• PM To Join • But What Is a Name?

[Doran Cooney]

On the 27th trial of Ashan in the arc 718...
With the past few trials bringing with them and end to the raging winds and an advent of sun and growing warmth, there were many more people about the streets, most on still on business that had been postponed during the storms, while others seemed to simply wish to enjoy the temperate shift in weather. Doran was, by far, a member of the latter, and had been roaming the streets for several breaks already. The chill had finally abated, allowing him to traipse about free of his heavy cloak, and though he had found himself lost more times than he could count, he moved about unhurried as he curiously eyed the passersby.

While the sun had brought with it some calm and reassurance that the cycles, ever changing, were to bring warmth and growth once more, the populace was still on edge. People's eyes seemed either to shift, leery of one another, or simply stare straight ahead, wanting to welcome no trouble and merely go about their lives. The burnings - awful things - had done little to put the city at ease, and even Doran avoided calling undue attention to himself when the ashcloaks were nearby. It made for an oppressive atmosphere, even with the gentle murmur of pleasant conversation from those invigorated by the sun's rays, but Doran's spirits were high enough. He'd already been accused of witchcraft and, for the most part, found innocent. The worst he felt the ashcloaks might do to him was rough him up a bit if he were to be involved in any more scuffles - which he presently had no plans for.

Instead, as he sat perched upon a low wall that surrounded a small, communal garden - constructed, no doubt, by some well-meaning Venoran - along one of the more busy roads that ran through Mid-Town, his inquisitive gaze worked over the many different faces, some of whom glanced back - of those, their returns varied from surprised to perturbed to downright angry. None of them held the interest he was searching for, and as he was about to abandon his place by the garden's side, his attention was arrested by sharp blue eyes beneath heavy dark brows. The man carried himself with a rigor of posture that suggested himself important, and though he walked among the small throng of people beside him, he very clearly appeared to be alone. His arms were full with a wooden crate that clinked dully as he walked, its contents hidden by the angle at which it was held.

Without a second thought, Doran hopped off of is place upon the wall and slipped into the stream of bodies. His feet lightly carried him after the man, who's brisk pace required him hasten after, twisting and turning as he ducked and dodged the slower moving men and women in his curious pursuit. Though several were bumped and jostled, Doran apologetic smiles and short bows of his head proved effective enough to allow him passage without incidence. When he finally was able to fall into step beside the darker man, Doran craned his neck a bit, eyes curiously peering at the man's box. "What have you got there?"

[Doran]

Unlike the mortals around him Doran had not been particularly bothered by the snow and the storms that had troubled Rynmere during the previous couple of trials. He had gone outside and conducted his business regardless and not complained a bit, finding such behavior fairly pointless and a sign of weakness on top of it. After nearly four-hundred arcs in this world matters such as the weather were of little concern to him, especially when there was a war going on, a war that most of them seemed to be unaware of.

Neither was he particularly bothered by the fact that King Cassander’s men burned mages at the stake. On the contrary, he understood why they did it, and he largely approved. As far as he was concerned, magic was a disease and a perversion of the soul. There were only two mages in all of Idalos that were exempt from his distrust, but one of them had gone far away, to Uleuda, the home of the Yludih, and the other one was but a boy.

Unlike the mortals around him that seemed to have been ill-affected by recent events for the most part he was in a fairly acceptable mood. He had visited Luther Verran, a fellow alchemist that owned a shop in Mid-town to pick up a few items that he had ordered, reagents as well as a few tools as he had not been able to bring his entire laboratory with him from Etzos. The box that he was carrying was fairly heavy, but he was used to carrying heavy loads, and thus he walked with his head held high and at a brisk pace.

He was dressed in an elegant suit of coal and crimson that trial, with a cloak draped across his shoulders, and there was a sword at his belt, the very same sword that he had once wounded an Immortal with. He never went anywhere unarmed these trials as there were people that wanted him dead. He walked alone, seeing no point in engaging strangers in conversation, although he did occasionally look around and take note of his surroundings.

As the young man appeared next to him, he turned his head sharply and regarded him coolly for a moment. The mortal was not entirely unattractive, he had to admit, with his eyes of umber, his full lips and his high cheekbones, but he carried himself as if he were a lesser man, and his curiosity was most inappropriate, and thus the Mortalborn’s reply was fairly short and to the point.

“Alchemical supplies”, he said. “Although that’s none of your business – unless you are colleague?” he asked and raised an eyebrow, finding that fairly unlikely. The mortal didn’t look much like a scientist. “Have you been following me?” he then wanted to know. He wasn’t particularly worried that the mortal might want to hurt him – at that point few mortals posed a serious danger to him – he was merely somewhat curious - although the thought of just ignoring him had occured to him.

[Doran Cooney]

Preoccupied with the box, Doran hadn't taken the time to look much at the man up close. Though the blue eyes and dark complexion had been what had caught his attention in the first place, as his gaze rose curiously, he found himself missing a step. He was strikingly handsome, much more so than Doran had anticipated, and though he had never been much interested in affairs of the heart, a little whisper in the back of his mind gently brought his attention specifically to the dark, brooding brows, neatly trimmed beard, and bright, almost icy, blue eyes. He would have tripped in his brief moment of shock had his momentum not carried him stumbling a pace or two before he was able to right himself.

"A-Alchemy?" His recovery was neither quick nor graceful, as he found himself now distracted by the man's eyes that stared with a firm, businesslike coolness into his own. From what he understood, alchemists toed the line between magic and the mundane, crafting potions and other items of less consumable natures. Still, his eyes widened some, both with interest and a sort of growing trepidation. He'd been searching for some one or thing of interest, but perhaps he'd stumbled onto one a bit more than he could handle. "I was following, but only just for a short while. To catch up." He pointed vaguely in the direction they had come from, his voice clearly void of embarrassment on that account.

"A colleague, though? Do I seem like one? Like an alchemist?" There was only earnest question in his voice as he craned his neck again to try to peer into box. As far Doran knew, alchemy was not magic. It was something similar, perhaps, but that the man, who's pace had not slowed in the slightest, had not been dragged out of his home and burned or killed in some other grisly fashion only helped to reinforce the notion. Thus, what remained was the knowledge that they tended to be a well-wed, investigative mind often consulted in such subjects as medicine and agriculture. To be mistaken for one seemed compliment more than insult.

The other man was far too tall for Doran to get a good look inside the container, so instead he satisfied himself with the man's face. After all, it was pleasing, even angled as his brows were in mild annoyance. "What are you-" His foot caught on one of the cobbles, as his eyes were focused on the man in font of him, not the road ahead. Stumbling a few steps, he fell right back into his question unfazed. "What are you making?"

[Doran]

“I am an alchemist, yes“, the Mortalborn replied curtly and looked at Doran appraisingly, wondering if he was facing yet another uneducated and superstitious mortal that couldn’t tell science and magic apart and was unnaturally afraid of both. But no, the man seemed to be surprised and somewhat fascinated by what he had told him, but he didn’t seem to be afraid, which came as a relief to him. He had dealt with far too many foolish and cowardly mortals since he had returned from the battlefield in Oscillus, and he didn’t have any patience left for him.

“Is that so?” he asked and raised an eyebrow as Doran claimed that he had only been following him for a short while. His words were laced with doubt. There were few that approached him without a good reason these trials – unless Doran had no idea who he was? Could that be? He pondered that question for a few moments – and ultimately decided to leave judgement for later. Maybe he was ignorant and had never heard of the Hero of Oscillus …

“No”, he retorted flatly as Doran asked if he seemed like a colleague. He was about to quicken his pace, but then he stopped after all and turned to face Doran once more. He couldn’t say why exactly. Maybe it was because the mortal seemed to be genuinely interested in his trade – or maybe it was because something about him suddenly reminded him of somebody he had once known, several centuries before, when life had seemed so much easier, and there had still been hope.

“I am going to create an item that neutralizes energy”, he revealed. He had considered lying about what he was doing (or not saying anything at all), but he couldn’t quite bring himself to downplaying the extent of his abilities and claiming that he was working on a less powerful item. Besides, he wanted to see the look on the mortal’s face.

“I assume you are familiar with the most recent political developments and the mage burnings?” he asked, but he didn’t say anything more. He didn’t reveal whether he was working together with the Order of the Mantis and the Lord Inquisitor (who he had recently found out was his grandnephew) – or whether he was just a citizen that was trying to protect himself from those that were versed in the arcane – or from both sides.

That would for Doran to figure out.

[Doran Cooney]

Only somewhat disappointed that the alchemist did not, actually, mistake him for one of his own, Doran was glad that the man finally came to halt. Though he'd been prepared to keep pace for as far as the man would allow him, his breath already came a bit faster from the exertion. "You'd be the first to think so, I suppose." His grin was friendly, hands on hips as he caught his breath.

They'd stopped out of the flow of foot traffic, having since turned a corner where there were fewer people. Now that he had a bit more time to fully evaluate the dark haired, blue eyed alchemist, Doran found him even more an impressive figure than before. Strength emanated from his person in posture, confidence, and, though it was somewhat concealed beneath the suit and cloak, the sturdy muscles of a warrior. The hilt of his sword glinted as the man shifted his weight, and a small twinge of distant recognition sparked in the back of Doran's mind, though he couldn't quite place it. Again, he felt a slight ripple in his own confidence and wondered if he might have bit off more than he was able to chew.

Uncertain what the man meant by "energy", Doran blinked blankly at the answer. It clear he took interest in what it was by the bright light in his eyes, but he had no idea what the other man was talking about. When he further explained, Doran frowned, the spark of curiosity in his gaze making room a more somber expression. "I fear I'm not well versed in such things, but I am aware of the... broad strokes the situation." The mage burnings were unfortunate. While Doran had no love nor trust for magic, the executions seemed a harsh way to deal with such things. He had never put stock in death as punishment nor solution: there was little gained from such things, as far as he was concerned.

Then, the "energy" the man seemed to want to nullify was magic itself. Peering a the alchemist's face, he couldn't tell anything from the man's expression. Had his thick brows not been angled just to suggest the interest he had in their conversation was teetering on the edge of impatience and aloof contempt, Doran would have thought him wholly dispassionate. Such men were difficult to read under the best of circumstances, and Doran decided there was no need to strain himself in trying. He'd answered his questions thus far, what were a few more?

"Are you seeking to provide an alternative to the..." While the alchemist had easily stated the fact of the matter, Doran chose a bit less direct a word. "Methods of the ashcloaks?" If their magic were no longer available to them, mages were essentially just... people. It was an odd though, and he wondered if a mage would even still be such. As he understood it, magic was a plague of sorts that compelled mages to use it in spite of their desires. Without it, he imagined they would certainly have a rough time of it. Still, that was better to the alternative. His eyes searched the man's face as he waited, curiosity genuine.

[Doran]

The Mortalborn didn’t return the grin, but the expression on his face softened a hint, and he finally stopped, shifting the box that he carried in his arms as he did so. They were closer to the house that he had rented in Mid-town now – a house that was far more impressive than anything he had owned in the four centuries that he had walked the world of Idalos. For most of his existence he had frowned on worldly pleasures and dedicated his life entirely to the advancement of science, but Syroa had changed him, in more than one way.

Whatever softness there had been, disappeared again abruptly though as Doran admitted to not being familiar with the situation in Rynmere. “If you live here, you should know what’s happening”, he pointed out. The tone of his voice was a hint harsher now. “Tensions are high since the last mage executions ended in a disaster. It likely won’t be long before people that don’t have anything to do with them die. Now then”, he spoke, briefly wondering if he should educate the man and coming to the conclusion that he could not abide ignorance, even if it was Doran’s own fault.

“A few seasons ago King Cassander was attacked by a mage – with a door, if the stories I heard are true. He decided to react by declaring all magic illegal and burning any mages that his men found at the stake. They do not receive a trial. Once somebody is discovered to be a mage, they are automatically guilty and sentenced to death”, he said. He spoke in a calm and nearly emotionless tone. He was not passing judgement on King Cassander’s decision – he didn’t care what the boy king did as long as he didn’t get in his way and ruin his plans. He was merely recounting facts.

“No”, he replied as Doran asked if he was seeking to provide an alternative to the methods of the ashcloaks. “I don’t know of any way to render a mage unable to use magic – apart from using another magic which would be somewhat problematic. My creation will instead uncast spells – meaning that it will return the ether to the mage so that their spell will in essence never have been cast. I already made something similar before, but I want to refine the procedure. I assume that you are aware of the potential of such an item?” he asked and raised an eyebrow, momentarily recalling his meeting with the deformed Avriel, Noth. He had given him a powder that had the strangest properties in exchange for one of his alchemical creations.

He paused for a moment and simply looked at the mortal, still not able to shake that sense of familiarity off entirely, and then he gestured for him to walk with him. He didn’t want to remain standing here, in the middle of the street, not when he had a place to go. “If you are not a colleague, what are you then?” he asked the mortal, having decided to keep on talking to him. He enjoyed the look of surprise and perhaps even admiration on Doran’s face, especially since his questions were intelligent ones. He was, he decided, somewhat annoying and unaware of the things that were happening in the kingdom, but not entirely stupid.

[Doran Cooney]

The man's lesson was unexpected but not unwanted, and Doran listened carefully. Without any sort of emotion in the man's voice, it was hard to take his words as any more than general fact = something Doran found both confusing and slightly unnerving. Where might have frowned or seemed troubled had he been suggested that soon innocent people would be caught up in the flames of paranoia and fear, the alchemist seemed almost entirely detached. It was as if he were a narrator, of a kind, looking down at the people of Rynmere, commenting on their behavior but taking no part in it. It was a curious way to view the world, and one Doran couldn't help but quirk his brows in interest at.

Whatever the feelings inspired by what the dark haired man said, his information was both succinct and relevant. Doran hadn't been aware of quite how severe the situation had become, and he found his face frowning in worried thought, whispering a perplexed, "A door?" Though again the man had little to no emotion in his tone, Doran found the recount... peculiar. Still, he made no comment, merely nodding in mute thanks as he processed what it was he had been told.

It seemed the king was a bit more reactionary than he'd thought; though surely the situation had been something a bit more severe than the simple facts. Emotions seemed to have that effect. Whatever the case, Doran couldn't help but feel as though the decision may have been a bit over-reactionary, especially when it came to sentences without trial. He had been under the impression that there had been at least some sort of due process, but the factual manner in which his revelation was delivered gave him the sense that the other man knew what he was talking about. Clearly, things were far more unfortunate than tense citizens and a ban on magic altogether.

It seemed the man's displeasure was directly linked to Doran's ignorance. The moment he had completed his elucidation, his tone shifted once more, more innocuous than the slight severity he had slipped into earlier. Again, Doran nodded along, though he could only really guess at what the man meant by "ether". Fortunately, the practical process was explained clearly enough that he had little difficulty understanding the gist was what it was the man wanted to create. It seemed, even, that the alchemist had already made something with a similar effect, and while Doran had little idea how such things were made = or even how - it sounded impressive, and his brows raised in unabashed veneration. "Knowing so little of magic myself, I can only guess at the practical applications." He admitted, a bit of chagrin in his voice as he was well aware he might should know more. "But the potential? I think most would have little issue realizing such a thing is powerful and valuable indeed."

There was no greed in his words, merely a mix of surprise and excitement - though the latter was due mostly to having found so interesting a fellow. The matters of magic had never concerned him, and while the man had instilled some fear in that the people's paranoia might place him in danger if he wasn't careful, it was still difficult for him to imagine a world where such things as the negation of magic and unmaking of spells really involved him at all.

At he man's pause, Doran thought he might ask him a question, the glint of something in his clear gaze, but instead he gestured him to follow. Having never been one much for defiance and wholly invested in their conversation thus far, Doran happily fell into step beside him. When the question did come, he doubted it was what had been on the alchemist's mind prior, but he answered it nonetheless, as best he could. "What or who?" It wasn't that he didn't understand the question so much as what sort of answer the man expected from him. There was an odd sort of pull in his chest that caused him a minor flutter of worry that he might not answer correctly.

Though doubtful he wanted more information than what he asked for, Doran opted for both, his voice as breathy as ever - if not somewhat uncertain. "What am I to you? A stranger, I suppose. To rectify my anonymity, I offer my name, and I would shake but..." He smiled, eyeing the box who's contents he now knew the purpose of, "Doran Cooney, and it is a pleasure to speak with you."

[Doran]

“A door“, the Mortalborn confirmed, unsmiling. “Supposedly he was not just any mage, but a Lotharro, a member of a race of beastlike creatures that only consists of men, a fact that I find most peculiar.” He didn’t understand why the Immortals had decided to create a race that had such an ineffective way of procreating – most of the Lotharro were reborn again and again, and those that decided on more conventional ways of breeding had to rely on women of other races. But then again, the Immortals often did things that nobody in their right mind would ever do. Oscillus was proof of that.

“It’s a means for people like us to defend ourselves against magic”, he retorted as Doran admitted that he could only guess at the practical applications of his creation. “A mage can kill you within the blink of an eye, faster than you can draw your weapon. Besides that, there is the ever-present threat of Flaying – an act that is said to destroy a soul entirely”, he continued, having decided to give Doran an impromptu lesson on the dangers of magic. The mortal was not only ignorant, but dangerously ignorant, and at least for the time being the alchemist had no interest in him dying.

Most people would have done anything to get their hands on his creation, but he couldn’t detect any hint of greed in his voice. He merely seemed to be surprised and excited which was astounding. It made him want to find out more about this stranger who had interrupted him so rudely. Perhaps, he thought, there was something to be gained from this meeting after all. Or maybe not, he amended, as Doran told him his name.

Perhaps this was not a chance meeting after all. Perhaps Doran had come to mock him and make him loose his mind. He narrowed his eyes and simply looked at the mortal for a few moments – his disapproval was more than obvious - and then he replied coolly, “No, you are not. I am Doran.” before he demanded, “Tell me who you really are.”

[Doran Cooney]

Though Doran wasn't certain whether the alchemist played instructor to humor him or belittle him, in the end it didn't really matter either way. The other man had not even suggested that Doran's company was unwanted, and he touched upon each of Doran's professed uncertainties, shedding light where there had been nothing before. He had heard of beast-like races before, but the term "Lotharro" was new to him. Though he had never worried all that much about the specific races and the effects of their ethnicity, he did wonder if the man's beast-like nature had lent to whatever it was that had led him to assault the king in so strange a manner. The Lotharro, however... His brow quirked at the thought of a race comprised entirely of men. The first thing to come to mind was the question of procreation, though the other man moved quickly onto the next subject, and Doran set his question aside, saving it for a more opportune moment, should it arise.

Defense was touted as the primary use of the alchemist's would-be product, and Doran nodded, unsurprised. He imagined as such, but without knowing much more about what it was the thing would do exactly, even the alchemist's cool, practical explanation was a bit difficult to picture. Currently, he had settled on the image of a potion, one that, when the liquid was flicked at a mage, would dissipate whatever malevolence had been conjured. It didn't paint itself in the most impressive light, but such things were quickly replaced with far more ominous and ambiguous figures of bodies falling lifeless and ethereal whips tearing into the unwitting souls of men and women. Quite sobering, Doran had no reply, only somberly nodding, his brows knit in thought.

He'd heard of "flaying" before, and not the mundane method of punishment, but that such a thing existed - seemingly for the express purpose of destroying the soul of another - was certainly something to add to his long list of reasons to avoid magic if at all possible. All of the stories and legends and cautionary tales he'd heard were more than enough to lend weight to the alchemist's words, and the item he was planning to make seemed all the more amazing. That he, a man who had no magic, sought to protect himself from those who did - and that he might succeed - was impressive on many levels.

After he'd shared his name, their pleasantry seemed to evaporate into the pleasantly cool air. A glare and heavy use of a wintery tone suggested Doran had erred, but he had no idea what it was he could have said to elicit such a reaction. Blinking with confusion, Doran ventured a soft, though wholly uncertain, chuckle. "Should I be someone else? I've only ever been who I am, but..." His head tilted, the man's clear statement missed in the scramble his thoughts had been subjected to with so quick a change of demeanor. "Did you say you are Doran?"

Their pace had slowed, as both men looked at one another and not the path ahead of them. Confusion still swam in his dark eyes, but Doran wondered if the... other Doran thought he might be playing a joke on him. He had no clue as to why the alchemist who seemed to share his name might think something so odd, and it made him wonder if it were, in fact, the alchemist who had chosen to play the role of the fool. If that were the case, his previous act had been quite well put together. It made it difficult to imagine the man would employ humor in such a fashion. "If I have always been Doran for as long as I can remember, and you are much the same... can we not both be Doran? Only, were you are you and I am I?"

His tone was somewhat uncertain, but his eyes held within them a mix of amusement at their own odd misunderstanding and some small doubt that the man might be trying to pull something. Perhaps it was well-calculated retribution for approaching him out of nowhere. Deciding it better not to merely posit a question without any real answer to be given, his brows raised as an idea came to him. "If it is a matter of names, why don't we simply allow the eldest "Doran" and his younger..." He blinked twice in thought before arriving at a tentative, ""Do-or?" He'd never had anyone try to shorten his name, and in the moment, he realized why. "Or... or "Ran'?" The options were, apparently, quite limited.

[Doran]

“I am Doran“, the Mortalborn confirmed in an icy tone. Whatever positive feelings he might have harbored towards the mortal had disappeared within the blink of an eye. He knew that people sometimes had the same name, but in his opinion, this here was too much of a coincidence. What he had taken for genuine curiosity about his person and his trade seemed like a way of mocking him to him now – and he would not tolerate that. “The Hero of Oscillus, He Who Shall Not Be Deceived, master alchemist, ambassador of Etzos and one of the greatest swordsmen in this part of the world – and which Doran do you claim to be?” he asked and looked into the mortal’s eyes.

He didn’t normally brag about his accomplishments in such a fashion – he didn’t need people to respect him or look at him in awe at every turn – and he didn’t particularly care about the laughable title that the Etzori had given him either, but Doran had started to get on his nerves, almost beyond measure. He wanted him to know who exactly he was dealing with and that he might have bitten off more than he could chew – and stop this madness.

“Did somebody send you? Are they trying to drive me mad now because killing me turned out to be too hard for them?” he wanted to know and raised an eyebrow – before it occurred to him that the mortal might be innocent after all. He didn’t put it below Xiur to send him a false Doran – the Immortal of Hope seemed to resort to the strangest measures these trials - but a follower of Xiur would never try to find a solution to their dilemma – unless it was in order to gain his trust so that he could strike later on.

Doran didn’t even have a weapon though, and he didn’t appear to be particularly strong either …

“If you want to call yourself ‘Door’ like a piece of wood, feel free”, he decided. The tone of his voice was a hint less icy now. “But ‘Ran’ seems the better choice to me and less demeaning. My house is just around the corner now. If you want to, I can ask my servant to make tea for us so that we can continue our conversation”, he offered. This was the closest thing to an apology that Doran would ever get from him. He realized that the events of the past arc had made him slightly paranoid.