cyran to the Marsh Flats, but on the rare occasions it did, he found himself somewhat out of his depth. The humidity was a foreign thing to him - the unsteady grounds of the swamp were unfavorable for the assured footing of an assassin. It was a small mercy that he had not been brought here on a regular contract, but rather, a smuggling job for one of his regular informants. The contents of the package, he was unsure of. But it wasn’t his job to ask questions. He was supposed to follow orders and be discrete, carry out the mission in secret. But travel through the unfamiliar environments of the Marsh Flats from Moonglade was hardly easy, especially for someone as old as him, and around Lilicors Village, he needed a break. So he sent his apprentices - assassin and thief, Andromeda and Oriole - ahead with the package, while he stopped to rest at a tavern for the evening.

He was not especially worried about leaving them alone. They were capable of taking care of themselves and laying low - they’d get the package out in his stead. Meanwhile, he made his way silently through Lilicors Village in search of a tavern or inn to obtain a warm meal and a bed for the evening.

Eventually, aimless wandering brought him to the Safe Dry Sleep Eat Spot, a curious construction of metal and wood that looked fairly busy, and more importantly, dry. Pulling his cloak tighter over his shoulders, Cyran made his way through the doors into the tavern proper.

This early in the evening, the tavern was fairly quiet - the evening crowd had yet to arrive. Though there were a few people mulling about, ones that regarded Cyran with wary eyes as he entered. Though once they saw he appeared unarmed on the surface, they paid him no further mind, giving Cyran free range of any table he wanted. A motion towards the back of the tavern caught his eye - an elven woman, with pale skin and moon-touched hair, who waved at him with a warm smile with a touch too much familiarity as he entered.

… Did he know her?

She looked like a moon elf, same as him, if the eyes and the skin were anything to go by. Even more strange was the patch over her left eye - a perfect mirror of the patch resting over his right. That was… interesting. For a moment, Cyran wondered if he had met her long ago, in the days before his exile spent in Eclipse City’s high society galas and balls, but he doubted she would greet him with so much friendliness if that was the case. As he ruminated, trying to parse where in the world he might have met her, she turned her attention to the next patron to enter the tavern, waving with that same smile.

Ah. She was just friendly.

Some tension eased, Cyran took a seat at one of the empty tables near the elven girl - waved down a server and requested a glass of wine. The server huffed out a laugh and brought him some firewhiskey instead. He sipped at the drink, body language nonchalant, though he kept his eye on her. Eventually, she got bored of people and started scribbling in a notebook. Was she taking notes? Cyran stiffened, fingers curling around the glass in his hand. Every once in a while, she would glance up before attacking the book with the charcoal in her hands with a vengeance. One time, she glanced up - quick enough that she caught him staring. Cyran couldn’t look away in time, not when she’d already spotted him.

Awkward, though trying to keep his tone casual, Cyran found it in himself to speak. “Good evening.” He bid her politely, with a dip of his head.

---

Bringing Minions
Oriole (Warlord I)
Andromeda (Warlord II)

Thalia was drawing nothing particularly interesting to her, but if anyone were to look her way they would see scribbled, almost aggressively drawn imagery of the room she sat in now. She had stopped waving as often, catching the eyes of strangers and sketching their side profile with apt, focused concentration while she nibbled at her bottom lip with a smile.



Thalia was a creature of controlled, deliberate chaos, even if it emitted mostly from herself. She did things in a way that was practiced but aggressive, as was shown when she tore a wide arc with the sharpened edge across her drawing. The sound was a jarring skrtchhhh that caused others around her to wince as the paper ripped beneath her fingernails. It wasn't a pretty sight, but Thalia was happy enough.



Thalia continued to sketch and the charcoal whittled down more and more by the second, licking her fingers and using it to artfully smudge the eyes of a human man who had just entered. Thalia heard a chair scrape the ground beside her, and she vaguely noted the sound a masculine voice requesting wine somewhere close to her before she resumed. She went to look up, spotting a fellblood with immaculate horns entering the tavern, their body almost too lithe for such large horns.



After finishing the back of their head, Thalia went to look up again for another subject. Her eyes met another moon elf, easy to identify as she had met many with similar features. Thalia herself was exceedingly pale; this man looked particularly healthy in comparison. He seemed to contrast her almost completely, with dark hair that transitioned into pallidity that she sported all over her head and dark clothes that contrasted the bright pinks and reds she adorned. Was he a missionary of sorts? He looked it.



To surprise though, he gave her a greeting, awkwardly polite. That was more than she was ever granted in her travels, and she visibly brightened. Thalia suddenly swung her legs down so her boots thumped against the floor beneath her, catching her tankard of whatever alcoholic swill she had requested when she had said "not sure, whatever it is make it strong" to the barkeep last minute, sloshing the contents slightly on the ground.

"Good evening!" Thalia chirped chipperly, her voice nasal with a perpetual drawl. Her voice was probably really easy to grow irritated by if you listened long enough, but there was also a hint of an accent in there. "Are you a traveler, too?"

Thalia didn't seem too vexed that whoever this stranger was had caught him staring, and in fact she looked positively elated. At this distance, the stranger could see the abnormality in her eyepatch; whipstitches attached it to her face. It looked like it was done a while ago, but it was still unsettling to even the strongest warriors. Her smile caused the deep scar that stretched up her chin to contort, like a morbid smile line. There was nothing malicious about her body language, but Thalia's appearance certainly held a story.

He expected that awkward greeting to be the end of their interaction, but to his surprise, the young elven woman grabbed her drink, swinging her boots off of the table and onto the ground with a loud THUD that seemed to echo through the silence. Cyran drummed his fingers against the wood of his table, taking a sip of his firewhiskey. He grimaced at the taste.

The stranger pressed on, nonplussed that he’d been caught keeping his eye on her. In fact, she seemed as friendly as she did with everyone else, greeting him with a jovial voice that carried a hint of a familiar accent with it. It almost reminded him of the dock workers and merchants of Eclipse City. From this distance, he could make out the details in her eyepatch, the eye stitched into the fabric, and the scar that stretched her face. A lifetime of stories etched onto her face, one’s that might make any other traveler recoil.

Cyran was no stranger to misery.

His own scars might not have been visible, though he was all too aware of the stretch of the wounds on his back as he watched her smile.

“Traveler?” He doubted that she was an ordinary traveler as she claimed, though he would never begrudge someone their secrets. Everyone hid a story between thinly-veiled half-truths, himself included. “I suppose you could call me that. I’m a hunter.” It was as close to his own truth that he was willing to skirt. “What brings you through the Marsh Flats?”

Thalia let out an elongated "ah" sound at hearing the stranger was a hunter, not completely sure of what that could entail. The obvious answer was a game or animal hunter, but giving the man a swift onceover told her that there was probably a little more story behind all that black. Wasn't there always?

"Hunter, eh? That's a bit broad of an answer, y'know." Thalia took a swig from whatever was in her tankard, scrunching her nose up at the taste. She shook her head sharply, before taking another sip and continuing, "Ah but I won't pry, s'not my business. So long as you're not of the people hunting variety!"

Thalia threw her head back into a laugh, like it was the funniest thing she had ever said. The sound was loud and high enough to cause a ripple of annoyance across the tavern. A man built like an absolute unit at the bar shouted a profanity her way, and Thalia responded with another quip, still laughing as her accent thickened for a brief moment: "Ahh come off it! Drink yer swill and shove off!" Again, for a woman who was entirely too new to these situations and places, Thalia said these things with a frightening familiarity. She had an air of complete and utter serenity, even if she was now being actively glared at.

Thalia then looked back over to the stranger, grinning and saying in a much quieter tone (though with all the energy behind it): "I'm jesting." And she truly was.

"I'm just passing on through for the moment, I've got nowhere to go except very far East. I might stop to see the sights though, this place is like, fuckin' ragged to hell. I kinda love it."

As she spoke, Thalia took in the appearance of the stranger more clearly, finally cocking the eyepatch. She nearly laughed again, what were the chances of two moon elves with eyepatches met in the same spot? The gods were playing their little tricks again. Thalia wondered why he had his? It was obvious that Thalia loved to talk, as she asked quickly:

"How 'bout you? You're like, real mysterious looking yourself. What brings you here, Mister...?"

Cyran’s smile tightened imperceptibly at the jest. He was, unbeknownst to her, in the people-hunting business. It was a nasty one, but the only one he possessed any modicum of talent in. Any response he might have offer was drowned out by the young woman’s laughter, and her thickly-accented rebuttal to a particularly aggressive patron who had an issue with her volume. She moved quickly, and spoke her mind with a frankness that others might have found offputting - Cyran, though, found he appreciated it. She had the energy of a storm, and all the exuberance of one as well. It almost reminded him of his dear friend Vi’ira, in a way.

“Ah.” He nodded and took a sip of his drink while the young lady reassured him she’d only been joking. His eyebrows rose when she described the marsh flats as ‘fuckin’ ragged to hell’. He was no stranger to profanity, but it still startled him. “Lilicors Village does hold a… certain appeal for livelier folks. I’m afraid I’m far too old to enjoy its charms…” Though he sometimes visited the fighting pits when he visited, “But I do hope you stop to take in the sights here. If your business doesn’t have you in any particular rush, it’s always nice to enjoy this time on the road while you have it.”

He rubbed at the back of his neck sheepishly.

“But you’re not here to listen to an old man ramble.” He finished, only to blink when she described him as rather mysterious looking. “Ah, well… thank you?” He chuckled. “My name is Cyran.” As always, he did not offer a family name - not out of lack of trust, but because he did not have one to offer her. “To answer your question, I’m heading back home after a visit from Moonglade. I currently live up in the Ash Lands - I like to take the scenic route.”

He leaned back in his seat, relaxed. The conversation felt light - the young lady had one of those friendly attitudes that made her easy to speak with. “So you’re from Moonglade then?” He asked. That seemed an innocent enough question. “I used to live there, as well. It’s a lovely place. I still like to visit from time to time.”

Thalia listened intently, one of her feet coming up to rest on the chair she sat in while the other stayed outstretched under the table. She was in an incredibly good mood, likely due to the alcohol, and this conversation was somehow fueling her disposition. Thalia nodded after listening to the man, Cyran, describe Lilicors as he did.

"Ramble away, I'm certainly not here to listen to the sound of my own voice. I did enough of that on the road!" Thalia divulged with a laugh, hugging her knee tighter to her chest as she did. She truly did enjoy talking with someone, sick of people seeing her coming and then sharply whirling around. Thalia would never admit it, but being so starkly avoided for her appearance was slowly starting to take a toll on her. It's why she decided to take a break in the Ash Lands, presuming that people would not judge her as harshly now.

Well, they still did, mostly for her volume though; but any win was a win in her eyes.

At the mention of the Moonglades there was a very subtle change in Thalia's body language; the hands that held onto her propped up knee seemed to squeeze tighter. Then, slightly more noticeably, she looked to the ground for a half-second before answering with a nod. "Yeah! It is really pretty huh? I was born and raised in Eclipse City. A place of the people, home of those it can line their pockets with."

This is said with an oddly whimsied smile and tone, but it didn't quite look right. Thalia's expression looked almost...manic, if there were ever a term to describe it. Her smile was still wide and toothy, but where it met the eyes there was a deep, dark resentment for the Moonglades. It was very apparent that the topic was touchy, but Thalia pretended it wasn't. Cyran didn't know her, so it would be silly for him to simply know that off the bat. Still, she dropped the frighteningly fake smile quickly, barely lasting three seconds before she continued:

"Ah, excuse me, I've clearly been drinking too much." Thalia said, even though her tankard appeared mostly full. Her hand suddenly jutted forward towards Cyran, her nails long, black and few at different lengths as she offered a handshake. "My name around here and everywhere is Thalia. Thalia Fellstar. Very fun to meet you, Cyran."

Cyran let out a small sigh, relieved that he at least wasn’t annoying the young woman - Thalia Fellstar, as she introduced herself. He couldn’t help it, he supposed. Her demeanor reminded him of his goddaughter Cirice, in a way. Thalia was a lot more brash and boisterous, where Cirice was bright and bubbly, but both had the same effect on him. It caused him to lower his guard, speak more than he normally would have. It was easy to forget that Thalia was, for all intents and purposes, a stranger.

All at once, Thalia’s demeanor shifted - the change was subtle, a slight tension that wracked her body before she forced herself to relax. Cyran would have missed it if he weren’t adept at parsing truth from lies. The assassin’s eye picked up on all the little details, the way her hands tripped her trousers before she smoothed them out, and the weariness in her tone while she forced a smile into her words. He’d thought the question was an innocent one - Cyran of all people should have known better.

He nodded in understanding, perhaps moreso than Thalia might have expected.

“Kind to those with coin.” Cyran replied, voice holding the same kind of heaviness as her own. He recognized that discomfort. He was struck with that very same pinched feeling every time he thought about Eclipse City, or his past life there… some ghosts were best left buried. “I, ah, I was born there as well.”

He took her excuse for what it was - a dismissal. Cyran nodded, tipping his own firewhiskey, which was still in a similar state of fullness. “As have I. I suppose sometimes liquor makes me sentimental.” He set the glass down delicately on the table to accept her handshake.

“It is… fun to meet you as well.” He smiled as he parroted her own choice of words back at her. “I usually stick to myself when I’m traveling, but it’s nice to be able to stop and talk to others on occasion.” The corner of his one visible eye crinkled in amusement as his smile widened. Despite his unnerving appearance, his demeanor was nothing but kind. “You almost remind me of my goddaughter. I think the two of you would probably get along.”

He paused as it occurred to him why those words might cause someone discomfort. “… Not that I’m comparing you to her! Ah, it’s just that I mean it’s good to have friendly company.”

Thalia was glad that she wasn’t the only one with mixed feelings towards Moonglades, her relief morphing into bright-eyed surprise after hearing Cyran was born there, too. It wasn’t all that surprising, Eclipse City was known for being unkind to its residents, choosing to keep their eyes on the privileged and wealthy. A tightknit community rarely formed because everyone got along; corruption lied somewhere in the underbelly. Quite a few coincidences. How interesting! This interaction was far more interesting than Thalia was banking on it being.



Hearing Cyran talk about his goddaughter only peaked her interest more, tilting her head as he back-peddled with a cackle, slapping her hand against her own knee with a grin. “Ah, you’re a funny man, Cyran. No need to backtrack at all, I do the same thing sometimes. Very few people can tolerate me, but I appreciate the idea of someone out there who acts like me. Makes me feel, like, less alone.” Thalia dropped her foot to the ground again, leaning over to where he sat just a little bit, almost comically squinting at Cyran.



“You remind me…of a cat.” Thalia deduced suddenly, snapping her fingers together and pointed at Cyran, as if she had a mini epiphany. It was a strange observation, almost a bit childish, but Thalia’s face was dead serious. She tilted her head the other way, continuing with her eye squinted.



“But like, not really a small cat, one of those bigger ones with the big claws.” Thalia lifted her hands up in further emphasis, making claw gestures with her hands. “It makes sense you’re a dad, you’ve got the demeanor of a protector. Reminds me of someone I know.” She remarked the last part absently before reaching to take a sip of her own drink, taking about three gulps before dropping it back on the table, a full body shudder racking her body. Thalia was no lightweight, but she was sensitive to tastes to a point that certain things made her involuntarily react, and she sniffed.



“Ugh, this is some rancid stuff. Good thing I haven’t eaten yet, would’ve totally puked every damn where.” Thalia sighed, stretching her arms in the air above her. It seemed like every little thing she did drew attention to her, and whether she ignored it or was oblivious was a mystery. In reality it depended, but usually it was due to her general disregard of modest behavior. Cyran didn’t seem like he cared much, in fact he seemed to prefer it, to which she was relieved.



“Tell me about your goddaughter. I love hearing about people’s families, keeps me grounded.” And it makes you feel worse about yours. Thalia suffocated the thought, staring intently at the older elf with rapt attention. Again, she seemed entirely incapable of turning of that strange, hyperactive tone even when her voice went dismissive: “Or like, don’t. It’s up to you, I’m fine talking about absolutely nothing if you are. I agree with you, it’s nice to just relax and talk, yknow?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever been described as funny, or as a cat, though I appreciate it.” At least, Cyran thought it was a compliment, even as Thalia mimed the movements of a housecat kneading its claws in the air. The mental image of the elven assassin as a big, furry cat earned a laugh out of him, though his amusement immediately faded to concern as Thalia’s mood suddenly took a turn for the melancholic.

Cyran opened his mouth to say something - what, he wasn’t sure. Perhaps offer condolences for this person she seemed to miss, or reassure her that everything was going to be okay. But it was not his place to offer such things to a stranger, and Thalia seemed the kind of young woman that preferred to hide her misery behind a smile and good humor. He would allow her those habits, and not bog down good conversation of things that had been lost.

He sniffed at his own drink, nose wrinkling in distaste. Although he was no stranger to stronger drinks, Cyran preferred wine to hard liquor, if he drank at all. The assassin preferred to keep himself sharp and aware, even when he was relaxing. “I agree.” He hummed, taking a sip of firewhiskey before deciding that he was done drinking for the evening. Too many memories, bubbling to the surface while talking to someone who bore marked similarities to himself. Best to just stop drinking altogether.

Thalia rapidly changed subjects after a long stretch, before fixing Cyran with an intense look that seemed to hold a lot more weight than her words did. He didn’t mind the abrupt directions her mental processes seemed to turn, like twisting through the complex pathways of a labyrinth.

“No, no.” Cyran waved his hand, brushing off her polite concerns, covered behind feigned nonchalance. “It is no trouble for me. My goddaughter… her name is Cirice. She’s young, perhaps too young for an elf to be adventuring, but she is, ah, a cleric of Lunala, and her mission requires her to travel. But she is bright, and energetic, and cares much for people. It is easy to feel like you’re accepted around her.”

For someone who had been so cruelly ripped away from his own family, a long time ago, it was easy to feel at home again around her.

Cyran paused, suddenly somber. Perhaps it was not his place to offer such advice, but Thalia seemed like a young adventurer, one who’d barely yet seemed to see what the world had to offer. It was difficult to tell if she was running towards something, or away. Perhaps both. He remembered being in her situation, fleeing a country that held no love from him, from awful parents who saw him as nothing but a broken tool they could no longer use. 

“… When I left Moonglade, it was easy to feel as if I would never be allowed to have love, or family, again. It was hard to feel like I deserved it. This world is so much bigger than Eclipse City. Whatever you seek from your travels… I’m sure you’ll find it out there. Just make sure to enjoy the journey as you do.”

He offered her a wane smile. Tired, but genuine.

It was around this time that a barmaid came by to give Thalia her food, placing it on the table in front of her. While Cyran spoke of his goddaughter, Cirice he said, Thalia nodded her head to show she was listening before reaching into her moneybag to grab five solars, placing them on top of the platter with a sweet smile. Thalia wasn’t sure if the policy for tipping was the same in the Moonglades, but she didn’t seem to care. The barmaid looked surprised for a moment, hesitating, before nodding her head and walking back to the front, pocketing the solars with a careful look around.



“A cleric of Lunala, hm? Sounds like a sweet girl.” Thalia said, not touching her food just yet as she kept her attention on the conversation at hand. “I was a devotee in childhood, though not enough of one to be considered a cleric. Just the regular functions and community get togethers. Stopped going after a while. Your goddaughter sounds lovely though, I wish I had that affect on people.”



When hearing Cyran’s next words though, Thalia sunk into a deep, deep silence. Her smile had faded, her face blank as she just stared at him with an unreadable expression. Thalia…had never been read like that before. It was like Cyran had been given an enchiridion of her life and just tore it wide open, reading back what he saw in the vaguest way possible. It was odd that such sentimental words had affected her so greatly, even if it looked like she was staring through him right now. Cyran must be a wizened soul; wisdom seemed to ooze from him even if he was a bit awkward.



Thalia didn’t blink nor speak for several seconds, until finally she snapped out of it. She blinked a few times, processing the genuine response with some difficulty as her visible eye went glossy for a moment. She looked away so Cyran wouldn’t see the tears that escaped her eye, wiping with a vigorousness that showed just how desperate she was to hide her expression. Oddly, she went to swipe under the eyepatch too, as if she’d forgotten it was there, but no tears fell from that side.



“Sorry, this is super embarrassing.” Thalia rushed, lifting her head up and swiping at the leftover tears with her jagged nails. Crying in front of strangers wasn’t on her list of things to do in this lifetime, no matter how sweet they were. The next smile she fixed Cyran with was manic, just like it had been a moment ago. It was like she was forcing herself to ignore what she was feeling; Nothing was wrong, nothing at all. “Holy wow, that’s weird, didn’t think I would cry today.”



With another resolute sniff, Thalia was back to her regular self. It took an insane amount of mental training to smother that. If Thalia had any title to uphold, it would be the tried and sacred art of emotional self-suppression. That had to be a monk path somewhere, right?



“But thank you though. I hope I find who- oops, what I’m looking for too.” Thalia said with a chipper laugh. “I’m happy for what I’ve seen so far. The walk here is so different than what I’m used to, but it’s so nice. I want to see so much more, but…” Thalia had to stop to think, pausing to think of a way to word her next sentiment.



And then she simply gave up, shrugging. “Meh, I don’t know. Too much thinking, too much thinking! What’s the point of thinking anyway? Hurts my poor head. I do have a question though.” Thalia plucked a nondescript vegetable off her plate, foregoing the silverware. “I need a way to make money. I’m fine walking or hitchhiking to places, but I’m not too sure how you could make money around here. I want to go to the Dragon’s Cradle, any way you can help me figure that out?”

Of all the things Cyran expected of Thalia after he finished speaking, her silence was not one of them. It was as if she’d left the room entirely. Her body was present, but her mind had frozen still, unblinking, unseeing, even as Cyran leaned forward in his seat, fingers gripping the wood of the table so hard he could feel the flimsy, rotting chips splinter under his grasp.

“Are you… alright?” Cyran asked, but Thalia didn’t even seem to hear his words at all while she turned away so Cyran couldn’t see her face. He didn’t see any tears, but he could see the motions that accompanied the beginnings of crying. The way she stubbornly wiped at her cheek, the hunch of her shoulders. When she turned around, he could still see the dampness on her cheeks that refused to clear away. She could dampen her emotions all she wished, but a container could only hold so much before that misery began to pour through the cracks.

Cyran leaned back in his chair, pursing his lips.

“You don’t need to apologize to me. Crying isn’t something to be ashamed of.” He leaned back in his seat, forcing the tension to ease out of his shoulders. There had been no threat present, and yet, he’d been ready to jump into action on her behalf all the same. “It is I who should be apologizing. I didn’t mean to evoke such strong feelings tonight during what was meant to be polite conversation.” He bit his lip for a moment before pressing on. By now his food had been delivered, a bowl of frog leg and gator gumbo, but he couldn’t bring himself to eat just yet.

“You’ll have to forgive me if I’m overstepping my bounds. It’s just that… I’ve been where you stand right now. This crossroads in your life, where there’s nothing for you to do but press forward as the path behind you burns.”

He remembered what it was like to take his last look at Eclipse City and knew he would never return.

“And I remember how that felt.” The storm that brewed inside of you, like watching a tempest sink one of the ships in the Moonlit Docks - and you were left to wonder if you were the next victim of its howling winds and vicious rain, or if you would make it through the night. “I spent many nights alone wondering if I’d made the right choice in the first place. Whoever-“ He’d caught the momentary slip up she’d made- “Or whatever you’re looking for… they will be there. Let yourself live. Let yourself grieve. Let yourself travel the world. Let yourself scream to the heavens about how unfair it all is. It won’t always be this way. You won’t be alone forever.”

Oh, gods, he was babbling again. Cyran forced himself to shut up as Thalia spoke about her next trek of life.

At least this much he could help with.

“Ah. If you’re looking to make money, the cradle is a good way to go about it. Dangerous - lots of mercenaries and inclement weather that kills unsuspecting travelers, but the pay is good.” He held his hands out in front of him, fingers curling over parchment that wasn’t there. For a moment Thalia might look at him and think him a madman before lantern light began to grow dimmer around him, the yawning shadows stretching and elongating. They reached out to him, snaking up his hands and coalescing into the form of a familiar object.^[1]

Cyran set the map down and beckoned Thalia closer.

“You’re here, in Lilicors Village.” He pointed out where they were on the map. “Now, your fastest method of travel admittedly would have been by sea. A ship from the Moonlit Docks to the Golden Port of Sol City, then maybe a connecting boat to one of the ports in the Cradle. But since that isn’t an option, your easiest way is going to be over land - you’ll want to loop through King’s Valley, Zeinav, and the Ash Lands - and there’s no shortage of jobs in any of those places, either. Always work to be done.”

He offered her a wane smile as he began to trace a line across the paper.

“This is the route I usually take - I’m following it now on the way home, in fact. I skirt around big cities so I can always pop in and do a couple of odd jobs if I need the funds. Though I’d imagine you’d want to go straight through them to see the sights.”

---

1. Summon: Possession

Thalia’s silence as Cyran spoke was nigh deafening, but her mind was racing very, very loud. She felt nothing but guilt and steadily broiling anger towards herself for letting herself slip up like that. She hadn't cried in years, decades almost. In fact, Thalia was more than 90% sure that she had lost the ability to before today. How could she have slipped up like that? Gods above she was deplorable. However, she did admit that Cyran's words were very kind. Too kind. Thalia’s hand reached up to touch the green choker around her neck, but rather than adjusting it, she seemed to be checking that it was still there. Just as quickly as she rose her hand though, she dropped it.

Thalia was more than eternally grateful when Cyran went with her dismissal of the conversation. She was grateful for his tendency to talk and talk and talk, but she had to physically school herself from saying something stupid to make him even more uncomfortable. Because that's what she was doing, making him very uncomfortable. The defensive stance and body language that the other moon elf exhibited set it all, didn't it? It was just a fact of Thalia’s life. She didn't need boundaries, she didn't need those preventative measures put out to make sure that she was alright. Thalia didn't need that. Thalia didn't deserve that. Everything was fine. Nothing wrong, nothing wrong at all.

The woman took the conversation change in stride though, pretending the tears that were drying against her cheek weren't there and that they were a simple illusion. Thalia’s smile returned to her face, as if her mind had been wiped and she forgot what she was feeling before. She leaned across the table to peek at the map that had just appeared in Cyran’s hand, her palm planted on the edge of her table as she leaned over like a child would trying to listen in on a parent’s conversation. Thalia followed the markings, humming and nodding where appropriate. Lodging her bottom lip between her teeth, listening to Cyran detail travel methods and the like helped her ground herself. She'd been on a ship before, quite a few actually. Granted, they never left the docks and she got in a lot of trouble for being on them, but she was vaguely familiar with them regardless.

“I have been meaning to see Sol City at some point in the future. Isn't it like, super populated with sun elves?” Thalia asked, a genuine question. It was also a pretty stupid question, but if anything about this interaction with Thalia said anything it was that on most levels, she wasn't the brightest. She was socially and emotionally inept, it seemed and behaved more like a person who was raised by outlanders rather than city people. Or maybe that was a facade, she would never tell.

“Right now I kind of just wanna walk for a couple a’ days, yknow?” Thalia said, her voice chipper as ever. Maybe it was because of his genuine disposition, but not everything that she was saying to Cyran was masking. Her guard wasn't down per se, and she was very much still on edge, but she was much calmer now. “I find that you forget to look around when you take other modes of transport, so I think I'll avoid that for now. I'll keep that in mind.”

Then Thalia fell into silence. It wasn't quite awkward, but it was loud to her. Too loud, too loud. Whether or not Cyran was comfortable with the silence was unknown, as she quickly broke it after a solid ten seconds of nothing.

“Could I draw you?” It was a question, and she apparently had just blurted it out without thinking because she blinked in surprise a couple of times before deciding that she was going with that line of thinking. “I've been drawing everybody all day but I'm like, super crap at drawing the back of people's heads. Feels less personal, yknow?”

Then, she immediately backpedaled. “If you don't want me to just say so. Actually, if you think that me talking to you at all is super annoying then I could totally dip the hell out. You have places to be anyway.”

If Cyran thought the obvious question about Sol City was a silly one, it didn’t show on his face. It was only natural to ask, he thought. Most people who didn’t get the opportunity to travel knew little about the larger world around him. Most information was passed down from word of mouth or from what they managed to read in books. He nodded, idly tapping the small island blot on the map with his finger. “It is full of sun elves, yes. The ruling family themselves are elven, as well.” Though that one was usually common knowledge, given the bloody history that accompanied that fact. It was something Cyran had been well-indoctrinated with in his youth, though he paid little attention to politics now except when he was being paid coin to care.

“Though if you ask me, it’s more a city of pompous, gilded assholes than people.” The curse, uttered quietly, seemed rare out of someone who generally seemed to possess a quiet and calm demeanor. “I personally think you’d have more fun over land.” He didn’t want to make any assumptions for her, but even over their brief conversation he thought he had a decently good idea of her disposition, and what she might enjoy. Out here there was far more life than the perfectly crafted illusions of Capitol Landing. As she expressed her desire to travel over land, he nodded, flashing her an understanding smile.

Thalia fell silent then, and Cyran wondered if he’d said the wrong thing once more, and triggered some kind of emotion like he had before. Admittedly, the request to draw him came as a bit of a shock, if only because he couldn’t think of a time he’d ever been asked such a thing. In another life, before his exile, he’d sat still for family portraits - those, too, were an illusion. False depictions trying to lend reality to a family that didn’t rightly exist. But this felt entirely real, an earnest question from stranger to passing stranger.

“… Of course, if you’d truly like to.”

The thought that he would possibly find her annoying made his blood boil. Perhaps it was another attempt at deflection on her end, but Cyran was struck with the horrified thought that those were words she was merely parroting from others. His brow furrowed as he leaned forward. “Thalia, I was the one that initiated conversation. You could not possibly annoy me. It’s okay.” He let out a weak, humorless chuckle. “If anything, I’m the one who interrupted your art session and deposited unwanted advice. You’ll have to forgive me. It’s hard to stop parenting others sometimes… even strangers.”

He folded up his map, tucking it back in his bag before turning to her with his full attention.

“But if you’d like to draw me, I’d be happy to sit still for you.” His ward, Iryla, was an artist, too. For someone whose talents lie in destruction, it was a gift to watch others create. “… What would you have me do? Should I pose, act natural?”

Thalia was thoroughly entertained by Cyran’s nearly incomprehensible curse, tittering with a barely repressed snort that she hid behind her hand. She almost laughed aloud, but the last thing she needed was for her to get kicked out of another tavern. Especially when she was keeping such good company? She had to reel it in, even just for now. Thalia instead decided to keep a mental note to put Sol City at the very bottom of her list. She wasn’t too keen with the going-ons of sun elf hierarchy, only knowing of them through the rantings of the dock workers. She wondered how many sun elves Cyran had met in comparison to her father; they both seemed to have similar experiences with them, evidently.

Ugh, why was she remembering things like this now? Thalia ignored the thought, stifling it like most things. Wow, she was thinking a lot today. Gross.

As Thalia received confirmation from Cyran, her face lit up. However, instead of exploding into an excited bluster of energy, Thalia’s eye darted back and forth across the tavern. She couldn't tell you why she did it, or maybe she just wouldn't. Still, it was obvious that Thalia was…hesitant, in her excitement. It was starkly different than any emotional displays from before. Her enthusiasm was there, but it was clearly muted. But when Cyran reassured her, Thalia’s shoulders sunk a fraction. She was relaxing, a strange feeling she hadn’t felt in a while.

“…Oh!” Careful. Thalia quickly corrected her tone, from genuine surprise blooming into excitement once again. “Okay, yeah no, you’re fine right there. Don’t apologize, oh my gods.” It was clear that Thalia didn’t typically do this. She had all the energy of a particularly hopeful puppy…except the puppy was used to getting kicked, so this was a first. “Actually, you know what, sit comfortably! I’ll work with it!”

Thalia’s chaos started up again as she reached for her bag. She withdrew a charcoal stick, which was more of a stub now, and the same book she was scribbling in earlier, flipping through it to find a good page. If Cyran was to catch a glimpse, he’d see the numerous tears in the pages, each piece completed but with one specific caveat: the eyes of each person were ripped out. A few were spared this, but she flipped the book open so quickly that it was hard to tell much from their features.

Her hand splayed the book open and Thalia turned her chair around to face Cyran, practically beaming. Her feet were brought up to prop up on her chair, her hand hovering over the page with the “pencil” pinched in her fingers. Thalia was happy, yes, but suddenly she wasn't to sure. She looked at Cyran again, giving him a very serious look.

“Okay but…you know you can tell me if you don’t want to.” Thalia reiterated, painfully careful. “If you seriously don’t want me to, tell me right now. Otherwise I’m starting. Is...that okay?”