World Tree MUSH

    After the disaster of an outing that ended with an Octomammoth attack and a cave in, the only real option left to take was to return to Kaipo. The innkeeper was pleasantly surprised to see the group of Rydia, Cecil, and 'Sheik', along with some new faces and prepared rooms for the party immediately. Between the modest coin he would be making and Rydia taking up her duties of helping around the inn and tavern once again, the group was welcomed back to the oasis town as though they had never left the first time.
    It's getting on closer to evening time; the sweltering desert sun slowly fading over the Blue Earth's horizon and making way for the cooler desert nights, when there comes a knocking at the Sage of Mysidia's door. Cracking it open just an inch, a thin mist wafts faintly through the doorway, and a single, jade, eye peers in at what would be at roughly waist level for most adults.
    "It's me." Rydia announces herself clearly. "Did you need anything before I wrapped up for the night?"

    It has been a rather unsatisfactory journey back to Kaipo for Tellah. Not because he does not enjoy the rigors of travel or adventure, but because it involves steps in the direction that he does not want to go. He does not want to head back to Kaipo. He wants to go to Damcyan.

    But he has made the acquaintance of other adventurers, most of whom are spellcasters. This is a pleasantry for him, and an opportunity to discuss various depths and breadths of magic. Rydia and company would have noticed that it is a subject he can't help but bring up. Even the slightest hint of a spell comes with anecdotes or some quip about how to best understand the metaphysics.

    When she opens the door to the room, she will see that he has a single candle on one side of a desk, and another candle that remains unlit. Both candles flank the man, who appears to be hunched over a large, leather-bound tome. When she opens the door, she sees that he distractedly waves a hand at the unlit candle. It promptly lights up, as if touched by a lantern.

    He makes a sound before turning his head, looking at the door with the shades over his eyes. "What's that?"

    That's as good a prompt as any to actually come in, when the old man turns his head and addresses her. So Rydia pushes the door open fully and steps in, a basket of fresh sheets, spare blankets, and another pillow or two in her arms as she pads into the room.
    "I said, did you need anything before I finished making my rounds?" The girl repeats herself in a tired tone, that says it's been more of a busy work day for her more than she's actually annoyed at having to repeat herself.
    Lips purse as the small Summomer regards the wizened Sage for a long, silent, moment before she wastes absolutely no time and minces precisely zero words.
    "How were you able to tell that I'm a Summoner, just from a such a quick glance?"

    The bed is made, practically untouched by Tellah. Everything that he cares to carry is somehow spread out between a bag slung over his shoulders or the pockets of his robe. These items are carefully stored away, next to the unremarkable curved cane that he held in his hand. "I have all that I need, thank you," he assures as he turns more in his seat.

    His moustache and beard seem to quirk into the semblance of a smile as she asks her question. Perhaps she isn't the first Summoner he has outed on sight. "Because I have seen magic in many forms," he tells her. "I see the spark of magic within just about every spellcaster, and I get a sense of what they understand or control." He gestures to the chair next to the desk so that Rydia can get comfortable. "The Summoners that I have met in the past have a multicolored aura about them. Yours is faint, as I would expect from a young one. But the Mist from your Eidolon is much more clear. More apparent."

    It seems Rydia can retire for the night, then. Tellah's room was the last one on her list of chores, and it looks like it's still good and tidy. But this only prompts the girl to set her basket on the small stand by the door so she can focus herself more properly on the conversation she just initiated point blank.
    Yet the Sage's smile is met with eyes that are too hard for a child her age, and her lips purse into a thin line. "Sorry." She says, at first. "About what I said in the cave."
    Of course she means about snapping at him to get in the back row. But with that apology out of the way, she fidgets slightly where she stands before climbing into the indicated seat and taking a moment to settle in, still too small for her feet to even touch the ground once she's on it. . 
    "You're like Harley... -She's someone else from Mysidia. She studies a lot and writes a lot more. But her writings are more about... Everything, instead of magic, I guess." But then it's on to the topic of the Summoners, and her Eidolon. A point that seems to hit a sore spot almost immediately as she clutches the hem of her tunic on her lap.
    "There are no more Summoners. I'm the last, now."

    Tellah moves his chair so that he can properly face Rydia. It grants him an angle whereupon he can refer back to his textbook and even rest his elbow. In fact, he opts to rest his bony elbow on the edge of the wooden desk. He takes the time to listen to the words, as well as read the pensive nonverbal cues from the little girl. The little girl who seems to be the last in a line of Summoners.

    "You were faced with a monstrous water creature that had lifted you off of the ground," he reminds her. "Try to forgive yourself under dire circumstances. It may not be the last time."

    As she had pried, so also will the Sage. No more Summoners? "There is a village, called Mist, north of Baron. It is the largest concentration of Summoners in all the lands. What do you mean you are the last?"

    The whole 'giant octopus monster' situation was pretty stressful. To her credit though, she rallied well over the course of the encounter. But she shakes her head. "It still wasn't nice of me."
    Looks like she means it.
    But when pressed for clarification of her words, the girl pauses. A distant look crosses jade eyes ever so briefly as the memories are dredged up, but then her expression hardens significantly. 
    "Mist was burned to the ground six months ago, by Baron. The survivors are few and scattered. I mean exactly what I said. I'm the last Summoner, Whyt is the last Mist Dragon."

    Often there are moments where questions beget even more questions. Hearing of Baron's destruction of Mist makes Tellah want to know even more. Such atrocities must have motivations, especially cruel ones. But in the moment, he can't bring himself to delve into the issue. Instead there is just the little survivor in front of him. Rydia, whose entire life was changed six months prior.

    "That is a lot for one person to handle, especially one so young," he says in a tone that only a Sage can muster. Words that are obvious, but have a weight to them. Seasoned. "I am sorry to hear about it. Mist was a paradise obscured, and the people were always friendly."

    He follows this with something more familiar. Present. Alive. "Whyt -- that is the name of your Eidolon?"

    It is far likely that these are Questions Rydia has asked in the past. Questions she has received no answer to, and questions that still pain her to this very moment. Why the Kingdom of Baron could have ordered such a devastating attack is, thusfar, a mystery to most however.
    A funny flutter of an expression crosses the Summoner's face briefly. But she quickly masks it, putting on a brave face in spite of the tale she recounts. It is, perhaps, a thankful distraction. The old man's next line of question, shifting to the spirit pacted to her.
    Rydia's head dips in a faint nod, before she speaks again. "He was the hatchling of my mother's Mist Dragon. We formed a life pact and everything."

    Tellah nods his head again, raising one almost skeletal and spotted hand to adjust his glasses. There's no telling why he wears them at almost all times. They seem less shaded in the room; perhaps they respond to natural light. "A friend for life, to call in strife. A friend so dear is the friend that is near," says Tellah with a hint of amusement. "It always seemed so rude to ask outright, but I am always curious about the Eidolons that are chosen by Summoners. Or the Summoners that are chosen by Eidolons. Few are alike, and they are all wondrous creatures."

    He rests his hands, one at a time, on each knee. "Rydia, our world will always have magic. Do you know this?"

    That seems to get green eyes peeking back up; the almost whimsical little rhyme on the subject of Summons and Summoners. It helps take the girl's mind off the dark memories of her home burning right before her eyes. But he IS right. The Summoner is just as much chosen by the Eidolon as anything else.
    Slowly the girl dips her head in a nod. "That's what mother told me." She admits on the subjet of magic. "She was even teaching me a little, too. But I haven't had anyone to really learn from since that day."

    Tellah rocks in his seat a little when the little girl confirms it. He lifts his hands from his knees, clasping them together. His hands begin to rub together in an almost circular motion. It is the sort of fashion one might expect when forming a snowball. If she looks carefully, she can almost see his moustache twitching as if he were muttering some form of verbal component to go with a spell. "Well, it would be irresponsible of me to let you continue on your path of spellcasting without providing some guidance. If you ever feel as though you have questions, I implore you to come to me. I have a lifetime obligation to make sure magic is used properly by those born to cast it. As all mages of Mysidia are taught."

    His hands begin to slow down, casually revealing something of substance between his reddened palms. In his hand is, of all things, a snowball. They are in the desert, and he has conjured a snowball as white as the Mists in Summoner's Cave. He reveals it to Rydia, then says, "It is important that you understand that there will always be magic in the world. There will always be mages and sorcerors, spellcasters and wizards. Magicians and sages. There is no way to root them all out and rid the world of this arcane majesty. One may as well try to rid the night sky of stars." He holds out the snowball to Rydia, "And although it may not seem like it now, I have faith that there will always be Summoners. They are just as much part of this ethereal world as anything else."

    And now Tella has the Summoner's rapt attention. Jade eyes alternating focus between the wizened sage's hands and mutterances. She clearly recognizes the workings of a spell when she sees one, but she's also listening quite carefully at the same time, more importantly, to the offer being made.
    When Tellah's hands come apart and he shows the icy results of his workings, forming the snowball in spite of the desert, she focuses on that. It is a simple spell, certainly. One even she has managed to perform, but she understands the deeper meaning behind the gesture in the formation of the spell, the expenditure of the old man's energy and strength, that when it is held out, she takes the snowball anyway, staring at the pure white fluff chilling the palms of her hands before she finally looks up.
    "... I have so many questions."

    "And I can't wait to hear all of them," says Tellah as he reaches for his leather-bound spellbook.

    "However, it is getting late. We are both up past our bedtimes, and we mustn't miss any opportunity for deep sleep in a real bed." He closes the book, but does so in a way that is ceremonious. The pages don't fall close with an indiscriminate 'fwap'. One might think it were a metaphor for him shutting her out if he did that.

    "Good night, sleep tight. Wake up bright, morning light. To do our best with all our might."

    It is late. Judging from how the Child shifts the snowball to one hand to rub her eyes with the other, it looks like she's feeling the effects of the hour, too, without outright yawning. "Mn."
    Fair enough, then. When the old man gingerly closes the book that represents the physical accumulation of all his magical knowledge and talent, Rydia takes the cue, clambering down from her chair.
    "Alright. Later." She agrees as she shuffles for the basket by the door and plucks it up, peering over one slender shoulder. "Good night. And thank you." Murmured as she slips out, a lingering sliver of mist trailing after her catches on the door and pulls it shut behind her.