Long hours spent in Lomedor often witnessed the birth and death of many activities from fishing to trade to almost anything one could imagine, but few patrons of the city realized that there were lesser well-known patrons conducting activities not many considered normal. Indeed, few realized the true value of the written word. Most were concerned with practical trades such as carpentry, ship-building, or cartography. But wizards valued books and scrolls, candles and oil lamps, quills and ink bottles - and the power inherent in ancient languages and old scripts.

One such wizard, merely an apprentice, was buried in piles upon piles of massive books. Most of them were the size of paving stones, yet they were of all different varieties of color, shape, and contents. The silence would have been stifling for most, but Barras Rike was an exception. He was studying to be a wizard, after all, and such a task required silence - and a sense of balance. This was apparently something he didn't have, for as he tried to move his arm he bumped into the candlestick and, in trying to save it from setting the whole place on fire, knocked over a high stack of books that ended up creating a chain reaction. Next thing Barras knew, he was covered in books that were quickly burning. He managed to stamp out the fire, but now his robes and several books were smoking from the recent blaze. He grumbled in the darkness of the library, the evening sun having just touched the horizon. It began to sink quickly, but this side of the library seemed to be the first to be thrust into darkness.

He did managed to get up, though it took him a minute. He could be heard cursing and scrambling about as he slipped over a number of books strewn over the floor and fumbled with the candlestick. Unfortunately, he was out of matches - which only irritated him more.

"Blood and ashes!" he muttered angrily under his breath.

The library was one of Nathaniel's least favourite places. Huge and imposing, even the man of considerable height was meek compared to its daunting frame. The doors were also huge; ridiculously so, especially considering nothing of such height would ever need to enter this place. There was also the problem of patrons; the people in there were quick to turn up their noses to one such as him, and it wasn't good manners to draw a blade against them. With rugged clothing, thick hair and an untrimmed goatee that existed almost entirely out of laziness, he was the very antithesis of a book lover. His hands were rough and calloused, made for holding swords and maces; not for turning dainty little pages.

Then there was the more larger problem; he had a difficulty reading. Growing up he'd always been on the path of the warrior, so there'd been no need to get him schooling. It was only in his twenties, when his job consisted of reading forms and signing them that the skill had been needed. Hiring a tutor had been simple enough, but the job didn't last long enough for him to become extremely fluent. It took him a great amount of time to read simple sentences, and even at that he usually had to sound words out or ignore them altogether, trying to piece them in when he understood the context of the written sentences. It was not something he was proud of, but it wasn't like he needed to brush up on such skills anytime soon. His whole life had been fighting, and for the foreseeable future it would remain that way.

So why come here? Some odd celebration of victory? Lost, perhaps? No. He knew exactly why he was here, and like anyone he was studying for an upcoming test. One of strength, ability, and power. Nathaniel had learned of this place long ago, from his elder brother. Back then Gabriel had been fascinated by the arts of magic, especially the dark end of things. It was through him Nathaniel learned that one might find incantations and spells here, gaining an upper hand over the foe. Normally he was not interested in going out on a limb when the upcoming battle would last only a short time; but this could be a matter of life or death. After all, he was fighting a guardian. That was never a fun thing to do, no matter how you sliced it.

Yes, the Voice of Chaos, or so endearingly termed Sixth House, had survived their first match. The repulsive half orc had fallen before his and Nobunaga's combined might, succumbing to what was no doubt the overwhelming strength of Nobunaga. Stella, too, had ultimately been defeated. Though she could have lasted longer, the threat of rain had forced an early cap on the match, and the poor condition their opponents had been in marked them as the losers. Nathaniel had specifically sought Stella out to thank her for such a grand match, assuring her there were no hard feelings. In fact, he'd quite like to meet with her again some time, possible over lunch at an Inn. He wasn't interested in her that way, but he was interested in having her as a friend. She was a charming young woman with a bright personality, so uncommon in these dark and dreary days.

This second match had Nathan worried. They were to face a powerful dwarven creature; one renowned for strong weapons and a stronger arm. His partner was none other than the guardian of water herself. Without any options for armour, he needed to find a creative way to ensure he would be safe from them. Nobunaga was strong, but he couldn't take them both at once. There was also the disadvantage of not knowing where they were to fight, which meant they could easily end up on a lake or a boat. Such thoughts made him sick to his stomach, but also stood as a reminder that he couldn't simply rely on the environment this time. The magic of Stella had almost crippled him last time; he wouldn't let such a flaw surpass him this round.

So it was with purpose he strode into the round building, a few looking to his coarse appearance and others ignoring him altogether. He offered them the full force of his disdain and disgust for them, lips pulled into a frown. He was here to investigate the spells section, and see if he couldn't find anything to do with water. Perhaps if he could make some sort of shield against it, or force it to disintegrate...

WHUUF!! The noise made him halt, immediately going into a defensive stance as something caught flame. In the jungles there'd been fire and he'd nearly died, and the element still set him on edge. Of course, when he realized where it was coming from, he calmed down. None of the people around had so much as flinched. With irritation he let his eyes scroll over the mannequin-like readers, then strode once more towards the spell-casting selection; right where the smoke had drifted from. By the time he entered the fire was out, and what little smoke was left was gone. Darkness filled it, a few shreds of moonlight passing in through the window.

"Blood and ashes!" Muttered someone, and quickly he spun on his heels to see who. There, in the half light, he could make out a shadowed frame. Shorter than him, but with strong shoulders and a straight back that spoke of both pride and his gender. "You're supposed to read them," Nathaniel said with deliberate slowness, each word stressed and drawled as if he were explaining it to a small child. "Not burn them." He crossed what distance there was, his eyes adjusting to the lack of light in the room. "There's a place near Drital for that." For a moment it seemed he would introduce himself.

Then he turned sharply, striding to the book case and running his fingers along the spines. Quietly he hummed to himself, eyes scanning for a title that could catch his eye. Something with resistance written on it... That was spelt 'r' 'e' 's', right?

Barras started and blinked. His eyes hadn't yet adjusted to the sudden darkness - evident by his fumbling with the candlestick and such - and all he saw was a towering figure with what looked like weapons staring down at him, light reflecting off eyes staring at him with malice. He returned the scowl he could not see with one of his own almost immediately. It didn't take a Master to figure out what he was, though what he was doing in a place like this was beyond Barras.

"What would you know, warrior?" he asked rudely, his opinion of the barbaric arts of combat and physical warfare obviously beneath him as he revealed his opinion of the man speaking to him in his sarcastic emphasis on the final word. "And what in the Nine Hells are you doing here? This is no place for weapons, you bloodthirsty barbarian."

He followed the man's enormous shadow with his eyes as the man stepped past him and headed for the bookshelves. Barras sneered. The man was obviously a bit slow from his speech, and yet he was trying to read books? Hmph. Well, it wasn't his business anyway. If the man wanted to look at the pretty pictures, that was his thing. Barras, though, had real work to get back to. He grumbled as he started picking up the books and papers, setting the candlestick on the edge of the large table without looking at it. It fell off after he removed his hand and thumped him painfully on the head.

"Ow!" he cried out, rubbing his head. He started mumbling again as he returned to the task of returning the contents of the floor to the table. "Stupid, bloody candlesticks...would've been better off just casting a spell, but noooo. Can't do that outside of class..."

The rest of his mumbling was incoherent at best.

Bloodthirsty barbarian? Oh, he's certainly a fiesty one. Sure, Nathaniel was quite used to being looked at like the scum of Arda, but being spoken to like it was quite different. Who was this man to speak in such a tone anyways? He hardly looked like much; flailing about like some headless chicken. He doubted the other had been here much if he was so clumsy; and yet, perhaps he was simply always clumsy and others didn't have the heart to tell him off. Nathaniel chose not to either; though his reason laid more in the realm of not wanting to waste breath on the ignorant fool. Not when he was busy, and the other was protected by laws from the sharp blade at Nathan's side.

Nathaniel quickly learned that apparently none of the books said 'resistance'. Or at least, none of the ones he could see in such poor lighting. However, he did notice a few with 'water' written on them (clearly misspelled, for everyone knew it was spelt 'whatur') and decided to go out on a limb and assume it meant the same thing it sounded like. Pulling the first few to catch both his eye and the moonlight, he strode past Barras without so much as a glance. Near the window a steady stream of moonlight poured in, and he reasoned that he could stand in it to read.

Simple movements and voila, he could see the books in his hand. All blue, naturally, with golden trim and letters that flowed like the element they taught. He opened the cover of the first one he'd picked up, scanning the contents. One more he was looking for resistance. There was something about shields (like sheelds, he should imagine) and many pages on summoning. But none were clearly labelled resistance, and he felt frustration creep in as he tried to think of another term for what he needed. It was a shame he thought better while inebriated, for there was not a drop to be found here.

Just as he was considering yelling at the other for the poor lighting, a clunk sounded followed by the jostled cry. Nathaniel turned with some reluctance to regard him, eyeing him with clear dissatisfaction. It appeared he'd somehow managed to hit his head, the shorter man bent down over the floor to collect the books he'd dropped. He was about to dismiss him entirely, the spectacle little more than irritating, but something about classes was mentioned. Classes? This man was a student? He looked a little old to be taking up such a hobby, and a little arrogant for so humbling a place. Nathaniel afforded him a sneer. "Would this be the class that teaches you to set things on fire, boy?"

Well, that would answer his question of age. How he would react would speak volumes of his age. Once more he showed only disinterest in the other though, for before he could speak he once more turned away and regarded the book, flipping through pages. Something about 'under water' had caught his eye. Perhaps it would help one become an avid swimmer, or resist the ill effects of seasickness? It was a pity he hadn't consulted this when he'd been young and on many a sailing adventure. It would have saved him many a lunch.

"Breathe under water, eh?" Well now, that was most interesting indeed. Unfortunately, the rest of the page was written in the same flowing script as the title, and he had somedifficulty making out the words. Perpetual squinting, head tilting and even tilting it into odd angles in the light didn't appear to help much. It was a shame. Pehraps he should have brought someone else along with him, someone who could read? That very Stella he'd battled was probably literate, and what was more she seemed to gentle to be judgemental. She probably would have been a grand choice as far as a reading buddy went.

Then again, she'd already done so much for him. She'd lended him her cloak, one known as winter's embrace. It was capable of freezing enemies on contact, and even covered weaponry in a thin sheet of ice so that every blow was that much more painful. There was also the staff she'd loaned him, one with spiked maces on either end and a build of some sturdy metal. It was ornately design, and fit for the most wealthiest of nobles. Though it faired best against evil enemies, it would also pack a punch for those of good alignment when the need arose.

And that was to speak nothing of the spell she'd shown him. Careful gestures and words would allow him to mimic her magic, a sort of reflective trick. It would do no good in the long run, for he didn't know how to perform it; he was tapping directly into the motions and words she used to summon it. In essence it was still her own ability, and as the following battle faded he didn't doubt the memory of such incantations would as well, leaving him without the spell. But in the meantime, she had taught him how to concentrate more dutifully upon things, and resist having his mind read. She really was a kind one, and he owed her greatly. Asking her to come along and read this gibberish would have been mean.

Assuming the other revealed his age, Nathaniel would ask simply, "Isn't it past your bedtime?" Possible he would turn to the other, keeping a hidden smirk to himself as his dark eyes looked black in the night. If not, the tall warrior would remain silent, standing in the white light and trying to decode the secrets of breathing under water. The light upon him framed his body, giving it a strong outline in the otherwise dark room.

He had just gotten the last of the books stacked back up (just as precariously as before, of course) and was slamming the candlestick onto the table in irritation when he heard the comment by the other man about his class. He straightened up with a sneer.

"Oh, I'm quite gifted in the ways of magic, my dear simpleton. You should have no doubt about that."

For in his mind, all warriors were simpletons. Better to destroy an army with a storm of fireballs and a hail of lightning bolts than to bloody oneself trying to chop someone up with a sword or an axe.

"Just because I'm not allowed to use it outside of class due to my present state of Apprenticeship means nothing. It's the mundane that irks me. And what are you looking for, anyway?"

"Oh, I'm quite gifted in the ways of magic, my dear simpleton. You should have no doubt about that." The words were spoken with such arrogance, such pride. Clearly the other thought highly of himself; his words dripped of it. Funny, Nathaniel had always imagined the magicians of the world to be more open to others and less ignorant. This fool was proving otherwise. To call him a simpleton? Him? Nathaniel Rystoff? When he'd held rank and title in this fair city no one would have dared even thought such unsavory things, much less spoke them. The nobles had done well to force his identity into the realm of forgotten lore.

There was also the issue f the fact the other had little faith in his magical prowess. Calling him a barbarian and simpleton proved as much. So he thought he was an illiterate buffoon, relying solely on the blade? Ha! Very well, then. Let him keep his ridiculous notions. Nathaniel had more important things to do, such as deciphering this page. He'd gotten as far as words needed to invoke it (Odd, for how could one speak while under water?) when the other spoke. "Just because I'm not allowed to use it outside of class due to my present state of Apprenticeship means nothing. It's the mundane that irks me."

Naivety, foolishness. These traits seemed to ebb from the others words as well. One who sought magic so as to escape the balance of every day living was doomed to a life of violence and failure, the fiery lifestyle always leading down the same road. There was a quality he enjoyed about that though, the chaos of such hectic living appealing to him on a carnal level. Some ancient feeling was awakened by it, an old bloodlust better left shackled and abandoned, to rot and waste in a cellar. Nathaniel indulged it every now and then, but kept the immense satisfaction from such things to himself.

"...what are you looking for, anyway?" The words were enough to pull him from his silent contemplations, and slipping his forefinger onto the word he'd been reading he closed the book on his hand, keeping his place marked. He regarded the other quietly for a while, eyeing him up and down as he judged him. There was no true bulk or weight to him, and clearly he was one of spells and not the kind to be physical and upfront. In fact, he'd likely learned magic out of a lazy desire to avoid even more work. His clumsy mannerisms spoke of a notable distance from the battle field, and Nathaniel wondered briefly if this might have been the first time he'd even seen a true warrior.

He's jealous, no doubt.

"I'm discovering how one goes about avoiding the rather nasty side effect of drowning, should you go against the Woman of Water and Mistress of the Sea. Merenwen, Guardian Extraordinaire, seeks a battle. All in the name of sport." He didn't know why he was rambling on like this, but regardless of whether or not the other cared it was helping him to figure out how he felt on the issue. "The Tournament; the infamous Duel of the Sixteen Conquerors. If she is to be beat, I will need to rely on more than my..." He paused, biting his lip as he grew silent and went into mock contemplation.

"Simple mind." Nathaniel finally breathed, the words slipping past with oer-annunciation. Though it seemed odd he would consider himself even now, the fact he was part of the tournament was an important note. Everyone in Lomedor knew of it; even lowly book keepers had come to the festivities held before the matches began. Even now, supposedly one of the judges was none other than a book lover. So then, it stood to reason that this peon would also know of it. If he didn't then he was truly less cultured than Nathaniel had expected; and no doubt was far less skilled in the magical arts than he.

Again he opened the book, eyes scanning the page as he drawled; "And you? I imagine it is not to brush up on the skills of extinguishing fires." There was no humor to his tone, or smile on his lips. Still, the guttural rasp acquired from years of shouting orders seemed somehow less malicious. Though he wasn't interested in being friends, he was willing to be civil for now. Obviously he would have to be, if this other man was keen on setting things aflame.

I wonder why he has a beard? Nathaniel had always been raised that facial hair showed the transcendence from lad to man. Socially, that was usually achieved when the apprentice completed the training of their master. When he had been a young squire he'd been clean-shaven, and then shortly after knighthood he became more and more scruffy until eventually he had a beard. When he disliked that he shaved it to solely being a goatee. He'd contemplated a mustache, but he found the temperature awkward in comparison, his chin growing colder faster than his upper lip.

The mustache? Well, that was obvious. Shaving above the lip was hard at best, and one was almost always guaranteed to nick the flesh when the mirrors they used were greasy and the razor blades dulling. Instead he simply saw to keeping it trimmed when it began to grow out too much, keeping the ends from curling. It was hard to imagine such work went into such a coarse looking feature, but then there were many habits Nathaniel performed to ensure he upkept his appearance, as hard as it was to believe most of the time.

Even his hands, cracked and rough, were washed and lathered as often as he may partake in the simple pleasure. His hair was brushed regularly, though it usually was pointing in all manner of direction and beaded down by sweat as soon as the day's end arrived. Even his teeth he tried to keep from being knocked out in bar room brawls. And why? Not to look attractive, that was for sure.

No, simply because Nathaniel was an arrogant man by nature and enjoyed the sight of himself almost as much as another.

"Oh, that," he mumbled, his words barely audible even in the silence that had descended upon the library at this hour. It was not so very late, of course, though most had returned to their homes by this time. But the mages here kept the library open (and well-protected, should the need arise) at all hours for people like Barras. He straightened his robes again as the man spoke once more, though this time it was to appear important.

"I, sir, am studying various complex and difficult-to-grasp principles of advanced arcane magical branches. It's a tedious study, but an important one. The fact that my Master has even assigned me such studies shows he has great confidence in my abilities. As for the tournament...I hope the guardian wins. Neanderthal," he finished under his breath.

He disappeared and returned almost immediately with another candle. He set it down on the table, sat on the chair, and moved his chair closer to the table to return to his studies...

It was certainly a good thing that this place was guarded at all hours by mages. For otherwise, Barras might have found himself with a blade through his face. The man was incredibly infuriating, both in his insults and his self assurances. Nathaniel, being a man of physical quality, also despised those who cared so little for the base things of self image. It wasn't a quality of appearance; the boy could have had a bear down to his knees for all he cared, rather it was the awkward movements. It was as if he were a new babe in this world, not yet adjusted to the flesh hidden under a wizard's so oft. stereotyped robe. Clearly the magician was one of words; how could he gesture correctly when he couldn't do something as simple as read books?

"I, sir, am studying various complex and difficult-to-grasp principles of advanced arcane magical branches. It's a tedious study, but an important one. The fact that my Master has even assigned me such studies shows he has great confidence in my abilities. " The warrior gave a dismissive snort. Difficult to grasp principles? Like holding a candle in one hand and a book in the other, for instance? The "master" had likely sent this fool here to be rid of him, and avoid the loud-mouthed moron. Still, it was not those words that might have inspired him to attack the other, but the following. " As for the tournament...I hope the guardian wins. Neanderthal."

The last part had been muttered, but the man was quick to pick up on small details. One of the feats he'd learned in life, that helped ensure he didn't die in the face of adversary. He doubted that the aspiring wizard would have cared as much, as he'd made no attempt to hide his insults previously. "Aligned with water, eh? Hmph. I suppose you could call that," He nodded towards the charred books and robe. "As karma." The other disappeared, and he moved into the light to try and read the rest of the page. When the other returned he looked to the now glowing candle with desire. He knew not where to find another, for this place was new, and to ask would only invite insult.

"Little boys shouldn't play with fire." He informed the other rudely, marching over and grasping the golden candlestick and drawing it away. Gruffly he moved near the moonlight once more, holding the candle somewhat over the book. A few drips of wax hit the page, and with an irritated scowl he tried to maneuver the two items. Apparently carrying things in both hands was harder than it looked. Still, with some awkward positioning he finally had it over the wording enough to read it, and began trying to memorize the incantation. First the vocal part, then the gestures. Gestures were always more complex, but they were great for subtle uses. A shame the written word wasn't more explicit with diagrams. Or any books, for that matter; he did enjoy a good book with pictures here and there.

"Perhaps you should return to your master and inform him you are a failure," Nathaniel told the other conversationally. "I'm sure he'd understand." Clearly Rystoff's opinion of the other was no better. He was almost tempted to use one of his darker abilities on the enfant, but he had a headache already and didn't wish to use up any energy on the pint. If he really became a problem then Nathaniel could 'accidentally' shove him right through the window. The fall likely wouldn't kill him, but it'd leave a terribly nasty bruise, if not jostle a few bones.

Octen mere von. What in blazes does that mean? With a tired sigh he continued examining the page, trying to decipher the gesture as best he could.

"Hey! Bufoon," he muttered.

He folded his arms over his chest. Now he was irritated. First the brute had the gall to scorn him, and now he'd stolen his light source. He sighed and looked at the man. Well, what the hell...he was out of a way to read the books anyway.

"You know, if you're going to fight a guardian, you should at least try to distract her. I'd brush up on how to cast a Phantom Blade spell if I were you."

He said nothing more, only stared at the man with scorn of his own. Indeed, the man was a warrior trying to learn magic. Such things didn't mix for a reason, and he seriously doubted the man could even figure out what section the book for such spells was in - let alone how to actually cast the spell.

"Phantom blade?" Nathaniel asked slowly, words almost lost into the book he held close. "What's that?" His voice clearly showed he was focusing on something else at the same time, as he tried to commit the pages to memory. He'd already read two pages of interest, and now it was a matter of commiting them to memory. Once more his eyes, a brilliant shade of blue in the glowing candelight nearby, roved the pages. Then he snapped the book shut, a loud bang sounding from it. Turning towards the other he strode over, his steps slow and lazy. His boots scuffed along the planked floor.

"Here, you can have that back." Nathaniel set the candle back on the table. "I have all I need. For now." Moving to the book shelf he grasped a chair near it, the legs screeching as he dragged it along the floor and to the table. "But I'll be waiting here just the same, in case I need to use it again." He didn't mention the fact he should've brought his spell book so he could copy it down, because that was information the other didn't need. Instead, he sat down onto the wood, then slammed the candlestick down on the middle of the table. The force was enough to send a few drops of hot wax flying, most of which landed on the desk. A few others landed on a pile of papers, and one landed on a book. It wasn't that big of a deal, considering once it cooled it'd rub off easily. It was just the carelessness of the action that truly stood out.

"So what does your 'Master' call you, boy? Servant?" A grin curved his lips and brought colour to his cheeks, but it was lost in the dull lighting. Without any respect in his frame he kicked his feet up onto the end of the table, then with his weight set leaned back in the chair so only the hind legs remained on the floor. Still touched with amusement, he traced along the book with his forefinger. He was thinking, which was always easier when you were enjoying yourself. Right now he had to figure out where he might find water from. After all, how was he to know if he was protected or not?

"So, studying complex spells, yeah? Would that include water magic?" Nathaniel shifted in his seat, regarding the other curiously. If he could attack him with water, Nathaniel could properly ensure he had the spells down. By the looks of it the other wouldn't mind harming him, either. Nasty little tramp. I suppose everything serves a purpose in the end, though. BANG! The front legs of the chair slammed down hard against the wood, the sudden noise deafening in the once gloomy silence of the room. It could have only been better placed had lightening illuminated the room at that very moment. "I would do it myself, but water magic isn't something I'm keen for. I hear the guardian of it is an absolute di..." He coughed, correcting himself. "Very beautiful."

As if struck with a sudden burst of energy he got up, grasping the candle away from the other once again. This time he took the candlestick itself, forsaking the use of the holder. As a result hot wax ran down onto Nathaniel's hand, running down onto his thumb and in the opposite direction, down the backs of his fingers. It wasn't a pleasant sensation, but the calloused hands barely felt it and he knew that it would dry right soon enough.

Moving over to an unlit lamp on the wall, he pressed the candle to it. Immediately the thing burst with life, illuminating a small section. In that way Nathaniel continued, disappearing into the darkness and behind book shelves, only to be illuminated moments later as a lamp was lit. Dusty tomes would suddenly stand out, though the crevices between a half fallen book and the shelf was as pitch black as ink. Lighting the place was a long process despite these dark corners remaining, and though he could've righted the books to eliminate the shade he chose not to, eventually satisfying his craving of light and returning to the main table.

Once there Nathaniel tried to fit the candle back into its holder, but sadly the candle was bent and showed signs of morphing near the bottom half. For all his "immunity" to the pain, his hand had clenched when the wax had initilly touched him, and he'd squeezed the bottom so tightly that the white item would wobble if he put it back into the golden chalice. A dangerous idea, even with the most careful of scholars around.

With Barras, it was sure to be problematic. Which was perhaps why he put it back in anyways. The chaos of it wobbling, the flame dancing madly and the off chance Rike would make it fall seducing his senses and better thought process. Slowly he sat down, this time neglecting to put his feet up. "There, now we don't need to sha..." Nathaniel's words died, his eyes catching sight of a web in the corner of the shelves. A spider sat in the middle of it, trying to look menacing. Perhaps it'd have a meal, perhaps not. Either way, Nathaniel was content to let it be so long as it didn't draw near.

In fact, Nathaniel rather admired spiders. Like him, their mission in life was to keep other species in check. They devoured the mercilessly, regardless of gender, age or status and made a meal into the bargain. He wasn't fond of their cannibalism, but such base creatures could not be expected to be entirely perfect.

Dark eyes turned once more to Barras', and he opened the hand that'd been holding the candle as wide as it'd go, flexing the muscles there. The white wax upon his flesh was white, almost translucent, and crackled and peeled with the gesture. Then he flicked his wrist, letting the small shavings fall to the floor. Those that remained were picked off slowly with his other hand, dark eyes sliding down the body of Barras to his own large hand.

((And just a forenote...it's pronounced 'BEAR-us', emphasis on bear. :p ))

"A blade that floats freely and fights alongside the caster," he said in a monotone response to the big oaf's half-hearted query.

The man was probably trying to figure out how to read. Barras didn't bother to hide his sneer as he thought about that, but the warrior didn't seem to notice as he continued on - until he abruptly slammed the book shut and replaced it on the shelf. He scowled at the barbarian's next words, though.

"Barras," he replied in a dark tone, trying hard not to grit his teeth or add a biting comment to the end of that simple, single-worded statement.

The man was truly infuriating. So he was a bit clumsy. Had the man before him not made a comment about it, he wouldn't have had a problem with him; he would have been all too happy if he'd just remained silent. But the man seemed eager to infuriate him. Perhaps that was his entire point of being here. Whatever his reason for being in a library, of all places, he was an idiot to be sure.

"I'm mostly studying the principles of magic on other planes of existence. Primarily fire and darkness magic, if you must know, and quite a bit of magic dealing with summoning, wind, and electricity as well. As I said, some of the concepts are quite difficult to grasp. Magic here is not like magic on other planes, though it is derived from them..."

He stopped abruptly as the man got up and went to relight the candles. He snorted as the man did so. Why was he even bothering? He should be getting back to his studies, not conversing with some idiot who probably didn't even know what a book was before setting foot in the library.

"Hm, fair enough." Nathaniel muttered, pulling the last shreds of the wax off. They fell to the floor easily, disappearing as soon as it fell out of the light. The floor was still cloaked in shadows, despite Nathaniel's attempt to be rid of them. "What other planes would you want to use magic on, though? Not interested in this one?" He did a good job of keeping from something along the lines of 'there's MORE planes than this one???', or 'like the plains of the desert?'.

Glancing around the room, he tried to spy out some form of basin. Nathaniel needed to practice his spell, and the only way he would be able to tell if he could breath underwater would be for him to actually find water to dunk his head into. Of course, things like that were always easier said than done; weren't they? The chair groaned as he shifted uncomfortably, eyeing Barras one more time.

"So how old are you, anyways? You can't be more than, what? Fifteen?" Withdrawing his sword, he set his precious weapon on the wooden table to stare at his own reflection. It gleamed orange where the light hit it the hardest, and where it wasn't too dark certain shapes could be made out. It was more or less faded from age and use though, so using it as a mirror was pointless. Not that Nathaniel much minded.

Reaching in his coat he pulled out a small cloth, wiping along the side of the blade as he waited for Barras reply, expecting nothing but a biting remark once more. He really was desperate if he would put up with this fool's company.

Indeed, Barras opened his mouth to snap at the man. Fifteen? He was insulted at best. Perhaps he was only a few years older than that, but that only made the insult sting more. Did this man have no diplomacy? Did he know nothing of the subtle ways of the common tongue? No, of course not. The fool was clearly no scholar as he drew his long, slender blade and began to polish it, apparently admiring his reflection in what little was not rusted, dented, or chipped away from years of hard use. This man was a fool. Such mundane weapons wore away so easily. It did make Barras a little nervous seeing that blade pulled out in such close proximity to him, for it could still be dangerous, but he had great confidence in his abilities - as did Master Tannes - and he wasn't about to doubt them just because some fool was cleaning his sword less than three feet from him.

He snapped his mouth shut to bite back a retort and decided to answer the man's question. Not that he wanted to save his life or anything - he really did hope the guardian's magic destroyed him so swiftly that his miserable corpse wouldn't even be worth burying - if there was anything left of him to bury. He might have been a bit arrogant, but Barras was no fool. If the man wanted to commit suicide by challenging a guardian, by all means - let him.

"Should I feel the need to ascend or descend from the Prime Material Plane of existence into another, such knowledge will be useful, but magic can also be drawn from such places. Such magic is often far more powerful than the magic derived from this plane."

"Ah. Such as being able to balance right?" Nathaniel grinned at the other, then looked down at his nails to examine them critically. They were somewhat blackened and thoroughly chipped from constant use, and he found himself wondering how they might look were he to let them grow out. The effort wouldn't be worth it though, for it meant he'd need to be more careful with his tankards and swords. Ah well, not everyone could be as delicious as that Vaudeux.

"So you're a book worm then, eh? Busy studying and listening?" Nathaniel chuckled, setting his feet on the ground. "Too young for fun, I guess. I guess it'll come." Indeed, he couldn't imagine a fate much worse than being stuck reading all day. Momentarily he was affected by pity for the other, though it melted away like the wax of the candle. "What would you do, boy, if someone took your magic away? How then would the planes help you?" Nathaniel kept his voice to a soft drawl, not revealing the fact he was capable of just such crippling magic.

"Don't you keep a knife or nothing on you?" Putting his cloth away he finished with his blade, re-sheathing it. The thing had saved his life more times than he could count, and he cared more for its safety than his own. Nathaniel couldn't imagine having it pried away with him, having to fight without it. In a way, he assumed the young wizard felt the same towards magic; a connection that transcended any silly terminology two humans might whisper in the dark of night. Foolish children was all they were.

Standing up he stalked to the book shelf, a spider scampering away as he touched a dusty tome. Slowly his finger edged over the cover of it, wiping away the collected dust to reveal the title. His eyebrows knit in the thought as he tried to read it, but it was more or less beyond his comprehension. With a soft sigh he turned from it and back to Barras, one foot up on the shelf and the other firmly on the ground. Crossing his arms, he tried to measure the worth of the boy.

The man examined his nails as he spoke. Personally, he preferred libraries. They were quiet and the solitude was more than worth the trouble he went through to memorize all the information he had been assigned to memorize. Besides that, he was always eager to learn more. It was the one thing that set him apart from the other students: they wanted power right then and there; they didn't want to go through the antics of learning how to control it. Barras, however, wanted something more than mere power: power and knowledge. With enough power, one could overthrow a diety. But what was the point in power if you couldn't control or manipulate it? What was the point if you couldn't use it more to manipulate others rather than just destroying them outright? There was a method to Barras' seeming madness, after all.

Barras smirked. Clearly, the man knew nothing of magic at all. Perhaps a bit, but not enough to prove worthwhile. Indeed, spells weren't the only source of magic. In fact, they were the least common of magical sources. Most of the magical items in this world came from other planes of existence and many of them were far too powerful to be offset by even the strongest spells. Obviously, this barbaric monster of a man didn't know anything about that kind of thing - which, naturally, would prove to be his defeat should he ever face off against Barras or Barras' master.

"I have certain...advantages that do not require magical effort on my part. They are more than worthy of your attention, I'm sure. Let's hope you never have to see them."

"Advantages?" Nathaniel sounded intrigued, betraying himself. "Such as...?" His voice was a honey-doused purr, the man slowly easing back towards the table. He pulled the chair out, sitting down on it and regarding the dark eyes of the other. "I am not... magically inclined. I far rather a good stabbing to the face. By all means, do let me know what makes your method more better?" Complete lies, though there was no way for Barras to know. Not only was Rysoff thoroughly trained in using his words to convince others of things, it was almost impossible to read his thoughts through magical means. Playing the weak mouse was always best though, it tended to lure the lion out into the open where it could be dispatched.

As far as magic went... He was indeed interested in it. Nathaniel was as proffecient in magic as any budding mage, even at the expense of becoming the most powerful fighter seen in the land. Nathaniel was aware that strength could be derived from far more than a blade; that the less blood shed the more stronger you were. Even stabbing people in the face wasn't something he regularly entertained; he hated fighting without reason and enjoyed goading others with his words. The same principle as magic served; defeating an enemy without shedding a single drop of their blood took skill and practice. Any brute with a blade could hack into someone; not everyone could whisper their mortal existence away right into their ears.

Nathaniel was sneaky, and under-handed. Luckily he wasn't outright evil, or he would have a larger body count. He never killed anyone he didn't believe thoroughly deserved what was coming to them, and he never went against his conscience. Of course, that little voice had grown more and more quiet over the last little while and he was having difficulty hearing it over the soft buzz of rasping roaches. Not that he'd noticed the decline. "How long have you been studying magic... planes.. whatever, then?" Deciding to play into the low opinion he let the other assume whatever he wanted. If he came to the conclusion Nathaniel was a moron all the better; the lower his expectations the more he could shock him when the time came.

((LMAO This is getting...weird. Let's hope your char doesn't end up putting a blade in mine. XD ))

Again came the smirk. Again came the look of utterly supreme arrogance. Again, the feeling of massive superiority washed over the mage's Apprentice as he looked upon this fine specimen of a warrior. Yet fighting could only do so much, and indeed it was much better to kill from a safe distance than to splash your body with the blood of your victims and rain their other bodily fluids down upon the ground. That, of course, was where magic came in. For example, though it burned him to hold it for some odd reason, Barras had recently acquired an object that could actually kill by sending out blinding flashes of white-hot light. He'd sold the object, of course, and for a great deal of money at that, but the fact of the matter was that when you could blind someone so badly that it literally burned their eyes and gave them a headache so intense that their brain quite literally exploded from the pressure of the incoming light, it was no wonder that mages did not wield steel and iron instead of hickory, ash, juniper, and the occasional gem or ring.

But the buffoon could not possibly know this. He was an idiot. And yet...there was suddenly a gleam of intelligence in his eyes, one Barras hadn't noticed before. His smirk faded and his eyes narrowed as his brows furrowed slightly in confusion. Perhaps this man was not so stupid as he had thought him; there seemed to be a certain - feeling of magic about him that he hadn't felt before. His Master had mentioned this, of course - how one could sense the aura of another, particularly if they were of strong magical talent - but this man was a warrior, not a mage. How could he have magical powers?

Regardless, the man's inquiry of the number of Barras' years as a mage's Apprentice amused him. He had not been a mage's Apprentice long, but he had been one long enough to recognize more than a few spells here and there.

"Long enough," was all he said to the man in response to his question, though, for the man didn't need to know that he had studied constantly and intently the ways of the arcane practices for better than three - in fact, almost four - years straight now. He was finally becoming a competent spell-caster in his Master's eyes, and he was finally about to be given a quest - hence his present studies. He was quite an accomplished wizard despite his being only an Apprentice, and even Master Tannes couldn't ignore that fact.

The corners of his lips twisted into a bemused smile at the retort. "Fair enough. Do you ever grow... hm," Nathaniel waved his hand around, as if the action would summon the words he sought. "Do you ever grow bored? I imagine knowing everything would be dreadful. What will motivate you when you exceed what knowledge exists? When you perfect your craft? Is the satisfaction of success enough for you?" His words seemed friendly enough, but each breath brought the bite of winter to glitter in his eyes.

The boy's amusing. He could be useful, but I'm not certain he's worth the risk... With a viper's lash he slammed his hand down upon the book Barras had been holding, shoving it against the desk harshly and obscuring any words he could have hoped to read. "So where are all your friends, if you are so grand? Why have they not stepped forth as well?" Nathaniel glanced about mockingly, then leaned in close. "I don't believe you have allies. I don't believe you have a master. You just came here to read and try to inflate yourself, didn't you?"

A grin touched the warrior's lips, who leaned back in his chair. It groaned as two legs lifted, the man's perching upon the end of the table. "I think you are a liar. And, further more, I don't believe you're half the wizard you claim to be." BAM! The rickety chair hit the ground again, though it was accompanied with a groan. Any more movements such as that would likely shatter the frame. "Unless you'd like to prove me wrong?" He smiled, rising with a slow grace that entirely mocked his previous speed. Then he moved behind his chair, resting his hands on it.

"Well, child? Or are you too great a coward to face me?" He rubbed the back of his hand on his jacket, then examined his nails. "I understand if you are; my presence must be thoroughly daunting for one such as you." Nathaniel was goading him, naturally, playing the part. He wanted to test the integrity of the other, see just how far he would twist. Really, it was an act of kindness.

((Ouch, short one. Sorry!))

((Nah, don't be...that's about my size! XD ))

Barras didn't even blink as the man's massive hand slammed into the book, obscuring its words. In truth, though, Barras had ceased to read when this idiot showed his ugly face. Indeed, he was starting to grow quite bored with the whole affair. The man seemed wholly intent on provoking a fight. Such was often the way of barbarians, he reminded himself silently, though it didn't do much to improve his mood. In fact, the man's sudden proposal only served to prove his point that warriors were bloodthirsty cretins with nothing better to do than start fights.

Barras rolled his eyes at the man. If he busted the chair, he'd have a an Archmage to deal with - for no mere wizard could hold the office of Librarian here. There was far too much at stake. What if a spell was to go wrong? Someone had to clean it up, after all - and wasn't that an Archmage's job? To clean up others' messes? They would be infuriated by such insinuations, of course, but that's really what their whole job boiled down to. Nonetheless, they held an unchallengeable level of power over most magicians: politically, socially, and magically, they were far superior to even the greatest of mere mages.

Barras stood and stretched without saying a word, ending with a sigh of slight exasperation. He went over to the window and looked out, placing one hand in the other behind his back. Yet, as with all mages, he was far from defenseless. Actually, he was already preparing a spell. One needed words and motions only to cast the spell; to prepare it was simply to ready it in one's mind. Barras in particular was quite skilled at lining up a swift series of spells and wrapping them into a system of quick key words that unleashed them with ferocious and deadly speed and efficiency. It was one of the reasons he was so deadly in combat. But all he said as he gazed out at the darkened lands before him was the following:

"You have just proved my point. I have my interests, yes, but you - you are truly bloodthirsty. You are insistent upon starting a fight. I would not waste my time on one such as yourself, for you are nothing more than a primitive example of a fool whose sword has gone to his head."

"A fool? Ah, perhaps." Nathaniel grinned good-naturedly, though it was dripping with sinister intent. "But then, what are you, who hides behind words? You claim you serve a grand master, yet speak not his name? You claim to be powerful, but you back down from battle." The warrior approached the turned Barras slowly, like a shadow stalking light. Bathed in the fire's glow, his appearance was grisly indeed. Sunken eyes, hollow cheeks; all played illusions by the light, but it was still frightening. A crackle of lightening outside split the skies and lit the room, though not a tear fell from the clouds. "You intrigue me, stranger. For you are so utterly uninformed."

Then he stopped approaching, standing a few feet from Barras'. He'd left the arc of his back to instead stand straight, shoulders parallel to the ground and eyes straight ahead. A smirk still twirled on his lips, though it was hard to see in this light. "Still. I suggest you be wary of who you flaunt such comments to. A lesser man might have run you through by now." Nathaniel quirked a brow, crossing his arms. As if to mock Nathaniel the rain began to fall, pittering against the window pane and threatening to burst through with every pang. The human paid it no heed, instead interested in watching the man who stood in front of it. An infuriating lad, and in his younger days he might have attacked him. But this place wasn't meant to be defiled in such a way, and the rotten blood of the other would likely smell akin to dung and cling to his clothing for weeks. Better to let him have his fun.

A grimace touched Nathaniel, and forlornly he threw a glance back to the nearby table. The books he'd been interested in had been abandoned, and he'd already decided he would either succeed in the tournament or he would not. Pouring over books all night would do no good, and even know he felt the whispers of lore tingling in his fingertips. The pinprick sensation had been uncomfortable when he'd first started learning magic, but now he'd learned to ignore it and even enjoy the whispers. "I am done here, boy. I will not.. distract you from your studies any longer. I look forward to besting Merenwen, if not merely to prove you wrong." A heavy bow was given, and mockery dripped from every pore. "Thank you, for so invigorating my sense of will."

Then he turned sharply, striding towards the door that would lead out into the wider area of the library, and from there out into the streets. Nathaniel's conversation with the other had grown dull, and he tired of recieving naught but insults from the other male. Still, something tightened in his stomach, that made his hairs stand on end. A lack of trust that the other wouldn't try to attack him while his back was turned, solely to prove that he could. If it came to that, Nathaniel would be ready. Such was the benefit of constantly being alert, even if it led to one too many sleepless nights. "Try not to set anything else on fire, hm?" The final insult was tossed over his shoulder, without a glance or break in stride.

(OOC; Just a reference to the feat, so if he does attack and Nathaniel is prepared it isn't mistaken as power-playing. XD I doubt Barras would, but that's what you get with a paranoid character, right?)

(( :lol: ))

Barras sneered, though the fighter behind him could not see it. Hide? No. He wasn't hiding. He simply didn't want to ruin the books and such that were in this library. Because when he fought, he fought with all he had - and he wasn't about to waste his spells on a warrior in a library, where the slightest spark could destroy the whole place. He wasn't that stupid.

"And eliminate this place? I think not. You and your kind are far too violent. While I would most certainly be able to destroy you, you would probably do a substantial amount of damage immediately. I am not about to destroy this library just to prove a point to you, barbarian."

He rolled his eyes as the man then made his final statement. By the shifting of his cloak and his armor, Barras could tell he was bowing - probably mocking him even as he stood. The reflection upon the swiftly-dampening glass as the rain began to pound it suddenly confirmed his suspicions. There wasn't a lot of light in the room, but there was enough for that, at least. Again, he sneered, and he did not respond to the man's comment as he left. His insults were nothing to him. After a short while, he went back to the table and sat down to reset the candle and continue his studies...