milliways_bar | (no subject)

(no subject)

For the first time in a time, he wanders out from the rooms. There is quite a collection of stuff in his closet-like room now. If only he could figure out the rest of the cards. Ah, well. For tonight, they are in his room and he's content with that.

Wary green eyes glance toward Moiraine, and then he finds a seat as close to 'the opposite side of the bar' as he can.

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Asar-Suti has observed the wordless exchange; and as the 'opposite side' is quite near to where he sits near the fireplace, he leans over and says, casually "Is that lady trouble of some sort?"

He stands, and bows to the god. Not that he knows Asar-Suti is a god, bowing is simply what one does on Arithon's worlds,

"Perhaps, though it might be that you would say that I am a form of potential trouble to the lady. I am Arithon s'Ffalenn, the Master of Shadows and Tier's'Ffalenn."

Asar-Suti smiles, stands up in a flicker of violet light, and bows back. All are equal in the bar, aren't they? So a god might bow to a dog, or a prince. Not that he knows Arithon is a prince, of course. 'Master of Shadows' sounds good, though. He doesn't know the names, but recognises the style as similar to the world he comes from.

He sits again. "What trouble do you intend for the lady - or is it just the usual?" he asks, casually.

"Intend? Nothing. That would be why I am here, rather than over there attempting, again, to explain that she is a dangerously fanatic believer in an unbalanced and insane religion."

Quite matter of fact. The small (5'2", slight, described as looking like 'a half grown youth' in canon) man takes a seat and crosses his feet at the ankles.

"What kind of religionis that?" Asar-Suti asks. He is interested in all sorts of religion. He's a god, after all. Everything is religion to a god.

"A bi-polar view of light as 'good' and dark as 'evil'."

He doesn't roll his eyes. It would take power from the sheer disdain and snippy tone of voice,

"As crazed as the other view. Dark is an absence of light. The reverse is true. Your shadow is no more evil than the candle-like things on the walls."

He reaches out, as he speaks, and picks up a handful of said shadow (assuming one is there. If not, a chair's shadow or some such) and stretches it between his hands into a variety of shapes;

"A garden at night is no more evil than the same place at noon. The shade of a tree is not more dangerous than the midst of a desert."

"You are preaching to the converted, my dear", Asar-Suti says carelessly. "People have called me evil, a Dark God Of Awesome Powers, just because I pursued the agenda of my people - never my own solely! - with all that it took. They have reviled me when all the time all I did was maintain our point in the balance of power, without which the whole system would not have worked. Of course, they might have been too small-minded to regard my methods as potentially valid as well."

"Balance tends to be useful."

He shrugs, and pushes black hair away from green eyes,

"And this is why I sit here, and why I am, still, tempted to shroud this side of the room in shadow. Because I can not resist tweaking others."

Which is Arithon's version of 'Fair warning. Snark ahead.'

Asar-Suti doesn't mind shrouding in shadows. He is his own light, even if it's violet, so colours aren't represented fully in its radiance.

"Is that allowed at the bar?" he asks with earnest interest. Asar-Suti is dark, but he understands rules. He used to have his own set of Dark Rules, back home.

"No one has complained. Except the lady Moiraine."

He slants a look at the woman in blue,

"And since I am to be teaching what I can to Security, I doubt that anyone will. It makes me comfortable."

And annoys the Light Crazies. A lot.

Asar-Suti smiles. Trades are always a good thing.

"Care to show me your wreathing-in-shadow thing?"

"More precisely, what do you want to see?"

He's still playing with the shadow between his hands, which has decided to become a full three masted schooner, complete with shadow deckhands, shadow rigging, and water.

"Clever little thing", Asar- Suti says. He sketches a rather complicated sign made of violet light, and suddenly there are little violet sparks on the ship, like St. Elmo's fire, and ghostly little pirates made of violent light that enter the ship.

It is very possible that he stills at the light. It is a certainty that one small, scarred hand touches the other arm. Then, with an effort of will, he smiles;

"My father was a pirate. He stole my mother from her husband, and they were quite happy. Geas of the s'Ffalenn and all. I was raised aboard ship until I went to the tower of Ruthvan."

The shadow sailors fight back, with the single-minded ferocity of the caged badger. Arithon seems to make no gestures at all, and the shadows fail to act as shadows ought when confronted with light of any color.

Calmly, Asar-Suti watches the violet figures and the shadow figures fight. Ships and pirates indeed.

Of course, this is a game magic users of any world quite enjoy.

And a then a second ship appears. And more. Four, five of the new ones. They seem, somehow, to fit with the light-pirates rather than the shadow-pirates. Another shadow ship, like the first one, appears. And if the god gets the feeling that he's been forgotten, he would be partially right. Arithon's eyes, a green as only a character from High Fantasy could claim, are tight as the other ships enact a very familiar battle.

And mini!shadow!Arithon fails to save his mini!shadow!father. And the other ships win.

And the Master of Shadows acquires a mug of ale from a wait-rat, and drains it.

The original ship battle continues apace; though the split in concentration means that the god is now easily winning.

With a click of his fingers, Asar-Suti has called ships of his own; he wins easily, that's true, but he also watches the shadow-battle and the shadows on the young man's face.

Purple fire as lurid as any High Fantasy book cover engulfs the first little shadow ship.

Arithon lets them rest. The shadows bleed back to where they came like ships sinking beneath the waves, and he looks at the god with carefully honed indifference. Thus proving he is no Anthy.

"The match is yours. Is there anything else you would like me to show you, as far as my mastery is concerned?"

Asar-Suti doubts he would be very impressed by anything, but is too polite to say so.

"Can you change your own shape?" he asks.

"I doubt it. I have only twenty years or so of study. Perhaps in another couple hundred."

If, that is, he bothers trying to learn. Although spending the rest of his life as, say, a horse might be better than dealing with his brother. Or he could just stay here.

Or not.

Damnable s'Ffalenn blood.

Asar-Suti shrugs. Well, he's just a little magic user, but he does play an entertaining game of magic battle. Perhaps next time, he might concentrate more and be more of a challenge?

[[OOC: Good night - finish this now, and play another day? Thanks for the RP!]]

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