Aerys Trajyon's page

Aerys Trajyon leaned back in his chair, hidden in a corner of the inn’s common room. He eyed the grayish food the dour barmaid had just slid in front of him critically. “Ah, Ustalav,” He smiled humorlessly. “You’ll come for the cuisine, but you’ll stay for the warm smiles.” The flap of his backpack nudged open as a sinuous white form appeared, staring at his meal. It bared tiny fangs in a soft hiss and pulled back, seemingly in fright.

“I believe it’s quite dead, Nyx,”Aerys reassured the ferret. “Although, if stories be true, that might not count for much here…”

His ruminations were cut short by hoarse laughter from another table. Looking up, he saw an elderly gentleman heroically attempting to ignore the attentions of two brutish locals. The pair of drunkards had pulled the journal the old man had been scribbling in from his grasp, and were attempting to recite its contents to the room in slurred voices. As the journal’s owner attempted to snatch it back, he was pushed roughly back down into his chair by a large, grimy hand.

Seeming to read his mind, Nyx set up a furious chittering in Aerys’ ear. He smiled brightly at his familiar. “Of course I’m getting involved! Wise, no. Fun, yes!”

Aerys touched thumb to little finger, and gestured in a gentle sweeping motion. A plate of food at the next table slid obediently over, right where one thug was placing his hand as he leaned forward. His partner’s drunken laughter at his misfortune was cut short as a full mug of ale slid to the end of the table and dumped its contents into his lap.

Drunken accusations soon gave way to blows, with the two soon led out by the local constabulary. As soon as the inn quieted back down, the old man gathered his notes and books and seated himself at Aerys' table. "I presume I have you to thank for... distracting those undesirables. Whenever I travel outside the university, I must remind myself that often the provincials have no respect for my work." He held out a thin hand in greeting. "I am Professor Lorrimor."

The professor's hand felt like a dry bundle of twigs wrapped in parchment. Aerys shook it carefully. "My pleasure. I am Aerys Trajyon." He gestured to the ferret who had now clamored fully onto his shoulder. "And this is Nyx. Who usually insists on being introduced first." A tiny white paw extended expectantly. After several seconds of being ignored, the ferret let out a stream of angry chittering and stormed back into the backpack.

Lorrimor eyed him carefully. "Obviously, you are not one of the locals - what brings you to Ustalav?"

Aerys could only shrug. "In all honesty, I'm not entirely sure. Perhaps it is this." He rolled up his shirt sleeve, showing what appeared to be a blue crescent moon on his left tricep. "In Varisia, these are sometimes called 'birth tattoos' - a mark that frequently denotes an arcane heritage." He gestured again, his mug sliding into his grasp. "Which I can hardly deny. But I have no idea of the source of these powers. I have often had dreams, of fog-shrouded forests, ruined towers beneath a similar crescent moon. I had hoped to find some reference perhaps in one of your libraries. But sadly, that was not to be. I plan to begin return to Magnimar in the morning."

The old man stared at the mark on Aerys' arm with undisquised interest. Quickly he sketched the mark in his journal, along with a paragraph of notes that Aerys could not quite make out. "Well then, son. I'll be taking my leave of you. Good look on tomorrow's journey, though I daresay you may return someday. I am in your debt. Perhaps someday I shall learn of something to aid you in your searching." Again the old man gathered his belongings. With a curt nod he left the inn, the darkness swallowing his slight form an instant before the chill night wind slammed the door shut.