Whiskey and Tea

[Hekatos]

Whiskey and Tea

Jacun's Alchemical Goods, Plaza of the Jeweled Arches
15th of Glade, 125th Year of the Age of Steel

It was blissfully slow, and so Master Jacun was able to idle at a table with his old—albeit young by draconic standards—friend, drinking tea. The tea room was separate from the main shop, and the point of ingress was over there. Thankfully, Sivan had installed a bell. Jacun didn't need it, of course. He had a way of standing up and moving to where he needed to be before he needed to be there with a preternatural assurance that still threw Zef Mirlind from time to time.

Zef had gotten old over the years; Jacun had not.

"...and you really ought to tell him yourself, Zef, rather than berate me for it."

The proprietor of the place laughed; Zef groused. If it was strange to see the slow transformation of his friend over the years, he was used to it.

"Is he back from Hytori lands?"

"He is. Whether he has recovered from the trials of Tavárinoikos or not, I know not."

The old wizard cast a garrulous, but curious glance at him.

"No, I am not offended. I agreed to teach him enough to begin an alchemical journey on his own with a much lower incidence of blowing himself up. He only came to me because of Tavári'nar and his dying request. It makes sense he would return to his old master's workshop in order to find a sense of completion. Circle of life, et cetera, et cetera."

"Well, I don't suppose I would mind learning what the Hytori are hiding."

"Everything," Jacun answered glibly.

Zef grunted as the young-seeming man topped off his tea and meandered into the other room before the door opened on a curious Orkhan.

[Imogen]

It had been several years since last Imogen Ward had entered through the front door of Jacun's Alchemical Goods, seeking some respite from the ailments of Kalzasi's brutal winter. A lot had happened, since then, but she could still picture the happy memory of the evening she'd whiled away with the old wizard and the Hytori while young Master Sivan toiled away on her account. They'd swapped stories and shot the breeze, blissfully unaware of the unholy terror about to be released by--and on--Zaichaer in a few short months.

It was almost a shock to open the door and see the same room... albeit, with a wholly new face. A well-kempt one, framed with an aquiline nose and a patient, inscrutable look which tickled the back of her mind.

The witch shook off her memory and entered. She was clad in a gray traveling dress, heavy and sturdy fabric over leather boots. She'd left the cloak at home this time, for Glade had come in warm and soft this year, but she had taken a fancy to the sunhat she'd worn during her spar with Aurin, and had it enlarged to fit her head while in her native form. She stepped casually into the store, then turned around and pointed behind her.

There, Jacun could just make out the form of two animals- an enormous black cat of some description, and, upon its back, a small white monkey with a stumpy tail. The monkey's eyes darted as it took in the glasses and colors within the shop, its hand rubbing excitedly against a tiny sword it wore, strapped to a sash.

"Halftail, you stay out here. Kitty, keep him out of trouble, understood?"

With that, the Orkhan woman closed the door behind her, and turned to the front of the store, beaming.

"Good morrow, sir! May I presume that you are Master Jacun, in the flesh?" Imogen approached the man, unable to keep herself from glancing from side to side at the strange and wonderful concoctions, much as she had the first time she visited, "I came here in the hopes of finding young Master Sivan, in recognition of the most efficacious draught he sold me on my last visit."

"Well, at any rate, I am Imogen, and I've found myself recently in need of anti-nausea medication suitable for consumption by lemurs. About two hundred lemurs. I'm afraid they take aerial travel less well than they represented to me."

[Hekatos]

Whiskey and Tea

"Oh, I kicked Siv out years ago..." After a beat, he laughed. "Taught him enough not to set himself on fire and then sent him off to figure the rest out on his own. But he is back in town and sent word he would be by to visit today, so if you want, there's tea in the other room. You can wait and if the dirty old man won't leave you alone, you have my permission to set him on fire."

Jacun indicated the arch that led into the tea room, where keen ears would hear someone grumbling in affront.

"Oh, manners, of course. Yes. I am Jacun, called master by some." He considered. "All right... antiemetic for wet-nosed primates? Sure, I can make you something for that. Two hundred doses... will you be dosing them directly or trying to maintain efficacy while dosing a water supply or similar?"

Dark brows beetled in thought; there were many variables, most of which ought to be the buyer's responsibility, but he asked the questions rather than risk angry idiots knocking at his door or, worse, coming with pitchforks and torches in the night.

"Let's get you some tea, though." He motioned her toward the arch. "I'll have a few more questions before I can give you a more specific timeline, but if you're waiting around for Siv, you might as well get comfortable, too."

The tea room was much as she remembered it. Zef was in his same seat, though Laurevere was absent. Hoity-toity elves be damned, anyway. It looked like the shop might be suffering just slightly for Sivan's graduation, but for all the strange smells, there was nothing noxious or rotting. Parts were tidy and organized, others a bit of controlled chaos. There might have been a bit of dust in out-of-reach places, but that was a battle that hardly bothered a dragon in human drag.

"Pick your poison," he said, indicating the wall behind the counter, rows and rows of tins, presumably still holding various types and blends of tea. There were menus written out in careful script there on the counter if staring at the wall was too much. "The baked goods are better today because Zif brought them."

"Damn straight," Zef muttered into his own tea.

[Imogen]

Imogen nodded contentedly as she was ushered back into the tea room, until her eyes fixed upon Zef. Then, there was a flash of recognition, of satisfaction, like a predator who had just sighted prey.

"Thank you, Master Jacun. Direct dose would be best, ideally in a sweet-tasting suspension to make them more willing to eat it. They are... uh... propithecus tattersalli, if I recall aright. Just under eight pounds apiece, and they eat mostly fruits and seeds, so they do well with plant sugars. Unfortunately, they do less well with changes in air pressure, as I have recently learned. But first-"

The witch produced her own tin as if by magic, removing it from some unseen pocket within the folds of her dress and presenting it to the dragon for inspection. It was roughly the same size and shape as the others in his shop, though it appeared fairly worn and well-dented.

"I am sensible of the unusual nature of my request, and so I come bearing this gift-" Imogen opened the lid, showing off dried leaves within. A gentle smell wafted from the container, faintly reminiscent of sherry, "-a species of alatamaha from the lost city of Kythera, where once was grown every species of plant to ever grace Ransera. I'm reliably informed it exists nowhere else today."

Imogen set the tin down carefully. She'd pilfered it, along with certain other curiosities, from the ruins of her family's home when she'd visited the atelier in that ill-fated journey; after all, if the family was dead, it stood to reason that she was the rightful heir to what was left of their pantry. Unfortunately, they had been more interested in teas than rum, which she'd been much more curious to try- but a good witch knew to squirrel such things away until the day they might suddenly prove valuable.

"...and speaking of Ecith, good afternoon to you, Master Zef. I should tell you with some surprise that your name came up in a recent conversation I had there, with a man named Finn."

[Hekatos]

Whiskey and Tea

"Ah, the little golden ones," he murmured as he prepared tea to Imogen's taste without her even answering his question. This was a strange little tea that Sivan had prepared while still his apprentice, fermenting a small batch in rum. It was softly sweet, paired well with fruits if blended, and had the faintest bite like a diluted kombucha that might remind the palate that it had come honestly from rum as well as tea.

"Shi-fak, shi-fak," he murmured thoughtfully.

Jacun brought her tea over to place it where he had been sitting with Zef since she seemed to know him. The accouterments she might want to add to her tea to doctor it were already there, and he accepted her offering.

"Please sit. If Zef bothers you, it will give me an excuse to evict him."

Zef made curmudgeonly noises of protest.

"Ah," the possible dragon replied, inhaling the particular scent with a sort of nostalgia. "No, I don't think any survive in the wild, not since the coraegi of their river died. Thank you."

The tinkling of the door bell sounded then.

"Ah, that will be Siv. Please, sit. Make yourself at home. This ought not be the matter of an hour or two. Possibly less if I can persuade him to help." With that, Jacun moved back through the arch to the shop proper and Imogen could hear some gentle conversation, but not the words themselves.

Zef, however, had put on a pair of spectacles. "Ah, yes. Your voice was familiar, but now I can see you properly. Sit down, sit down. What the Mists is he doing in the Commonwealth? I'm guessing you mean the Commonwealth if you are bringing leaves from Kythera and medicating monkeys from the jungle." Clearly, he was not quite the natural philosopher that Jacun was. "He was in Solunarium. I hope he isn't getting into any trouble. Terrible business, the enmity between the wetlands and the deserts. As reckless and unnecessary as the old grudge between the desert elves and Sol'Valen."

"What's wrong with the elves of Sol'Valen?" asked a voice from the archway, younger, more melodious than Zef's grousing. The man was old and didn't seem to have all that much of a family resemblance with Finn. The eyes, though, were a similar blue, and they both had a facility for magic, it seemed.

"Hallo, Siv. Come in, boy."

[Imogen]

The Orkhan woman raised her cup in greetings. She hadn't really come here to see Sivan specifically, of course; she mostly remembered him for his absence, working to prepare the medicine she'd bought while Zef and Laut-whatever-his-name-was had spoken at length. Still, it was nice to see him again.

Imogen sat, just as Master Jacun had implored her, and brought the tea to her face, letting the perfumed steam wash over her nose. It was a nice sensation, no denying that, even if she'd seldom found the time to actually sit and enjoy tea. Perhaps she should buy a barrel for the manor? Even if the drink wasn't all that popular in Zaichaer, it made a nice change.

"Well sure, you've put together all the clues. I met up with young Mister Finn in Drathera, actually. I was there meeting up with a colleague for some business and some friends of mine in the Senate told me he was in the city. I decided to go introduce myself, get his measure, so forth."

The witch sipped at her tea. She'd met many of the members of the Senate of Drathera, when they had called her back from Ailos to testify as to the events at Agrst'raesera, and again when she'd warned them of the treachery of the Spire. But she wouldn't claim to have been friends with most of them. They'd offered her a seat in the Senate, in fact, when she'd returned, but she'd turned that down right quick. She was sworn to the Sunsingers, first and foremost- besides, who wanted to spend all of their time sitting in a big room arguing about stuff?

But there had been a few with whom she'd kept in touch, deliberately. After all, in her business, having people like that owe you a favor could be the difference between life or death- or even more than that.

"I suppose you haven't heard, but your Finn is a duke now, in Solunarium. And serving as ambassador to the Commonwealth, though they call it something different." Imogen sighed, "Since the end of the Eclipse, the Commonwealth's been wracked by incurable plagues. I understand that they turned to the desertfolk for aid, and Mister Finn is there trying to come to some arrangement where they become a vassal state."

It was a sorry state of affairs, and in large part the Senate's own doing. Oh, they couldn't be blamed for the plague, of course, but the nation would have been in a much stronger position if they hadn't banished the chiefs for their blasphemy against the Tenants, just the year past. She doubted the proud warriors who carried the legacy of the fallen Primals would have been quite so blasé about admitting their ancient enemies to the heart of the Commonwealth, even if the people suffered.

But none of this was, properly, the concern of one Imogen Ward.

"At any rate, I caught up with him after a spar--he's not a bad hand with a sword, though I wouldn't bet on him against an Arbiter--and he asked me to do a little digging around on his behalf, when next I returned to Zaichaer."

[Sivan]

"And I will come check on your progress to make sure you haven't made any mistakes," he called over his shoulder as he came into the adjacent room where Zef was holding court. His voice was too soft—not quiet, but soft—for his words to be scathing. No doubt his former master with his strange sense of humor was smiling as he went back to the workshop.

Sivan felt the urge to dust, to ensure everyone had enough tea, but he was no longer employed here. All the same, he would step in for his old master, whether with tea or should another customer come through the door. He might not work here anymore, but there remained a bond with the dragon who had taught him alchemy.

"Master Mirlind," he greeted with a sweeping bow. He checked their tea, found them not wanting, and went to fix something for himself. "And... Imogen, isn't it?"

"Aye," Zef answered for her, and then returned to the conversation. "A duke, you say? Hm, well. He did marry a prince, and they have historically given away titles to those who had none in such situations. Well, good for him. And playing politics." He nodded, brow furrowed. "Silver tongues work whether singing in a tavern or in a council chamber, I suppose." He frowned, thinking of the lad he remembered holding a sword and fighting a battle. He had given him the magical means to deescalate a violent situation or flee safely from it, but then, well, he had people to fight for, it seemed.

For a moment, the red-robed sorcerer looked almost sad, almost wistful.

"Well, and you must be an exception to the rule... the rule being... not many people travel between Karnor and Ecith. Anyway, he and young Arvalyn packed up their old place a long while back now. I'm not certain what he would want you digging for."

He looked up as Sivan quietly sat in an armchair next to their table, near enough to engage in conversation if it was extended toward him, but he could easily half-turn the other way and drift off into his own thoughts should they prefer a simpler tête-à-tête.

[Imogen]

Imogen smiled as Sivan so easily remembered her name, even having met her only once, years ago. It spoke well of his concentration and attention to detail, which were matters she considered to be vitally important to any professional.

"My father's family come from Ecith," she told Zef, by way of explanation, "Grandma was from a family of alchemists in Kythera, but she left them to go be a knight. Met grandpa on some errand or other, and he left his village to go to Ailos to be with her. Then they came to Zaichaer ahead of the Geleran fleet. So, when my coven-" she'd told them she had been a mercenary, when last she was here, but that was when she'd had some fear of the Order's spies in these lands. Anyway, she didn't expect the fairly obvious signs of magic had escaped Jacun's eyes, at least. "-needed some business done down south, they turned to me first."

That had all been so long ago now, and it managed to entirely elide both her actual reason for visiting Ecith in the present and the clientele for which she worked. Intentionally so. While neither the elementals nor Vhexur had sworn her to secrecy, it was a good habit. One never knew what kind of emotions they might rouse by tossing around names willy-nilly, so she tried to avoid the same.

Still, you got nowhere for nothing.

"It's not so difficult to visit there now, you know. The newfangled Dawnmartyrs your prin- er, well, that Arcas established up here have a Gateway to Ailos in their fortress, and from there to Drathera is no more than a week by ship."

It was even faster for her, of course; her own powers of Traversion were not sufficient to step from Kalzasi to Drathera, but could certainly shorten the trip from Ailos. And she didn't even need to borrow the Dawnmartyr's gate... at least, not when going south.

Well, might as well cut to the chase. "Oh, it wasn't for any of their possessions. I take it that he's curious about his grandmother."

[Sivan]

If Imogen was looking for it, she would find a small, easily missed pin on Sivan's collar—a stylized leaf. A Sembler might notice a faint little something about it, but might as easily not. A Zaichaeri witch, however, wouldn't need to; they would know it as the mark of someone who had joined the Kindred in their Grove.

Zef certainly had never noticed it, assuming it was some nod to his elven heritage, whether Dratori or Hytori.

In any case, Sivan was content to sip his tea and listen, glad to be back in a place that had been like a home to him for a while.

Zef considered, "Huh. The world really is shrinking in my old age. Siv pops back and forth between the Hytori capital and Kalzasi once or twice a season. Fabled Drathera is easily and safely accessible if one has an in with the Dawnmartyrs." He shook his head. As for Finn's grandmother, there was a hint of old sadness on his face for a moment.

"I've always been curious how the lineages of the witches compare to and contrast with the lineages of the Circle of Spells. I keep hearing how many sought refuge here after Zaichaer was torn apart, and how they have been returning, slowly but surely. I suppose home is home even if one's unwelcome there."

Then he shook his head.

"Finn was clever enough to figure it out... but... we correspond. Why would he send someone to ask me questions about his grandmother? Why, I taught him how to Travel, and now he could as easily leap from Drathera to Solunarium to Kalzasi as I could leap from here to my quarters in the Tower."

He chuckled, both pleased and bothered to have been eclipsed by his student. The revelation of even having a grandson—let alone two grandsons and a grandchild—still felt relatively new. Finn had been a full-grown man when Zef became aware he even had a son.

Sivan glanced at Zef. He could sense just about every thought or feeling if he chose to, but he did not. Even if he had, he wasn't sure whether he should remain or perhaps go to assist Jacun with the rush order.

"Should I leave you two alone?" he asked, settling for being forthright.

[Imogen]

The Ork shrugged.

"The covens of Zaichaer were founded in service to its people- so long as the people remain, so will they, I suppose. After the formation of the Great Rift, there was nothing to do but run and hide- then with the Eclipse, return was hardly in the cards. After all, that land had no gods to give it light in the darkness, having made the choice to reject them all long ago. Well, not counting those which have remained hidden through it all, anyway."

Her words were casual, offhanded, but they were chosen carefully. After all, the Kindred were just one such coven, who had harbored the last of the Titans since time immemorial. She watched Sivan out of the corner of her eye to see if he noticed at all.

"Ah, well, the lineage of the covens is as you'd think, I'd expect. To the best of my knowledge, only the oldest covens such as the Grymalka or the Kindred predate the fall of the Great Houses of Aileor; most of the new covens began with a handful of mages who had escaped destruction during the wars and purges, hoarding a handful of secret grimoires or arts from better days. Most of the modern witches are of families who were recruited while the Order was forming; I hardly have to tell you that mine was not long native to that soil."

The witch took a long draft of her drink, closing her eyes to show appreciation for the flavor. Jacun really was good at his art. Probably alchemy, too.

"This unfamiliarity, I think, is why Mr. Finn asked me to investigate in his stead. He told me he wasn't even sure if his grandmother was properly a witch, but once he knew my provenance he thought I could ferret out a bit more about it. It's not a bad bet. Obviously I recognize the import of the name, but I do not yet know where she lived." Imogen set the teacup down, giving Zef a serious look. "If I can discover that, I can divine the story Mr. Finn seeks to learn by earth and fire, and shadow and sun."