[Northumbria] The Meaning of Being Lyr Tlansson (Crimson)

[Lyr Tlansson]

Summer Era XXVI

It started with a letter. It wasn't a particularly auspicious start; what with the post being... well, nonexistent, it had taken the letter a long time to arrive in Demios, and then it had taken it even longer to find it's way into the hands to which it was directed. Lyr Tlansson was a hard man to find. Not least, because he had no very settled address at the moment, and "Lyr Tlansson, Demios" was not particularly descriptive. Perhaps it was more of a minor miracle that the letter arrived at all, even in its rather bedraggled condition; and then, minor miracle number two, Lyr actually got around to reading it!

It must have been the novelty. Lyr Tlansson did not receive many missives these brightenings (like, at all).

The contents was equally, if not more, surprising, however.

Greetings Lyr Tlansson. Foregive the delay in this message. I learned many eras ago that you once had a close bond with Master Khulan, Nimalni of Jaedaxia. You must be a very special human, if so. It took me many eras after learning this, however, to track you down. There are things you should know and that cannot be put into writing. Please come to see me. I live on the outskirts of Jaedaxia. Ask for "The Grey", and you will find me.

Minor miracle no. 3 arrived not very long thereafter, when Lyr finagled his way onto a boat headed for the jewel of the north, the so called "City of the Fates". It was something like an invisible pull, maybe, or maybe it was just depression and the growing feeling that Demios was becoming more and more inhospitable. There were only so many places to get drunk and pick a fight, only so many docks and so many dock-masters who's patience one could try, and at some point or another all the patience of all the dockmasters and innkeepers and bar tenders was going to run out. It was something of a sixth sense at this point, maybe, but Lyr felt that the time had come to.. move on.

Jaedaxia was not his favorite place, not by a looooong stretch. But it wasn't Demios. And Lyr wasn't sure he cared anymore. He'd lost Rose. He'd lost Lyn (although that was a long time ago now). Only Marcie remained, something of a shadow in the background - that is, a constant that one somehow always managed to forget was there - that didn't quite qualify, in Lyr's mind, as anything more. Why she'd stuck around for so long, only the gods themselves knew. She was the only one. And she didn't count. Or maybe, that's why she didn't count.

It was a depressing thought, if Lyr bothered to think about it. But he didn't.

 

[Crimson]

Chapter I: Miracles​

Lyr Tlansson was man with a very ...let's call it checkered past. But the fact that he had gotten this far without dying was a miracle. And after venturing south from Jaedaxia, falling upwards into a few government jobs #VagaranPrivilege, and becoming a privateer, all those broken roads led him back here. The City of Fates: where it all started and where it all began anew.

Jaedaxia was almost exactly like Lyr remembered. Even as they passed through the Strait of Libertas from Demios, his eyes could trace familiar castles and battlements. There was a timelessness about the city, a beauty that made the streets and historic stone structures seem almost frozen in a painting. This was preferred, of course, to being actually frozen. The Everwinter was only fun for a few cycles when schola was closed and the city's denizens enjoyed the novelty of snow and drinking hot chocolate everyday. Then the Everwinter continued for what felt like eras and Jaedaxians learned to adapt and thrive despite the frequent hail, black ice, and endless snow shoveling. Jaedaxians, for all their supposed pomp and independence, were a hardy breed. They were survivors.

Lyr was a survivor.

When the 'retired' thane and former sea rat arrived on the docks, he heard and caught the familiar blur of Jaedaxienne and Common being exchanged by the locals. The wind was colder here than in the Fire Isles and Lyr felt a familiar chill in his exposed skin and bones. Unlike the azure skies above the volcanic island he now called home, the clouds here on the northern edge of the Libertine Peninsula was always a stormy, brooding grey. Lyr could already smell the promise of rain in the air.

The usual band of suspects lined the Eastern Docks. There were hawkers selling their wares, hedge knights and mercs pawning their swords, beggars, drunkards, and whores. A few perfumed ladies even took a fancy to the big, blonde Vagaran when he passed. Even if their affections were for sale, these ones knew a good time when they saw one. A fishmonger was haggling with a little girl for payment while some bored-looking blokes were pulling handcarts full of fruits and vegetables.

"A copper for the poor", wailed an older woman to the new arrivals. "A copper for good fortune!"

Lyr saw that this hag was dressed in rags. Her silver-white hair was oily and wet. A couple of passing sailors accidentally splashed her with cold water when they marched through a puddle. The woman groaned, trying to massage the soaked wool with her tired fingers.

 

[Lyr Tlansson]

It had been... oh, how many eras now that he hadn't stepped foot in the City of Fates? Lyr had lost count. Or maybe he wanted to lose count, given the circumstances under which his last sojourn in the city had ended. Lyr studiously kept his mind away from the past and in the present. It was the only way to handle it - any of it.

Yeah, but even those non-thoughts deflated any sort of interest Lyr might have had in taking up the implicit offers of the few perfumed "ladies" giving him the look. Anyway, he was here for something else entirely.

Grounding himself in the familiar squawking of the hawkers and other assorted riff-raff lining the harbour, Lyr took a good look around himself. He'd made it. A bit lighter in the pocket from the passage - couldn't this "Grey" personage have had the decency to send him the fare for the voyage, if he was so bent on Lyr coming, anyway? - but here.

Get in, get out, get 'er done. Lyr was really not interested in dilly-dallying or reminiscing; not that he'd ever been the type to reminisce, but definitely not about this place. "Fethin' boot-lickers," Lyr huffed half under his breath as his eye landed on the bedragled old woman pestering the new arrivals for coppers. He knew the type; she'd be with the perfumed ladies if she could, but was too old for that now. So, she'd been reduced to the bottom rung of society throughout Aelyria, and probably all of Telath - begging.

At least Lyr had never sunk that low.

Grimacing, Lyr spat, bolstered by the small feeling of superiority that he didn't get to feel too often these brightenings. "Got nothing for your fortune, but I got a copper if ye know of a fellow who goes by the name of "The Grey," Lyr stepped in front of the old woman, ignoring her current plight. Former doxies deserved what they got in this life, Lyr was certain. However, there was also another certainty in life, which was that ladies of the night knew everything and anything that was to be known. Former ladies of the night being no exception. If one wanted to find something, or someone, as the case may be, there was nobody better to ask. The trick would be in getting a straight answer without prevarications or outright lies. To show he meant business, he jiggled his hand in his pocket, making the coppers in there jingle - couldn't have been more than two or three at best, but they could get the jingling job done.

 

[Crimson]

"The Grey?", repeated the crone. She was still trying to squeeze the water from her ruined wool clothes. But her eyes shone at the promise of copper jingling in Lyr's pockets.

She thought a moment before nodding suddenly at the realization. "Ah, yes. Heard of him. Some kind of priest. Wouldn't have wagered you for the religious type."

The woman's pale blue eyes studied Lyr for a moment then she stretched a dirty hand at him. "Pay first, hm? I can take you there myself. Make sure you're not lost, milord." She offered a toothy smile. "A copper now so I know you're good for it. Copper when I take you all the way?"

Rising perilously to her feet, the old woman's bones seamed to creak and strain at the effort. Her back was crooked and bent. Even at her full height, she seemed to small and fragile to the blonde Vagaran.

A couple of whores nearby managed to snag a pair of sailors. The newly formed quartet were now haggling loudly, determined to strike a good price for each other's company.

OOC: Please let me know when you want to pick this up again, Dina!