9572/Too Cold for Swimming

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Too Cold for Swimming
Date of Scene: 10 January 2022
Location: Boardwalk - St Martin's Island
Synopsis: An ancient Atlantean and an Atlantean youngin' meet and find some common ground!
Cast of Characters: Kaldur'ahm, Atrun Rai




Kaldur'ahm has posed:
It's January in Delaware. It's not currently snowing but the wind is whipping and nobody sane is in the water. Somebody wet in this wind would get frostbite in very little time. But nonetheless, there is Kal out there in the water in a sleeveless shirt. He dives amongst the high ripples of water maybe twenty or thirty feet out from shore. And if the extreme cold bothers him, he shows no sign of it.

Then suddenly he looks down and /quickly/ dives under the waves. He's down there for a good minute or so before popping back up with a handful of mussels. Like it was made of paper mache, he pops one open and sucks down the raw, still-living meat inside and tosses the empty shell aside.

Atrun Rai has posed:
    It's January in Delaware, and to the logic of most, Kaldur'ahm is insane. They may well consider the other man on the pier insane as well, the way he sits cross-legged on a bench at the edge of the boardwalk, looking out across the sea - no winter coat, just what looks something like a cassock and an over-robe, black silk brocade so dark it almost seems to eat the light that manages to pierce the slate gray sky. He sits there, legs crossed, hands tucked atop his knee, with his odd Mesopotamian beard and the fierce aspect of his expression. A grave sort, his expression proper for a shedu or lammasu taken from the Ishtar Gate.

    And so, the incrutable Atrun-Rai watches the younger one who dives and slurps the raw meat of mussels with quiet curiosity, noting his dark skin, his facial features. Making quiet observation.

Kaldur'ahm has posed:
Kal makes short work of the other two mussels, likewise tossing their shells away. The cascading waves flow around him but even the largest seems unable to push the man despite his thin frame. Finally, though, he does notice that he's not alone on the beach on this January afternoon. His gaze meets that of the man watching him from the pier.

The young swimmer seems unthreatened by being watched. In fact, he quirks a small, friendly grin and moves in that direction. When he gets to the pier, he effortlessly pulls himself up out of the water and pads barefoot toward Atrun-Rai. "Hello," he says when he is close enough to be heard above the sounding sea. "My name is Kal." He sits down cross-legged on the pier. Icy water runs down his toned arms, accentuating the stylized eel tattoos.

Atrun Rai has posed:
    "Metah at'lal, moruoi," the man in black offers to the young man who approaches - an Atlantean greeting, albeit one that's...well. Extremely old. 'Welcome to you, young sorceror.' Moruoi is a title long since lost to history - but a sorceror of study would certainly know it. He says nothing else, perhaps waiting to see what the fellow says in reply. Inclining his head in greeting if the words, themselves, make no sense to the other fellow.

Kaldur'ahm has posed:
An honest smile blooms over Kal's features. He regards the man sitting on the bench with no small amount of wonder. It's not difficult to see the aura of life and vitality and earnestness coming from the young Atlantean -- one who lives in the moment but is destined for great things. In perfect (modern) Atlantean, he asks: ~Do you speak Atlantean? Your words seem familiar to me but I don't fully understand.~

Atrun Rai has posed:
    ~I do.~ He chuckles, then, and gestures for the lad to join him on the bench. ~Though I admit, I am still coming about to grasp the finer points of the modern form.~ The man says this, though he very clearly has almost gotten it down entirely, enough for only a hint of...some kind of accent to shine through. Like if Shakespeare were to learn modern English. ~I am Atrun-Rai.~ The name structure, too, is Atlantean, but vanishingly old for a student of history. Many milennia have passed since anyone has chained together syllables with an audible 'dash'. ~And before you ask, yes, I from a very, very, very long time ago, young sorcerer. But we are both of Atlantis.~

Kaldur'ahm has posed:
Kal immediately stands when invited to the bench. He is in the presence of an Elder, and one does not casually disregard even a suggestion from an Elder. But his pleased expression says that duty alone is not his motivator here. Kal is a people person. He flops casually on the bench, sitting sideways facing Atrun-Rai with one leg tucked under him. ~I am a...uh...untested sorcerer. I only recently graduated from the Conservatory of Sorcery in Poseidonis. I decide to see the world, and small as it may be, the surface world is part of the world too.~ This is an avante garde opinion from a young Atlantean, whose generation is full of those so-called 'purists' who believe that the surface world is insignificant and without merit.

Atrun Rai has posed:
    ~Poseidonis...~ His brows quirk at that. ~I am pleased to know, then, that the City of the Golden Gates still stands. I am from Lantala, which was in the northwest - but a few hours' swim due east of here. I know that it no longer stands, of course. In my day, of course, the continent was still strong, and our society but only a few thousand years old. It would not sink for...~ Atrun-Rai considers. ~Oh, twenty-five thousand years? I am from a great many years ago, as I have said.~ Now his dark eyes twinkle, and he gives the young man another nod.

    ~I am Atrun-Rai of Lantala,~ he offers, in a full, formal way. ~Student of the Red Palace, member of the Amatoi and Mestales societies, Court Magician to His Towering Majesty, King Estuan, Fourth of his Name.~ Ancient beyond ancient, all of this - the name of Estuan but a footnote in history, the Red Palace a bastion of magical learning long crumbled before the sinking of the continent. And then, too, there is the Amatoi, that society of magicians who were known for exorcising evil spirits from the souls of Atlanteans of all stripes. These are days when the cities were city-states, not an empire but a league of different nations, different ideologies. As the most ancient of Mesopotamia or Greece were to antediluvian history. And yet here he sits. Smiling.

    ~I am pleased to meet you, then. And you are right, of course. I find that, from what I have heard from our people in this day, it is forgotten that we all once walked the land. I am, of course, clear evidence of that.~

Kaldur'ahm has posed:
Kal listens with complete respect and silence as Atrun-Rai reviews his pedigree. He would not dare interrupt one such as this. He is military trained. He is Conservatory of Sorcery trained. He respects his elders and knows his place. Only when Atrun-Rai is finished does he bow to his superior and say, ~I'm honored to meet you, Atrun-Rai. Consider me at your disposal, Elder.~

He cants his head a bit to one side. ~Do you know my liege and master, Arthur Curry, the Aquaman?~ Kal inquires, looking inquisitively at Atrun-Rai.

Atrun Rai has posed:
    He laughs, now, shaking his head. ~No, no,~ he offers to the young man. ~None of that. I am a ghost, not an Elder. I live, but I am not of your culture - and I will not have you treating me as you would one of your city. Let us be friends, instead.~ There is a pause. ~There are two kings of Atlantis, aye, this I have heard. I have met Namor. I have not met Arthur Curry.~

Kaldur'ahm has posed:
If Atrun-Rai is a perceptive man he would notice a dark glimmer interrupt the otherwise good-natured expression on Kal's face at the mention of Namor. But he is too respectful to speak out against a king, even a king he so clearly dislikes. The look passes quickly.

~I'd be honored to count you as a friend!~ he says, still speaking in his native tongue. Then a quick grin comes. ~But only if you will count me as a friend too.~

Atrun Rai has posed:
    ~Many lands have more than one heir to the throne, young sorceror,~ offers Atrun-Rai. ~When I first lived, Atlantis was but a single city among others. Ten kings, ten kingdoms. Ten claims to supremacy. We learned to live in peace. I am certain the two kings can do the same.~ He leans in a tad, winking at Kaldur'ahm. ~We will let the folly of politics pass beneath us, eh?~

    Then he adds, ~Yes. We shall be friends, so long as you do not mind an older brother. I am not so old as my time is displaced, eh? I am only thirty-five, in truth.~

Kaldur'ahm has posed:
~Agreed,~ Kal says immediately. ~The politics under the sea can stay there.~ He leans closer and holds out his arm, his hand in a fist for a fist-bump. ~I see the surface dwellers do this and I thought it looked so cool,~ he intones.

~How should I address you? My name is Kaldur'ahm of Shayeris, but I hope you'll feel comfortable calling me Kal.~

Atrun Rai has posed:
    ~But of course.~ He reaches out as well, though he clasps the boy's forearm rather than his fist - then realizes his mistake. ~My apologies,~ he says with a chuckle, and then gingerly bumps his fist against Kal's. ~I'm afraid that I have no nicknames. We don't use them, or didn't. Atrun-Rai will work for me, little brother. But we will be friends all the same.~

Atrun Rai has posed:
    He adds, ~I an probably teach you about the surface world, if you like. I have the occasional gap, but for the most part, I am well aware of things today.~

Kaldur'ahm has posed:
Kal looks very pleased by the fist bump. He has watched young surface dwellers perform the greeting and has wanted to try it. He looks equally pleased at being referred to as 'little brother.' He was an only fry, and grew up without siblings.

~Arthur gave me something called a bratwurst. It was /really/ tasty! But it was surrounded by a really gross wrapping called...~ He wrinkles up his nose in concentration as he tries to remember the word. He has to switch to English because there is no Atlantean word, at least not as Atlantean is spoken in the modern age. "...bread?" He shakes his head, laughing. ~I definitely didn't like the wrapper part.~

Atrun Rai has posed:
    Another laugh escapes Atrun-Rai, his voice like a bark. ~Bread! Ah, little brother, I forget the ecology must be so very different for you. We had bread in my day, you know.~ Of course, his word is /kathes/, which is another of those ancient words no longer used beneath the waves. ~It can be very delicious. You must expand your mind to possibility, especially as a sorceror. I should be very interested to see what magic is like to our kin today. I expect its methods are very different from when I lived, indeed.~

Kaldur'ahm has posed:
Kal's expression sobers. He's learning something new, and learning is exactly his jam. ~Bread,~ he says, pronouncing the ancient Atlantean word. ~Bread. I've never heard this word before. Bread.~ Then his naturally playful nature bursts through and he starts to laugh a little. ~It's gross and I hate it,~ he says with a smile.

~Many of my fellow youths idealize ancient Atlantis, some of them so severely that it leads to violent behavior. I'm afraid you will find Atlantis to be distasteful. Atlanteans are petty and vindictive and arrogant. And magic follows the hearts of the people. Most of what I learned at the Conservatory was war magic, they teach us how to fight not to protect against the outside world, but to protect against other Atlanteans."

Atrun Rai has posed:
    ~Then it is no different than it was in my day, little brother.~ He smiles faintly. ~The Atlantean League was only a few centuries old when I was alive before - before that it was as it is in more modern surface history, with the city-states warring at times, competing the rest. These things never fade, Kal. One simply must be aware of them, and do one's best to temper them. In yourself, and if you can, in others.~

    That said, he gets to his feet. ~I must attend to matters elsewhere. You live here, yes? Do you know the spell of far-speaking?~

Kaldur'ahm has posed:
Although Atrun-Rai told Kal not to treat him like an Elder, there /are/ limits. When an Elder stands, /everyone/ stands. Kal rises instantly to his feet. He nods his heads. ~Yes, of course. It's required learning for first semester students.~

Atrun Rai has posed:
    ~Then you may focus on my name if you wish to speak with me, Kaldur'ahm of Shayeris. Know that I am extremely busy with the events in New York, but if you would like to speak, I am pleased to speak with you.~ With that, he bows faintly, making a sign over his breast in the way of the ancient wizards, like a kind of mudra. A sign of respect made between two of the arcane community. ~I wish you peace. Be well, and excel.~

Kaldur'ahm has posed:
Kal is not familiar with the ancient gesture, but he returns it. He bows to Atrun-Rai. ~And if ever you need a warrior to stand at your side, I hope you'll call.~

Atrun Rai has posed:
    ~And that I shall. Good evening, little brother.~ And then he walks away, off down the pier - no dramatic gestures, no works of transportative sorcery. At least, not until he's well down the way. But there's no point in showing off.