[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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"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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He put the item pouch and the weapons that he'd hidden in his clothing to go back downstairs, back in the neat pile of his other items.
He avoided looking at Zevran, and would wait for the other elf to dress before he did anything else.
"Which side of the bed are you taking?" he asked curiously, needing an answer to that before he could sleep.
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"The sunlight comes in the window, you see," he explains as he pulls off the towel dries his legs, and then tosses it neatly over a chair to dry. "I tend to wake up in response to it, so I will be able to pull the curtains so that it does not disturb you so much, should you still wish to sleep. I may take a late morning, myself. Time does not move for me back home, while I am here, and I could use the rest."
He does not make any move to get dressed. Instead, the Antivan flops down onto the mattress with a sigh, rolling onto his back and pulling the covers about halfway up his abdomen. He leans over and blows his lamp out, then folds his arms behind his head and closes his eyes halfway as he yawns.
There is, fortunately for Zak's sensibilities, still plenty of space left in the bed, added to which is the fact that Zevran is small; he also has little tendency to sprawl. Contact is unlikely, given that Zevran is not the sort to do anything without permission if he senses that his advances would not be received well.
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Unfortunately, he was very wrong, and the momentary glance he'd directed at the bed told him the Antivan was still naked, before he averted his eyes quickly.
The lack of light from the lamp that had been blown out didn't really affect the situation much, since the low burning fire was still painting the room gold and black.
The drow simply slipped in between the covers on his side of the bed, directed his gaze at the wall, before he closed his eyes and tried to slip into Reverie.
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But, he reflects as his eyelids grow heavy, a friend would be a welcome thing, and he and Zak do seem to have much in common. Friendship such as it exists in the Crows is not gained freely, and whether or not he realizes it, Zevran may well be trying to buy Zak's with kindness.
What surprises him is that in a world separate from rigid enforcement of the rules that govern Antiva's assassins, away from others of his kind, he's finding that he's not really expecting anything in return for his own. It is easy to be generous when the other person does not expect generosity, easy to be friendly when the other person would gain nothing by turning on you or competing with you.
It is something to think about, the Antivan decides. But there will be time for that later. For now, he curls slightly onto his right side and lets his eyes close the rest of the way, slipping into a sleep whose dreams he won't remember come the morning.
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