Offstage

Aelen thought that the performance was going well. He came to the Unwild to seek an adventure, an arena where he could use his dueling skills against real foes and dangers. Stratos had a great respect for the Eladrin army, but the art of blade dancers and sword artists went beyond their practical grace.

The young virtuoso was delighted that the Gods had delivered him a great quest. This performance went beyond mere sword dances and duels, and added a layer of mystery to be unraveled. It would be a performance in more ways than one. Of course, Stratos was trained with a blade, and he knew that he would need these companions to do more than just compliment his performance. They had roles of their own in discovering more about this necromancer and in defeating her.

In particular, Leilia was proving to be entertaining. What luck that they should rescue a person who knew her way around the great library of Perrington and who was adept at sifting parchment and pages for the knowledge they sought. And for all she professed that she was not the rival of Stratos, she took every opportunity to engage him in a duel of wits, an art she was much more proficient in than battle.

Aelen admired her. For all her great youth, she was warlock to a powerful figure in the Elemental Courts, and her magical skill was commendable. Her love of books had given her an education as extensive, if not as formal, as Eladrin schooling and her mind was keen. Her vorpal tongue and penchant for thievery and lies added spice to the adventure. And she was not at all unattractive. Stratos wondered if the teifling would consider a liaison.

But Stratos was beginning to enjoy himself even when they were not busy investigating this new necromancer, fighting her minions, or tweaking Lady Vestae’s servant. Argent had shown an unprecedented interest in the arts, perhaps inspired by Aelen’s style and eye for beauty. He found the human play interesting, especially as it was about the fall of the empire of the dragonborn. Their carved wooden masks were intricately done, with each scale carved deeply into the wood, with every fang and frill standing out. Long silken cords served as dragonborn tendrils and each mask was painted in bright colors so it could be seen by the furthest spectators. The actors voices boomed through the masks and Stratos was delighted. While masks might have muffled the voices of the players like a helmet, the dragon-like snouts were carved like horns, to enhance their voices and deepen them. With only a slight suspension of disbelief, one might be looking at real dragonborn actors on the stage. If only they had taken more care to make their blade-work uphold the drama as well.

He found the party afterwards just as intriguing. It wasn’t very lavish; they had probably spent less than one of those strange gold coins they used with pictures of human heads on them. The food, however, was new and strange, much richer than the simple fare they had been served in Aberholme, and music was exotic and exciting.

Stratos spent some time rubbing Leilia the wrong way, but for most of the evening he found himself circling Sasha like the bright flame she appeared as.

There was a gentle rapping at the door. She was here at last. Stratos looked himself over in the mirror once more. His golden-blonde hair fell down his back, a neat braid laying against the blanket of hair. He had chosen to wear a pair of loose, flowing trousers of silk in a sea blue, with a wide sash of darker blue around his waist.

“Come in,” he called.

Sasha seemed also to have dressed ready both for sport and beauty. Her leggings were loose pants, slit open on the sides with a tie at the hip, knee, and ankle, holding them from flying open, but leaving her leg visible from top to bottom. The hem of her shirt was just under her breasts, showing Aelen the familiar sight of her toned stomach, and it tied behind her neck, leaving her arms and back bare. She brought her sword with her and Aelen looked at the simple blade. It was well cared for, but plain. A long straight sword, sharpened on both sides, unadorned by etchings or any other decoration. It was perhaps two-thirds the length of Aelen’s longer, gently curved sword. Even the scabbard was plain; well oiled brown leather without marking or embellishment.

“Good evening, Sasha. Come and stand next to me and face the mirror.” He stepped aside and made room for her. They stood in front of the mirror and Stratos took a moment to appreciate the effect; Sasha in red and he in blue, their hair a matching gold. He lifted his sword in one hand to match her style and he began.

Stratos wasn’t sure why Sasha was so driven to change the perception the people of the Unwild seemed to have of teiflings. It was reasonable enough to wish that she and her people could be respected. Stratos himself had met with some suspicion from Sasha herself, because his people had little business in the Unwild, and most of what brought them here, the people did not understand. He smiled at the mild hypocrisy of Sasha’s initial reaction to him as he shifted the point of his sword to bring it into a position that both guarded him and drew a line of silver between him and his reflection. Sasha mimicked him, taking a moment longer to find the position herself. When she did, the gleaming edge made a radiant line in front of her.

Stratos slipped the point of his sword to offer his imaginary opponent an opening, a lure to draw them in. He watched Sasha, wondering why she seemed to take her quest so personally. Her goal was understandable, but she was so invested in it that Leilia’s very nature - secretive, shifty, and to hell with it - drove her to shouting. Stratos thought that the Guardsman might even throw herself at the younger girl in anger. But at the same time, when Sasha was young, she had someone cut off her tail on purpose, and even now she plated her horns in gold. At first glance it was sometimes hard to tell that she was a teifling at all. It was almost as if she did not want to be one of the people that she was so intent on elevating in public opinion.

He shrugged to himself. He wasn’t certain he would ever understand the people of the Unwild, no matter how many questions he asked.

“No, no, forgive me,” He said, as Sasha imitated his shrug. “I was only shrugging.”

“At what?” she asked.

“My thoughts.” He smiled at her, but she was looking at him, apparently unsatisfied with his answer. As she usually was. He chose not to air his sigh out loud, lest he confuse her more.

“Try this guard position, Sasha. It will make you look very bold and imposing.” Stratos held his sword over his head, tip pointing over his head like the tail of a maticore.

Aelen resolved to try to understand her motives better. He liked Sasha and the others. If she thought it important to present an awe-inspiring vision of a teifling, then he would help her.