[OOM] Settling In
The room that Zevran leads Zak to, number 715, is much like the Antivan himself. Small, neat, clean, yet cheerful in its own way and a far cry from the rooms he keeps in Antiva City. Those are nothing more than a place to stay and a place to work, a place to keep the more sinister tools of his profession, not a place to really share with others.
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"The mages of my people are power hungry, prickly and proud, eternally hungry for any scrap of knowledge, no matter how forbidden it is. Most mages have pacts or can summon demons for various things, aid in battle, specific tasks, information... Mages of my people can cast spells to turn other beings into animals, or monsters; can summon and control the corpses of the dead, can blast people with fire or lightning, turn people to stone, bind elemental spirits to talks and create golems... and those are just the fairly normal spells without going into studies of specific vocations." Zaknafein said gloomily.
"And they have higher status than fighters. Which basically means they are more likely to have things their way. If a powerful, high ranked mage takes a fancy to a commoner fighter, the fighter in question... most often the approach used to this situation is to bend over and take whatever the mage wants to dish out. And pray the mage doesn't decide to turn them into something... unpleasant.
When facing a mage, stealth is the best option. Facing them straightforwardly without others to back you up is suicide. Painful, polymorphed suicide."
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Zevran does look surprised, by this information. "I suppose that mages vary between worlds as much as everything else. I do not think you would find issue with many of ours, if you met them. They receive training in magic precisely so that they become less of a danger to themselves and to others. I understand that most mages manifest ability around the age of six, usually quite dramatically. They are taken to the Towers and raised there, so that they learn to control their magic and use it constructively."
Polar opposites, for the most part. Maleficarum and apostates are exceptions to the rule, and Zevran has to admit that even all of them aren't necessarily bad. But then, his "familiarity" with a handful of mages has probably made him more tolerant than most.
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"All mages in my home learn magic mainly to kill other people with. Can Bards use magic here the way they do in my home world?" Zak asked curiously. "Many of the other disciplines and... vocations of people in my home world can use some sort of magic. A druid for example can command animals, change shape, and cause trees to eat people, though one understands the last feat is very rare."
The drow tilts his head at the other male questioningly. "You can, of course, ask me whatever you wish about my home, since you have so obligingly put up with my queries."
(ooc: off to bed for now!)
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He stretches out once more and gives a low hum of pleasure as he settles. "The Chantry controls the mages, in Thedas, and the Circle often accuses them of being afraid to let the mages use their Maker-given gifts. But only mages can do magic. Bards sing, though they are considerably more popular in Orlais than Antiva. And rangers can summon animals. But I believe that only mages can assume the form of an animal, and then only a very small number ever learn. The other skills are ones that only rogues like myself can learn."
What he doesn't know is that it's simply impossible for most mages to learn to shift into anything useful. That learning requires the ability to watch animals for years, and save for apostates, mages don't really have the freedom to go and observe bears or wolves or eagles.
"The druids and so on that you speak of, are they among the surface dwellers? Or simply among your people? I would not think that you would have trees, below ground."
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"Druids are always found among the surface dwellers, but raiding parties sometimes come across them when moving through the woods on their way to maul some unfortunate surface dwellers and burn their villages down.
Rangers exist in my world too, though some of them can use spells, especially when they have a patron deity.
Wizards, Sorcerers and Warlocks are all base definitions for magic users with varied skills and the ability to enchant items, though the names for their specific vocations vary based on what schools of magic they devote themselves to. Warlocks are significantly different from the other two types because they gain their skills by pacting with a being from another dimension, like a demon, or spirit of some sort.
Psions are a different thing entirely, and far more limited than mages in their capabilities. Some are born with the ability to foresee the future, others shape substance from the realm of dreams into items or weapons. Others can read minds, control other people's thoughts or actions, or simply blast people."
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He shakes his head and takes another sip of wine, swishing it thoughtfully in his mouth before swallowing it. "As I said, only mages can work magic in Thedas, and most are happy to be and let be. The blood mages, they are the ones who can control others. But such magic is forbidden, and any known maleficar is hunted down. Though I have met one or two who were actually decent people, in spite of their unsavory knowledge. Apostates with such knowledge are much sought after by the nobility as protection, so of course we Crows must have one or two, that we may learn to defend against such magic as best we can."
A slight shrug. "But I know little of magic compared to those who work it. I am a poisoner, myself. Only slightly less chance of inadvertently torching my eyebrows off, but absolutely no risk of demonic possession."
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Zak will not mention that he does have a few magic tricks up his.. currently rather short.. 'sleeves', as do most Faerun elves. He would not wish to be known as a mage, after all. He never liked them and has no desire to be sent to a tower full of them.
"I am glad to hear that the mages in your home are very little like the ones in mine." Zak says finally, sipping at his drink. "And that you have defensive measures and training in case they decide to turn against your folk."
He's not sure if he should be happy or disturbed that they hunt their mages down when said mages delve into forbidden knowledge.
On one hand, Zak hates, distrusts and does not have great respect for mages. On the other hand, all magic being reason for someone to be hunted down and trapped? Not a good thing for an innately magical being to have to face.
"A poisoner, hm?" Zak murmurs curiously. He understands some of the risks of the trade, and poisonmakers are very, very respected among the drow. "A very highly admired skill."
He finished the last of his drink and carefully put the mug away next to the pitcher Zevran had been using, before he went back to his pile, sat himself down, and looked through his belt until he found one of the more commonly made poisons. Drow poisoners made thousands every year, and Zak may not have had most of what was available but what he did have was quite... adequate.
He pulled out a vial that held a certain poison based on a mushroom that inflicted death by massive internal bleeding on any unfortunate eaters and put the belt back, before he got to his feet and walked over, to offer the tightly sealed vial of poison to his host.
"This is one of the poisons of my people. I think it will be.. interesting for you to use."
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He looks surprised when Zak offers him the small vial, but accepts it gratefully. "I... thank you," he says. "I am grateful, truly. What are its effects? Its means of administration?"
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"Used to coat a blade, dart or needle, or it can be mixed in with a target's food. It works very fast once it's actually in the bloodstream."
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"Thank you," he says again with a grin, and gets up to tuck the little vial away with his others. "I have a use for such a thing coming up, I think. I look forward to seeing what it can do. We have plenty of fatal poisons in Thedas, of course, but few that are so spectacular in their display." Lanthrax, Quiet Death, and a small handful of others. But even those didn't involve blood pouring from the victim's orifices.
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"Drow poisons are often spectacular." Zak agrees quietly, not wanting to go in depth about exactly why*.
*Because they're utter sadists. Who enjoy a good murder the way most other races like good parties.
"I am glad you like it." A moment's pause.
"I am, after all, in great debt to you for your assistance and hospitality."
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He drains the last of his wine and sets the mug aside, smiling, before he gets to his feet and crosses to the dresser, picking up a hairbrush. A few deft movements of his fingers have the leather ties holding his braids out and set aside, and then he picks the plaits themselves out before beginning to brush.
"You have offered me company and conversation, no? I am grateful for that."
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"Though I do not quite think my.. company or conversation have been adequate to repay you for your hospitality."
Still, Zak did have one thing missing. He had a spare pair of clothes, his armor was clean, he had most of what he needed to survive the next day with him. But he had no toothbrush. Or any of the alchemical liquids the drow nobles used, when they could, to clean their teeth. Cantrips were all very well and good, but Zak preferred to be certain about these things.
The drow sighed in resignation. "Excuse me? I will be right back. I need to get something from the Bar." He said quietly, going back to his pile, and then putting a few daggers back into their hidden places, grabbing his item pouch, (which held both the insignia and the ten silvers) before he went back out to find his way down to the Bar, leaving the door unlocked.
He came back with several coppers to go with the nine silvers and amulet he had left, a tube of toothpaste, and a toothbrush that was strangely white and more elegant looking than most drow commoners saw in a lifetime.
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"You obtained whatever you needed?" he asks when he hears the door open and Zak walk in, cracking one eye open.
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Bugger this for a game of skullbones. The drow went to clean his teeth.
On the bright side, the strange white paste that he had to use to do it tasted better than some of the things alchemists came up with, recently.
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The Antivan submerges himself, closing his eyes and holding his breath as he spends a surprisingly long period of time rinsing his hair out. Only when it's done to his satisfaction, and squeaks when he sticks his head back above water and rubs it between two fingers, does he wring it out and stand up, grabbing a towel to dry it.
He at least has the decency to turn his back, so that Zak isn't catching a look at his "best side" in the mirror. Patience may be a virtue that the Antivan rarely practices, but he's not incapable of it. It doesn't take long in any case, and when he's finished Zevran wraps the towel around his hips, climbing out of the tub and opening the drain.
"Just turn the light out, when you are finished?" he says, and then returns to the bedroom. He does not, curiously enough, seem to make even the slightest of sounds as he moves.
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