late summer 504. DUSK TREAD THE STIRRING STREETS OF THE NIGHT MARKETS, A DOWNING SUN CASTING SHARP SHADOWS WHERE ITS REDDENED RAYS CUT ACROSS. IN THE CROSSWARD LIGHT, DUST SWIRLED ARILY ABOUT THE DESOLATE KEEP OF AN ABANDONED STORE, UNSETTLED FROM THE THRESHOLD OF A CREAKING DOOR. “It's not much,” THE VOICE OF THE OLD SHOPKEEPER ECHOED THROUGH THE ROOM, A SOUND THAT RANG COLD AND SAD AS THE SIGHT ITSELF. ALMOST WITH A TINGE OF REGRET, “I've used it as storage for a while. It's just not worth the upkeep for me.” HIS WEARY, SILVERY EYES SWEPT SLOWLY OVER THE COBWEBBED CREASES, THE DECADENT RUINS OF SHEET-LADEN FURNITURE AND THE ASHY THICKNESS OF DUST THAT SETTLED OVER ALL BUT A FEW LONE TRAILS OF HOOFPRINTS AND MOUSE PAWS. THROUGH BROKEN WINDOWS, LIGHT FILTERED HARSHLY AND DARKENED THE BOARDS WHERE IT OFTEN STRAYED. ALL BUT TWO WINDOWS HAD BEEN BROKEN THROUGH – TWO ON THE WALL THAT FACED THE SOUTH, STILL BOARDED AND KEPT WITH SHEETS THAT SWAYED WITH THE BREEZE. THE SHOPKEEPER HAD KEPT HIS BUSINESS HERE FOR YEARS, SELLING HIS LEATHER GOODS AND HIS WIFE'S PRECIOUS CRAFTS AND HOME-COOKED GOODS. BUT THE NIGHT MARKETS HAD GARNERED SMALLER SHOP VENDORS WITH THEIR CHEAPER SALE CARTS, THEIR PRICES TOO APPEALING TO THE PUBLIC AND THE LOCAL FOOD TOO APPETIZING IN THEIR SMELLS TO BE IGNORED. SO FEW STRAYED TOWARD THE TAN-BRICK FACE AND ITS HOMELY APPEARANCE, THE WAVING SIGN THAT SQUEALED ON ITS IRON HINGES IN THE WIND. IT WAS MORE PROFITABLE FOR HIM TO JOIN THEIR CARAVANS, STRUNG IN THE HEART OF THEIR WARES WITH A CHOICE SELECTION OF LEATHERS AND THE LURE OF HOMEBAKED PIES AND BREADS. EVEN THEN BUSINESS WAS DIM, TOO DIM SOMETIMES, THAT HIS BANK APPEARED TO BE THINNING PROGRESSIVELY. THE SALE OF HIS SHOP SEEMED THE EASIEST POINT OF REVENUE TO HIM ANYMORE, EVEN WITH ITS TATTERED EDGES AND RUSTED SIGN THAT HUNG OVER THE STREET, THREATENING TO FALL ON THE HEAD OF A MISFORTUNATE PASSERBY.
“i think the guy next door might be selling his soon too. It's just easier to sell off the cart in the markets, you know? And after the fires, well. We are still recovering, we can use all we can get.” THE SIGN OF THE FIRES WAS MINIMAL HERE, THE TAN BRICK FRONT SMEARED WITH STAINED BLACKNESS THAT PULLED ACROSS THE NEIGHBORING FACES. IT TRACED ACROSS LIKE A REACHING SHADOW, TATTERING THE NEARBY AWNINGS AND SCORCHING THE WINDOW PANES, CRISP CHARRED EDGES OF DOORWAYS. FOUR DOORS DOWN THE STAIN OF THE SMOKE HAD BEEN ALMOST SCRUBBED CLEAN. HE COULD NOT DISCERN THE REASON THAT THE OTHER KEEPERS HAD NOT FOLLOWED SUIT, BUT HE IMAGINED THEY DEEMED IT OUT OF THEIR POCKETS OR OUT OF THEIR CARES. SO FEW GUESTS CARED TO AMBLE DOWN TO THIS LOWLY CORNER OF THE MARKETS – AND THOSE WHO DID, SCARCELY LOOKED UP TO ADMIRE THE STOREFRONTS. OUT OF THE SIX THAT SAT ON THE BLOCK, ONLY TWO KEPT TO MUCH FRIENDLIER APPEARANCES: THE GROCER AND THE BARBER, WHOSE CUSTOMERS WERE ONLY A HANDFUL OF REGULARS THAT OFTEN STOPPED TO CHAT OR BARTER, BUT RARELY CAST THEIR SIGHTS FURTHER SOUTH. LOOKING FARTHER WAS TO ACKNOWLEDGE THE IMPOVERISHED TINGES OF DENOCTE, THOSE FORGOTTEN STOREFRONTS AND PORCHES THAT WERE SINGED WITH THE MEMORY OF A TERRIBLE NIGHT. EVEN THE SHOPKEEPER, THINKING ABOUT THE WAY THE FLAMES RAGED IN THE STARLIGHT, THE WAY THE SCREAMS SEARED LOUD AND HARD INTO AN AGONIZED WAIL, SHUDDERED IN THE REMEMBRANCE. HE HAD BEEN SETTING UP HIS CART DOWN THE STREET WHEN THE FIRST CRIES OF FIRE STRUCK THE EVE, AND BY THEN THE EMBERS ALL AROUND HIM HAD BEGUN TO SWELL INTO CONTEMPTIBLE DROVES OF HOT LICKING TONGUES. THE SIGHT WAS BEAUTIFUL, DESPITE MORTAL PERIL, THE GREAT GHASTLY FINGERS OF ORANGE STRETCHED FOR THE PURPLE STAR-PRICKED SKY. BUT THE DAMAGE STIRRED A RAGE AND MISERY IN DENOCTE THEY HAD NOT KNOWN FOR A LONG TIME. HE LOOKED BACK TO HIS GUEST FOR A MINUTE, A CASUAL QUESTION POSED IN THE THOUGHT FOR A CHANCE AT SMALL TALK, BUT A CURSORY GLANCE LET ON THE IDEA THAT HIS GUEST WAS NOT THE TYPE TO BE INTERESTED.
INDEED, FROM THE MOMENT HE MET THE FELLOW, HE WAS GIVEN THE GREAT IMPRESSION THAT BUSINESS WAS TANTAMOUNT. HE HAD A PIERCING STARE AND THE SHARPEST FEATURES THAT HE COULD EVER RECALL, SOMETHING SEVERE AND PLAYFULLY CYNICAL THAT LEAPT FROM SHADOW TO SHADOW IN THE ANGLES OF HIS FACE. AND WHILE HE CONSIDERED IT, HE THOUGHT THAT HE MAY HAVE EVEN CAUGHT THE SLIP OF SOMETHING TANGIBLY SHARP WHEN THE MAN GRINNED AND LAUGHED (AND OH WHAT A HOLLOW LAUGH, THE SORT OF LAUGH THAT ECHOED COLDLY UNDER A ROLL OF THUNDER) AND SOMETHING MADE HIM TOO UNCOMFORTABLE WHEN HE FELT THOSE EYES LINGER ON HIM TOO LONG AFTER MENTION OF A PRICE. HE LOWERED THE PRICE CONSIDERABLY, JUST TO AVOID SEEING WHAT WAS LEFT WHEN THE SMILES AND THE LAUGHTER SHIFTED INTO SOMETHING DARKER. HE WAS A BOY! A MERE BOY WITH THE APPETITES OF A MAN AND THE ELOQUENCE OF AN ARTIST – SOMETHING SAGACIOUS WANDERED IN THE PITS OF HIS EYES BUT COULD BE LOST TO THE CUPIDRY OF HIS VIRILE HANDSOMENESS. OFTEN HE FORGOT THAT HE WAS SPEAKING TO A YOUNG MAN AND NOT A SPECTRAL ELDER, OR SOMETHING WORSE. BUT HE FOUND IT WELL WITHIN HIS SENSIBILITY TO AVOID PRYING TOO DEEP IN PLACES THE YOUNG MAN REFUSED TO RELAY, INCLUDING HIS ONCE PERSISTENT GRASP ON UNDERSTANDING WHY A BOY LIKE HIM WOULD EVEN HAVE ANY INTEREST IN SUCH A DINGY PLACE AS THIS. YET THE MORE AND MORE HE LOOKED NOW, GLANCING OVER THE WEBS IN THE CORNERS AND THE CRACKS IN THE WALLS, THE MISSING PIECES OF GLASS THAT LAY SPLINTERED ON THE FLOOR BENEATH THE WINDOWS, HE COULD NOT HELP HIS CURIOSITY.
“Ehhh, lad. I promise I could find you finer deals and better storefronts on the northern part of town. I know them, and they even have better customer bases than I could ever bring in, and I think –“ THOSE EYES AGAIN. THE MAN DARKENED THE DOORWAY WITH HIS HEIGHT AND MUSCULATURE, AND THE TWILIGHT THAT FILTERED AROUND HIM EVEN SEEMED TO FALTER IN HIS SHADOW. AGAINST THE PURPLE OF THE EASTERN SKY, THE GOLD ETCHED IN HIS MANE AND SHOULDERS STOOD OUT FROM THE LOOMING TRACE OF ENCROACHING NIGHT. BUT THOSE EYES, THOSE CRESCENT MOON EYES – HE COULD SEE THAT THERE WAS A GRIN AGAIN ON THOSE FEATURES, SOMETHING DECEPTIVELY SOFT AND INTERESTED. BUT HIS GAZE WAS A HOT THING, LIKE THE BLASTING RAYS OF A DYING SUN THAT SCATHED HOLES WHERE HIS FLESH PRICKLED. HIS VOICE SKITTERED FOR A MOMENT, TRYING TO REMEMBER THE REST OF WHAT HE HAD INTENDED ON SAYING. HE COULD FIND THE BOY BETTER STOREFRONTS, CLEANER PLACES UNTOUCHED BY THE FIRES WHOSE OWNERS WOULD BE MORE THAN WILLING TO SELL. HE VAGUELY REMEMBERED SEEING HIS GUEST FREQUENTING THE ALLEY TO THE WHITE SCARAB, AND HE THOUGHT THE FEW GAMBLERS WHO OWNED THE STORES WOULD EVEN BE INTERESTED IN A PLEASANT NEGOTIATION. NOW THAT HE CLAMBERED FOR A FURTHER WORD, HE HUMMED A SELF-CRITICIZING MURMUR, DISTRACTING HIS SIGHT WITH THE EMPTY ROOM AGAIN TO DESPERATELY RAKE IT AWAY FROM THE PENETRATIVE GLARE. “- I mean, this place... I would just tear the lot down, once I had the means. Let the Queen do with it what she will I guess.” SOMETHING STIRRED IN HIS GUEST AND HE STOPPED, LOOKING BACK. THE YOUNG MAN HAD ENTERED ON THE NOTE OF THE QUEEN, HIS GRIN SLIGHTLY DIMINISHED WHILE HE LOOKED TO THE QUIVERING COBWEBS AND THE DUSTY SHEETS. HE WAS QUIET, TOO OFTEN, THE SHOPKEEPER THOUGHT. SO OFTEN THAT HE COULDN'T TELL IF THE BOY WAS DISINTERESTED OR DISAPPOINTED IN ALL THAT HE SAW, AND THERE WERE PLENTY OF TIMES IN THEIR WALK HERE THAT HE WISHED HE HAD SIMPLY STATED THAT HE HAD ANOTHER BUYER, OR THAT HE HAD CHANGED HIS MIND ENTIRELY ON THE SALE. EVEN NOW HE CONSIDERED STATING THAT HE HAD MADE A MISTAKE. THAT HE DECIDED TO KEEP THE STORE, AFTER ALL. WOULD THAT DRIVE THE BOY AWAY? WOULD THAT MAKE THINGS WORSE?
IN THE SILENCE BETWEEN THEM AS THE BOY ENTERED AND LOOKED ABOUT, STOPPING EACH TIME THE FLOORBOARDS CREAKED BENEATH HIS WEIGHT, HE THOUGHT THAT IT WAS FAR TOO LATE FOR ALL THAT.
HE OPENED HIS MOUTH TO SPEAK AGAIN, ANOTHER THOUGHT OF MENTIONING SOMETHING LIGHT HEARTED AND CASUAL, LIKE, i heard the queen is with child, OR did you hear, they couldn't find that rat bastard on the island, OR i heard they're gonna track him down in solterra, OR the light really is lovely coming through the windows in the dawn, I must say, BUT HE SHUT HIS MOUTH WITH HARDLY MORE THAN A SOFT, DEFEATED EXHALE. HIS BREATH CURLED A WIND OF SPARKLING DUST, WINDING IN THE DIRECTION OF HIS SPECULATIVE GUEST. THE BOY WANDERED TO ALL CORNERS OF THE VACANT SHOP, SEEMING LOST TO DREAM ALONG THE EDGES WHERE THE DARKEST SPACES SAT WITH THE MOST UNSETTLING QUIET. HE STOPPED HERE AND THERE, PAUSING IN THE CROOKS AND STARING LONG-WAYS ACROSS TO THE OTHER WALLS, BEFORE HIS EYES FELL UPON THE OLD OAK DOOR INTO THE BREEZEWAY THAT SPLIT THE LEVELS. UPSTAIRS WAS THE ROOM THE SHOPKEEPER KEPT A SMALL BED AND A FEW CABINETS FOR PAPERWORK AND SUPPLIES. BELOW, THE CELLAR WITH ITS MUSTY CORNERS AND SCURRYING PESTS. THE WORST OF ALL FOR HIM WERE THE SCRAGGLY CENTIPEDES THAT RUSHED OUT OF THE LIGHT OF A TORCH WHEN HE WOULD DESCEND, AND HE OFTEN AVOIDED THE CELLAR ALTOGETHER. HE HATED ALL THEIR LEGS AND THEIR SHINY BODIES, THE WAY THE LIGHT HIT THEM AS THEY WOUND AROUND LIKE TINY SNAKES WITH A THOUSAND CRINKLING LEGS. HE SHIVERED. BUT NOW, HE FELT THE BOY'S EYES UPON HIM AGAIN, AND HE RAISED HIS GAZE FROM THE DOOR TO MEET THEM. HE HADN'T STUDIED THEM UNTIL NOW, THOUGH INSTANTLY REGRETTED THAT HE HAD. THEY WERE SHARP AS SOLTERRAN BLADES, AND IF IT WEREN'T FOR THE RIND OF BRIGHT GOLD THEY MAY HAVE BEEN THE DEEPEST, BLACKEST EYES HE HAD EVER GAZED INTO. THEY WERE PREDATORY, CALCULATIVE, PIERCING, AND HIS MIND ABSENTLY CLUTCHED SOFT TO HIS NECK AS HE OBSERVED THE WELCOME WAY THE BOY'S LIPS GAVE WAY TO A COURTEOUS, FANGED GRIN AS HE SPOKE. "May I?" BUT DESPITE THE CHIVALRY IN THE BOY'S VOICE, THE SHOPKEEPER KNEW IT WAS MORE OF A DEMAND THAN A REQUEST. HE OBLIGED WITH A NOD, AND A HARSH TUG BROUGHT THE OAK DOOR BACK ON ITS HINGES – AND WITH A WHINE AND A POP, SHOOK FROM THE BENT IRON PLATES SO THAT IT SMACKED INTO THE WALL.
THOUGH HE ANTICIPATED FURTHER NEGOTIATION OR A DISAPPOINTED GLANCE FROM THE BOY, THERE WAS SOME SMALL RELIEF IN SEEING THAT HE INSTEAD BUSIED HIMSELF WITH OBSERVING THE BREEZEWAY, AND THEN DESCENDED THE STAIRS WITHOUT MUCH CONTEMPLATION. THE SHOPKEEPER FOLLOWED HIM DOWN, STRIKING UP A TORCH FROM THE HALLWAY THAT CAST LIGHT ACROSS THE THICKENED CLOUD OF DUST STIRRED OFF OF THE STAIRS. THE PAIR OF THEM ENTERED THE CELLAR WITH A SOFT PATTER UPON THE STONE FLOORS, DISHEVELING DUST AND DIRT FROM ITS SURFACE. MUCH TO THE KEEPER'S DISGUST, HE SAW WHAT HE THOUGHT TO BE A CENTIPEDE OR A SNAKE WRITHING ITS WAY FROM THE TRACE OF THE LIGHT, BUT HIS VISITOR PAID NO MIND. HE STOOD FOR A MOMENT, PEERING THROUGH THE DARKNESS ABOUT THE LENGTH OF THE ROOM, BEFORE MAKING HIS WAY CURIOUSLY ABOUT THE WALLS. THERE WAS SOME CHANGE IN HIS DEMEANOR, A CLICK IN HIS STEP THAT THE OWNER HADN'T NOTICED BEFORE. IT WAS SOMETHING MORE PLEASANT, LESS JAGGED, A LOOSENED GAIT THAT CARRIED WITH IT SOMETHING MORE GRACEFUL THAN IMPOSING. “There's this and the room above, not sure if you noticed the stairs in the breezeway. I used it as a makeshift office and sometimes slept up there when the business was real good. It's a comfy little nook. Well, I think it is, but the missus doesn't quite like th–” "I'll buy it." THE SHOPKEEPER'S VOICE LILTED OFF INTO THE DUSTY, CAVERNOUS CORNERS OF THE CELLAR AS ERASMUS'S VOICE BELTED OVER IT. CERTAIN, FULL. "Y-what?" "Thirty signos off our last agreed price, and I'll buy it." "Are you s-" EYES AGAIN, PIERCING AND IMPATIENT. A SOFT BREEZE TOUSLED THE BOY'S MANE AND CAUGHT THE OWNER'S EYE FOR A MINUTE, AN ODDITY SINCE THERE WERE NO WINDOWS OR ACCESS WAYS IN THE DEEP, DARK CELLAR. BUT PERHAPS A WIND HAD FLOWN THROUGH THE OPEN DOOR ABOVE, AND FOUND ITSELF CURLED ABOUT THE FOUR WALLS OF THEIR BASEMENT ROOM. HE LOOKED AGAIN ABOUT THE DAMP CELLAR, AND THOUGHT ABOUT HOW MUCH HE HATED HOW HUMID AND BUGGY IT BECAME IN THE HOTTER MONTHS OF SUMMER. HE THOUGHT ABOUT HOW HE HATED THE WAY IT LOOKED FROM THE STREET AND HOW IT REMINDED HIM OF THE FIRES. HE THOUGHT ABOUT THE WAY HE DIDN'T HAVE THE MONEY TO FIX THE WINDOWS OR THE DOORS, BUT HOW SELLING IT PUT PRETTY COINS IN HIS POCKET SO THAT HE COULD PROVIDE A LIFE FOR HE AND HIS WIFE. "It's yours."
early fall 504. MONTHS HAD PASSED SINCE ERASMUS HAD PURCHASED THE DUSTY STOREFRONT ON THE CORNER OF THE NIGHT MARKETS. THE WORK HAD BEEN GRUELING AND SOCIAL CALLS EVEN MORE SO, BUT ALL HAD PAID OFF WELL. ITS FACE WAS REINFORCED AND REFURBISHED IN FINE DECOR – ARMA STONE THAT PLATED ITS FRONT WITH AN AIR OF RUSTIC BEAUTY, A SIGN WHOSE OILED HINGES HISSED WITHOUT SQUEALING IN THE BREEZE. ITS WINDOWS WERE REPLACED, BROAD AND BEAUTIFUL THINGS WHOSE SILVERY SURFACES GLISTENED WHEN THE SUN SHONE ACROSS THEM – SHADOWS HANGING FROM THE MAHOGANY PANES. MANY HAD STOPPED TO ADMIRE IT IN ITS SUDDEN UPRISING FROM THE DECREPIT THING THAT IT HAD ONCE BEEN, ITS MOROSE FRONT LIVENED WITH A FRESHENED AESTHETIC THAT COULD NOT BE IGNORED. ITS NEIGHBORS WERE SALLOW THINGS, CREAKY BUSINESSES WHOSE FRONTS WERE STILL STAINED WITH THE SHADOWS OF THE FIRES. THE BARBER AND THE GROCER ON THE END BENEFITTED FROM CURIOUS PASSERBY, AND THE GOSSIP WAS RICH. THE WINDOWS OF THE UPDATED STOREFRONT WERE FRESH AND STRONG, BUT STILL REMAINED BOARDED UP. THE SIGN THAT WAVERED IN THE WIND WAS AN ONLY HINT TO ITS NATURE, BUT THAT WAS LACKING ALL BUT THE PRESENCE OF A NAME, THE ELYSIUM. AMONG THEM THE NEIGHBORS CROONED AND SPECULATED, SIFTING THROUGH WHISPERS AND JEERS OF WASTED FINANCES AND THE JESTS OF BROTHELS. SOME HAD ALREADY SEEN WHAT APPEARED TO BE CUSTOMERS COMING AND GOING, DESPITE THE SIGN ON THE DOOR THAT PLAINLY READ THAT IT WAS CLOSED. A SECRET CLUB THEN, THEY WONDERED? ALL COULD NAUGHT BUT WAIT.
IT WAS ON THE FIRST CHILLY MORNING OF BUDDING AUTUMN THAT ERASMUS WAITED ON A SIDE STREET VIEWING THE ALLEYWAY OF THE WHITE SCARAB. IT WASN'T CLEAR HOW LONG HE HAD BEEN THERE – MINUTES, HOURS, ONLY THAT HE HAD SPENT HIS TIME COUNTING STRANGERS ON THE STREETS AND THE LEAVES THAT RUSHED WITH THE BREEZE. FOR TOO LONG HE STARED AT AN ALTAR FOR THE DEAD, ITS CANDLES LONG SNUFFED, A PORTRAIT LEANING AGAINST A MOUND OF FLOWERS AND FOODS GRINNING MEEKLY BACK. IT WAS TOO FAR FOR HIM TO SEE WHOSE NAME RESTED ON THE PLACQUARD, BUT IT LOOKED TO HIM LIKE A CHEEKY, RUDDY FELLOW WHO MAY HAVE BEEN A MERCHANT, MAY HAVE BEEN A SCRAPE UP EXCUSE FOR AN ENTERTAINER. MOST HAD PASSED THE OFFERINGS WITH HARDLY A PASSING GLANCE. A FEW STOPPED, EVEN FEWER WEPT, AND AS THE NIGHT'S SKY BEGAN TO SHIFT INTO THE ENCROACHING BLUE OF DAY, IT HAD ALL BUT BEEN FORGOTTEN. SEVENTEEN HAD LEFT THE SCARAB SINCE HE HAD STOOD THERE, LEANING AGAINST THE SIDING OF A QUIET MERCHANT'S LOT, BUT NONE NORE THE FACE HE HAD BEEN WAITING FOR. ONLY A HANDFUL OF THE LEAVING PATRONS WERE RECOGNIZABLE, EITHER THOSE HE ASSUMED WORK IN THE CONFINES OF THE SCARAB OR WERE REGULARS TO THE ESTABLISHMENT, AND ONE HAD CAST ERASMUS A WAYWARD GLANCE BEFORE VANISHING NORTH THROUGH THE CONNECTED ALLEYWAYS BEYOND.
IT WAS THAT SAME MORNING THAT HE AND HIS BARTENDER DISCUSSED OPENING ELYSIUM TO THE PUBLIC. THEY HAD WORKED EVER INTENTLY ON THE RESTORATION ON THE ESTABLISHMENT AND WERE EVER CLOSER TO ITS PERFECTION. ALL THAT THEY WAITED ON NOW WAS THE INCOMING SHIPMENTS OF CIGARS AND TEAS THAT HAD BEEN DELAYED A WEEK BY SEA STORMS. IT WAS DUE ANY DAY NOW, NOTED THE CAPTAIN'S LETTER, AND THEY WOULD BE STOCKED FOR A GRAND OPENING. THE STORE WAS CONVERTED INTO A TAVERN – A HOMELY ONE, AT THAT. COMPLETE WITH A GRANITE BAR AND GREAT, COMFORTABLE FURNISHINGS THAT COULD ACCOMODATE A DECENT DRINKING CROWD. THIS AND A WIDE BERTH BEFORE THE BAR TO AVOID THE FRAGILE GOODS FROM BEING DESTROYED IN THE ANTICIPATED OCCASIONAL BAR FIGHT. ERASMUS HAD COME ACROSS THE OLD SHOPKEEPER ONLY ONCE SINCE ITS RENOVATION AND NARROWLY AVOIDED A LENGTHY CONVERSATION ON THE HISTORY OF THE MARKET BLOCK THAT FOLLOWED HIS BUBBLY BUT HUMBLE EXPRESSION OF AWE. THIS AND MORE, HE HAD BEEN STOPPED WHEN LOCKING UP THE PLACE BY PASSERBY WHO WERE SOMETIMES UNRULY CURIOUS, ATTEMPTING TO CATCH HIM JUST AS HE SHUT THE DOOR WITH UNNECESSARY, PRYING QUESTIONS HE TRIED HIS BEST TO ANSWER AS VAGUELY AND POLITELY AS POSSIBLE. HE WAS THANKFUL TO HAVE BERNARD AS HIS BARTENDER, MORE SPLENDID AN AMBASSADOR THAN HE COULD EVER ASK FOR, WHO WAS MUCH MORE ACCOMODATING TO THE SOCIABILITIES OF STRANGERS.
THERE WAS A MATTER YET HE WANTED TO ATTEND TO BEFORE OPENING THE ELYSIUM, AND THAT WAS A SOFT REVEAL OF SOMETHING THAT LAY BENEATH THE SKIN OF IT.
WHEN ERASMUS RETURNED FROM THE ISLAND, MANY THINGS HAD CHANGED IN THE WORLD OF A CONTINTENT THAT WAS NOVUS. THE SEASONS HAD SHIFTED, THE AIR HAD GROWN TENSE ABOUT THE MENTION OF SOLTERRA AND RAUM THE VILLAIN KING, THE MARKETS SWELLED WITH THEIR NIGHTLY CELEBRATIONS OF THE DEAD, AND AN UNEASE HAD GROWN OVER THE SOLACE OF THE PRAIRIE. AMONG ALL THESE CHANGES, ERASMUS HIMSELF HAD BEEN CHANGED. WERE IT THE HARSH DESERT AIR OF SOLTERRA OR THE CHANGEABLE BROKEN MAGIC THAT ARC'D OVER HIM IN THE DEEP OF THE ISLAND JUNGLE, THERE IN HIM CAME A SHIFT, DEEP, DARK AND RIVETING. HIS SILHOUETTE, ONCE SOFTENED IN THE CURVES BRUSQUE BOYISH YOUTH, HAD MADE OF ITSELF SOMETHING MORE FERAL, MORE JAGGED. HIS MUSCULATURE, BRIM AND RENEWED WITH A VIRILE SEVERITY, SHIMMERED IN THE LIGHT CAST OVER REFLECTING ROOFS AND THE COBBLESTONE BENEATH HIM, WHILE THE SHADOWS EDGED ON EACH RUGGED ANGLE OF HIS BARBAROUS SYMMETRY. IT WAS ELEGANT IN ITS OWN WAY, NOT WITHOUT ITS COMMON GRACE IN THE WAY HIS SWEEPING GESTURES MADE PEACE WITH THE CROOKEDRY, AND THE WAY HIS HANDSOME FEATURES LESSENED THE TERROR OF HIS ENDLESS, DEVOURING GAZE. BUT THERE WAS A HUNGER ABOUT HIM. A HORROR THAT CREPT WILDLY THROUGH HIS VEINS, SO THAT HIS FLESH FELT LIKE NO LESS THAN A CHRYSALIS.
HE WAS ON THE EDGE OF CONSIDERING HIS WAITING HAD BEEN A MISTAKE BEFORE HE SAW THE DOORS OF THE SCARAB SWING BACK. THERE EMERGED TWO BODIES VEILED IN THE SHADOW OF SHARP TWILIGHT GLINTING THROUGH THE STREETS, PAUSING JUST A MOMENT BETWEEN THEM IN SOME SMALL FITTED CONVERSATION BEFORE THEY PARTED WAYS. ONE PASSED NORTHWARD THROUGH THE OUTLETS OF QUIET SIDE STREETS, DISAPPEARING AROUND A SECOND CORNER. THE OTHER HEADED TOWARD THE MAIN STREET, TOWARD THE SAD PLACEHOLDER FOR AN ALTAR WHOSE OFFERINGS GATHERED FLIES IN THE RISING SUN. HER SILHOUETTE WAS UNMISTAKABLE, AND ERASMUS TOOK A CASUAL AMBLE INTO THE ROAD TO JOIN HER. HE HAD SEEN HER A FEW TIMES IN PASSING WHEN HE SPENT HIS TIME IN THE SCARAB, SOMETIMES IN SMALL CONVERSATIONS THAT SEEMED TOO SHORT, BUT HE HAD NEVER RELAYED MUCH INFORMATION ON ELYSIUM BESIDES, “I will show you when I am done.” SHE HAD BEEN HIS CONFIDANT, BESIDES BERNARD, IN THE STIRRINGS OF HIS TAVERN, AND FOUND FIT THAT SHE SHOULD BE ITS FIRST FORMAL VISITOR. "Aghavni," HE BREATHED, HER NAME DRIFTING SO SMOOTHLY BETWEEN HIS LIPS THAT IT SEEMED TO SUIT TOO WELL. IT TEASED THE EDGE OF HIS TONGUE, SLIPPED FELINE AROUND THE NESTLE OF CURVED FANGS. HE INHALED ITS SWEETNESS BEFORE CONTINUING, "Would you like to see?"
BUT HE DOES NOT WAIT TOO LONG FOR A REPLY BEFORE HE IS OFF, TROTTING DOWN THE STREET TO THE SOUTH WHERE FAR AT THE OTHER END STANDS THE REJUVENATED FACE OF THE ELYSIUM, ITS HAMMERED SIGN CAUGHT BY THE BREEZE. TOO EARLY FOR THE BARBER OR THE GROCER, THE LAST BLOCK IS STUNTED WITH A COOL SILENCE, STEAD ON THE EMPTY ROAD WHERE IT IS JUST THEM TO WANDER. NO ONE HAS PLACED ANY MEMORIALS HERE, WHERE TOO FEW HAVE STRAYED, THOUGH SOME CANDLE WICKS BEAD WITH A SMALL EMBER IN THE WINDOW OF THE BARBER'S SHOP. THE WINDOWS OF THE ELYSIUM THEMSELVES ARE BOARDED, AND DUE TO THE PRYING NATURE OF THE OCCASIONAL PUBLIC ERASMUS HAD EVEN STRUNG DARK SHEETS TO BLOCK SIGHT THROUGH THE TINY CREASES BETWEEN BOARDS. NOSEPRINTS DIRTIED THE OUTSIDE WINDOW, BUT BERNARD WAS OFTEN QUICK TO CLEAN THEM WHEN HE ARRIVED AROUND NOON. THE STORE WAS VACANT FOR NOW, AND SO WHEN ERASMUS UNBOLTED THE LOCK AND SLUNG OPEN THE DOOR, ALL THAT WAS THERE TO WELCOME THEM WAS THE SOFT LIGHT FROM THE OVERHEAD CHANDELIERS AND THE AROMA OF OLD OAK, SPICES, AND SANDALWOOD. INSIDE LAY THE RUSTIC ACCOMMODATIONS OF THE ELYSIUM – ITS WROUGHT IRON CHANDELIERS HUNG WITH FRESH WHITE CANDLES, DARK OAK TABLES THAT SHONE WITH A WAXY REFLECTION, UNCUT STONE PRESSED TO THE FLOORS IN NEAR PERFECT SYMMETRY WITH ONE ANOTHER, THE ROWS AND ROWS OF WINES AND MEADS, STACKS OF CIGARS AND TEAS. THE WIND THAT RUSHED THROUGH THE DOOR PRESSED ALONG THE CRAGS BETWEEN THE CRYSTAL WARE, SOFTLY CLINKING A WELCOME. HE ALLOWED HER IN FIRST, HOLDING OPEN THE DOOR ONLY LONG ENOUGH TO ENTER BEFORE SHUTTING IT QUIETLY AND BOLTING IT TIGHT AGAINST THE PRY OF ANY INSISTENT ONLOOKERS WHOSE CURIOSITIES BADE THEM NO MANNERS.
HE JOINED HER COMPANY THEN, BACK TO THE ENTRY, HIS EYES WATCHING OVER HER EXPRESSIONS AS SHE OBSERVED THE INTERIOR OF THE ELYSIUM. THE SILENCE WAS COMFORTABLE, THERE IN THE SOLITUDE OF THE PRISTINE TAVERN AND ITS SOPHISTICATED ROUGH. THOUGH AS APPEALING AS THE TAVERN WAS, A MANY THANKS TO BERNARD'S KEEN EYE FOR DESIGN, HE MORE ENJOYED THE SUBTLE SHADOWS THE CANDLELIT CHANDELIERS CAST ACROSS HER FEATURES, AND PATIENTLY WAITED FOR HER OWN MEDITATIONS. AND OH, THERE WAS MORE YET.
@Aghavni
