Valley of Aram

Continued from 'How to Obtain an Apprentice'

TRIGGER WARNING: General feeling of intimacy, feeding and pseudo-violence

What better was there to do than rest, after such a long journey?

Weeks aboard a ship, and another day aboard a ferry didn't exactly leave the elf tired and worn, but it was excuse enough. For they had felt eyes upon them in their walk through the bazaar.

It was late in the evening by now. Rooms had been arranged - perhaps something more fitting of a minor noble than of a bard, as it was much closer to a suite than an inn room. Three rooms in total were allotted the elf and their apprentice. A sitting room, furnished with upholstered chairs, a sofa, and table, it was the smallest of the three, and the entry to the entire thing. The second room had a large bed, curtains surrounding it above and on all sides; a large chest for belongings was at the foot of it all, a desk included with a wardrobe as the room's decoration. The third room, the largest, mimicked the second in decor, but as afforded a large, curtained window with a balcony. Bright rugs of intricate design ran much of the floorspace, and the walls were draped just as heavily.

The inn boasted being of 'foreign' taste, but in reality it was only partially so, in a rather cobbled-together manner. Still, it was pleasant, and hardly cheap. Very near the colleges, the view from the window and balcony was marvelous. Zaany sat, freshly bathed and dressed in loose robes, lounging, in the front room. Two cups of tea sat on the small table beside them, though the apprentice had not been invited.

Whether he'd been lying in wait, had simply popped into the air, or had quietly slunk into the room hadn't mattered; the wiry old butcher was rather suddenly there.

The years between them had begun to take their toll; the black, curly hair beginning to streak with gray, the periodic rivet spectacles traded in for more continuous wear, oval in shape, framed in bronze, fastened with the aid of thin straps, There was no paunch to be seen, however - the man remained as roped with lean muscle as he'd been the day they met - if not more than a bit stiffer.

The impeccably kept clothing wrapped in a gaudy schaube - black, embroidered with reds and golds - wasn't his infamous "rooster outfit," as his children had astutely nicknamed it. But it was close.

Perched on the man's shoulder was a spry, skinny little thing of polished stone and ivory that nevertheless seemed to take design cues from the man's large, known, dog-like earthen golem. The writing across a tiny wedge-shaped head remained an untidy scrawl, illegible to most, the creature boasted six legs instead of four, glittering golden eyes rather than the two black stone pits, and it seemed to be built for small size and speed rather than bulk. It appeared to wait patiently, barely moving, like an uncharacteristically quiet pet parrot.

Indeed, the years had left their mark on the man since their last meeting. Perhaps that might have been his reason for not quite making himself at home in the room of his old associate as he would otherwise have - invited or no.

Instead, he was perching like an anxious hawk, leaning against the back of one of the entryway's sitting room chairs rather than sitting in it, eyeing the room's other occupant with a hunger almost entirely out of proportion to the casual demeanor he was attempting to affect.

That too-piercing gaze fell on the tea, and he sighed almost theatrically.

"You knew, Herr Lownoise."

And it was as if he'd been invited, as if he'd already been there. The cup of tea closest to theirself was hooked on a secretly clawed finger, the smallest sip taken. But, mostly, the elf simply smelled the tea, taking a deep breath of its steam. Finally, the cup was set aside, and the guest was not even given the benefit of pinprick pupils to track the elf's gaze, but he'd surely feel the predatory pressure.

"You expect to catch me unawares, pup? No, we can't allow that again. Not after such a long absence. You are not a constant, you are once again a novelty, too exciting to miss." Pausing, a brow rose up. "If you disappear again, I fear we shall not have a repeat."

Finally: "Sit."

"So you have missed me." He grinned; the dog obeyed. He slid, somewhat stiffly, into the chair.

"It is terribly difficult to write to a nomad." It was a strange sort of faltering, neither predatory nor a facade, but the thought seemed almost instantly forgotten as soon as it was uttered.

And so the purr quickly returned. "Rest assured, Herr Lownoise, if I disappear again, it would be due to circumstances beyond my control." A pause, then at length. "Where have you been? What brings you here? Certainly not the local fauna...?"

"More than you think."

How often was it that the man would see pain on the elf's face, like as they watched him sit? It was replaced, quickly enough, with Zaany's lips twitching into a smirking smile. "True."

Arron sat, and Zaany stood, sweeping across the room to lock the door. "That is my business. All of it. Isn't it always?" And they turned back around, a ring slipping from their finger, tucked away into the robe; instantly, a much more familiar form was visible, the robe flowing in disrupted patterns due to legs shaped much like an animal's. A tail slunk low, twitching quickly back and forth as Arron's teacup was retrieved from the table, handed directly to him.

Their other hand was in his hair, stroking. Pinprick pupils landed on the grey streaking his hair, before falling on the construct on his shoulder, hand following to cautiously pet it, too.

"How long have you been here? Is your family also here?"

At the transformation, the grin reached the man's eyes. "I have missed that." It was a simple statement, not entirely free from lasciviousness.

He took the tea. Held onto it a moment too long, that yet-flat predatory stare a challenge without true commitment.

He sipped. Good boy.

And like the pup Zaany so often decided he was, Arron unconsciously leaned into their touch, eyelids drooping lazily, contentedly. But movement at his shoulder prevented him from losing himself, entirely.

"Heh. That is Calev. Not as intelligent as my son, but he can go places Ze'evi does not. Useful. And adorable, if that is something you find important..."

The spidery little thing mimicked its master, poking at Zaany with a tiny curious foreleg, then leaning into the pats with the weight of a feather. To the magic-eater, the sparks of magic around it were identical to his master's, but just that - merely sparks. Almost not worth the trouble.

"Years. We had settled a while ago, after several other stops. The island had fallen under siege. It was no place to stay, after that." A pause. A sigh, yet tense."They have grown far too quickly..." A sentiment the elf may have recognized, quickly choked and derailed.

"But I believe you are famished, mm, Greedyguts? We are long overdue, and I tire of fending off other claims to...this." A vague gesture.

"Such as into my room without violently ripping the walls out, drawing attention? Though I doubt this one could save you from me."

The petting was less cautious; the affectionate little golem, though, soon found itself swept up and gently set aside on Zaany's own chair. The fingers returned to Arron's hair, Zaany leaning briefly against the chair and over him. "I do not enjoy this theme."

Arron changed the topic, and Zaany had no wish to challenge it. Instead, their movement around the butcher finally came to a stop as they settled on a knee before him. Their hand on his chest, spreading claws wide across his torso, was a much less vague movement: "And who has tried to take this? ... Or, what? The local fauna has interest in you, but not you in it?"

It was a guess, but correct or not, the needle-like teeth that filled Zaany's mouth were bared in a grin. "There are some who are so much less eager. Your offer pleases me. It always does." There was almost affection in how the demon was half lying in Arron's lap, a cheek rested on his upper arm. "And you have much to give, even now?"

"Would he need to? Save me, that is." A grin.

The golem itself gamely accepted its new positioning, and it perched where Zaany had dropped it off, twinkling little eyes fixed on the two. The sense that it hadn't scuttled off entirely due to Arron's will alone was pervasive; outside of the evidently irresistible promise of pets, this creature wasn't in the business of being seen very often.

"Oh, do not mistake it...there is indeed interest. Unfortunately, our interests disagree on my health after each encounter."

One hand briefly traced across the upper arm of the elf's offending hand before finally coming to rest at their back. It had been years, but Zaany's invasion of space was almost expected, and strangely welcome.

"Much to give. Perhaps more. I have only grown, one could presume." Perhaps not the best choice of words, given the history of the conversation, but he continued regardless, the characteristic purr of his voice only slightly taking on the rougher edge of a growl.

"Do not get too greedy, Lownoise."

"I'd almost be jealous."

Zaany was at rest for only a very short time. Soon again they were leaning up and over Arron, stroking his cheek, grinning widely. "If you have so much to give, perhaps I can... sate myself first, then. It's been so long, and I'm just so eager."

They were hardly awaiting his approval; deft fingers had slipped down and undone what little bound the robe shut. The loose silk slipped away smoothly, precisely as intended. Immediately growing in the puddle of fabric was an enormous beast; yet, sadly, it was not too much larger than when last the couple had come together.

Despite a semi-recent meal, the taste in the air of an almost nostalgic meal made the demon ravenous. Greedyguts was not an affectionate name...well, at least not originally.

Feed quickly overcame the previous almost-worry for the man's health. He was pinned in his chair beneath the dog, what could he even hope to do?

The room stunk of cinnamon, thick enough to cause eyes to water and breath to catch in one's throat.

He'd never been good at any sort of prey response.

Overcome with fascination even as Zaany fed, he reached reflexively to touch the beast, to fondle and tug some hair, to clasp and grasp one of the large hands. Hands curling, nails digging in, fighting in spite of himself.

The magic would certainly have served a fine feast for a glutton: strong, finely aged - and blackened by something else. Something not unpleasant, rather like a strong spice, but certainly not entirely his, drawn from around him as if he were merely an unwilling sponge.

"You need more..." His eyes watered; his voice was rough, growling with concern, and punctuated frantic, almost animalistic panting.

"But not from me, mein Herr. We are not through, here-"

A thrash, a snarl of resistance, and he snapped; less a pup and more a mongrel. The phenomenon wasn't unusual; his will had frequently pushed back when solid instruments wouldn't suffice. But this was several years and several meals removed; like the soul-knives of renown, the will exerted was very nearly a physical presence, lashing violently at the beast's throat.

The local, mundane Vaasa were never so lucky.

Flesh ripped away from the human's grip, the great dog forced back as if by a tremendous physical blow. The beast tumbled onto the floor, writhing and scrambling violently. Coughing, sputtering...wretching, unable to swallow that last mouthful.

As likely the man had seen before, a dark, viscous, fluid-like substance spattered the carpet, dripped from a raggedly panting jaw; slowly faded away into an environment eager to redistribute.

The corrupt vaasa came to a rest, finally, rolling onto its side. Melted away, the elf soon left sprawled on the ground before Arron, bare and almost dazed. And they stayed there, pain and shock slowly transforming into laziness from a full belly. A soft moan, violet eyes finally once more seeking out the man from their position on the floor. A trembling hand came to their lips, wiped away a trickle of almost-black, leaving a quickly vanishing smear.

Their voice was raspy, quiet from the assault. "Oh, I see.... So you have won for once. And what now?"

"Oh, I think you know how this goes. If you are willing, that is. After...that."

He slowly wiped his own mouth, an unconscious mirror movement. Let out a smallheh of hollow satisfaction. His appearance, significantly more weary and peaked than before, could have easily been written off as a side-effect from the feeding. The ragged, explosive pants did not yet abate.

"You have not eaten well at all." A strange note of concern, not entirely manufactured, crept into his voice. "It has been years..."

He coughed. Rose, approached resolutely, crouched next to the elf. Gently, as if he hadn't just violently lashed out at the monster only moments before, he reached to lightly clasp their shoulder, other hand idly toying with the dark fur trailing from their tail.

"You will continue here because I allow it, my Greedyguts. This place, this Aram is home to quite the competition, but you are the only one that will ever lay claim to this."

It was such an odd statement, delivered strangely, without his usual practiced cadence - and a statement he evidently didn't expect an answer to, as he continued.

"I wish to find you meals."

There was absolutely no protest, no attempt to correct who was on the floor and who was not. The demon was full, aching, and thoroughly subdued.

The smallest tinkle of music managed to edge into the apparently damaged voice, their expression unreadable, but amusement in their voice: "So...you intend to be my keeper, then?"

And it was now that Zaany sat up, just enough for their breath to roll across Arron's chin; clawed fingers had ventured back into his thick hair. "You will feed me, you will allow me to exist. Will you also take responsibility for me? Shall I owe my healthful existence to you?" And yet, there was no malice in their voice.

"They followed me home; can I keep them? Heh."

The smile was mirthless, his mouth drawn into a tight line. "Do not say that, it is not that exactly. You are not 'kept,' never 'kept.' But it is a hostile environment for your sort, I have learned. And you are the strangest one of your kind I have ever seen."

The last remark was delivered as a complement, almost affectionate. He reached, mirroring the elf a bit more consciously, and brushed a few stray dark hairs aside. The craving and fascination in his gaze was startlingly, uncharacteristically tempered.

"I do not know what I would do if you were to vanish, again."