The celestial and the Estril

:: Matisse took a few unsure steps exiting the lift he had just taken up into the tower, making his way towards the only platform extending outwards, noting the figure aboard the ship silently but for now being more interested by the tower itself. He'd extended a careful foot onto the docking plank, clearly mistrusting its integrity even as his arms hugged the alabaster frame until he'd gathered enough courage to yell out to the man aboard, "Hail, O Captain!" he shouted, chuckling to himself as he started into step, now more sure-footed than initially, "Quite the contraptions around here, I assume… I've not set foot somewhere off-limits?"

:: Iskrin stood looking critically at the deck of the Solemn Promise, noting the repairs and other work that needed to be done and calculating how long it would be until he could return to Vazynth to get them made. He looked up at the greeting and flashed a smile across his lips. "No," he said quietly. "The Sky Tower is a public building. Though your presence on a boat will depend on its captain, of course." He turned back to surveying the deck, a frown creasing his brows.

:: Matisse took a few more spry steps towards the docked ship, until he was at the end of its extended docking platform, somehow making the rags he'd been wearing imperious in the process, speaking almost with authority as he lowered himself onto the end of the dock, sitting just out of range to be considered "on" the ship, "The moving platform was impressive enough, but this…" his eyes wandered the length of the ship's bow, "This is something else entirely." Lingering on that for a moment, he turned his head back with a smile and courteous nod towards the man he'd assumed to be the captain, "Matisse, new arrival in the city, pleased to meet you."

:: Iskrin turned from the deck to look at the man as he approached and nodded in response to his greeting. "Iskrin," he offered. "If you're looking for work, the Promise has a full crew I'm afraid." He turned slightly to study the man as he sat - Iskrin presumed respectfully - on the end of the dock. "These Skyships also tend also to be crewed by elves from the Glimmering Isles." He gestured to the tower. "But there are others that dock here that take on hires," he concluded. He noted the mans raggedy clothes as he studied him, though he felt as he did so that the appearance of the clothes belied a certain nobility in the man. "Where have you come from?" he asked, turning fully in Matisse's direction and seeking to meet his eyes behind their glass coverings.

:: Matisse cocked his head, observing the back half of the ship in turn, "Oh, I'm not cut out for this kind of labor, but the technology fascinates me nonetheless." he mused, hitting his lap as if in agitation, "Far and wide, maybe you'd heard of it, being a man of the skies, a place called Toril, but I wouldn't blame you if you didn't, either." He smiled again, now eyeing the planks of the ship just out of reach beneath his feet, "May I, then?"

:: Iskrin nodded quietly in answer to his question, giving him persmission to board the ship. "Toril," he said thoughtfully, trying to draw up something on the name from his memory. "No, I'm drawing a blank. Is it within the continent of Ysa Thalas, or somewhere beyond?" He watched for the man to board and then smiled. Curiosity was an excellent trait in his experience, so long as it could be tamed. "What brings you to Ansa`fel, if not the skyships?"

:: Matisse pushed himself off the edge of the plank, half-expecting the ship to buckle as his feet landed on its deck, though it thankfully didn't happen. Rising to extend an arm dramatically towards the open sky, he proclaimed jestingly, "Far beyond!" As the moment passed, his arm retreated likewise and a smirk spread across his cheek, "It's a different world, let's just say I'm taking a break from dealing with it. A well-deserved break, at that." he added, mostly to reassure himself of it, "But you did guess right, that I am looking for a job. Something more befitting my station and abilities, if I can even figure out what those may be."

:: Iskrin watched the man's theatrical gesture with a passive expression. "Many from other worlds seems to be drawn here," he observed, paying close attention to the way the man moved as he stepped onto the deck. Matisse found his footing immediately, which was not always the case when boarding a skyship, and Iskrin smiled inwardly. He turned the smile outward as he listened to Matisse speak. "Always a good idea to be gainfully employed," he said once the newcomer had finished speaking. "And what is your station, Matisse? And what abilities do you bring with you to our fine city?"

:: Matisse moved about, making his way towards the… cannon? telescope? at the front of the ship, his fingers brushing softly along its brass, "Oh, I've met one such, I believe the commander of the city guard herself…" he ducked, rounding the machine he was still half-mindedly trying to figure out, "That was reassuring, the city doesn't seem to harbor much prejudice towards outsiders. Bodes well." Giving up, the dilettante engineer turned again, away from the machine that had just moments before so captivated him, setting one foot atop the low railing at the front of the ship quite bravely, contradictory to his earlier awkwardness, "Oh, you know, the usual. Celestial-born nobleman, all that." He'd focus, almost forcing the replies out now, his voice straining as he suddenly swung at the empty air, letting a particle of light free of his palm in the process, which would eventually make an arc in the air and return, this time much more radiant, rounding its creator and coming to rest atop his open palm, arm raised, "I know this might not be impressive, but truth be told I'm impressed enough I can still even do it. I hadn't tried it yet, in this realm."

:: Iskrin turned to watch Matisse move around the deck, observing his interest in the weaponry. He nodded at the mention of Lyrena, then watched the man move to the fore, explaining - albeit in a vague way - his heritage. When Matisse swung at the air and the light came into being, Iskrin's hand moved rapidly to his belt and rested, finger poised on the device at his right hip. He watched as the light returned to Matisse and relaxed his hand, letting it fall to his side again. His thoughts and questions about the other things Matisse had said fell momentarily to the wayside and he asked, his voice calm: "What is that?"

:: Matisse turned, smiling smugly at the man's reaction, arm outstretched with the little bundle of shifting lights towards him as to show it off, "Celestial light. Or an approximation of it. It's… quite flammable, or it can cauterize a wound." He nodded reassuringly, "Harmless now, though. It's going to--" and as he spoke, the manifestation collapsed in on itself, disappearing into nothing, "- well, that." His brows furrowed, "Now, I know, I know… but don't send me off to the mages, not a place for me. Maybe a street performer? It… appears to command a bit more attention than I'd initially estimated, for such a simple spell."

:: Iskrin listened to the explanation with interest. "What did you do in Toril?" he asked carefully, watching the light implode on itself. "That is a fine piece of magic, to be sure, but what have you actually applied it to and is it your only trick?"

:: Matisse huffed indignantly, despite not even knowing he could still pull off something so simple just a few minutes ago, "Of course not! I'm a sorcerer by bloodline, I can… well, I can't learn, not really. But I have a repertoire." The little experiment seems to have invigorated him, seeming to stand more proudly despite never actually changing his posture, "Most of them are decidedly not airship-friendly, though."

:: Iskrin nodded. "A sorcerer," he repeated mostly to himself. "And to whom do you owe alliegance, Matisse?" His voice was measured, calm, almost flat, but it was clear from his control over it and the flicker of alertness in his eyes that Matisse had strongly piqued his interest.

:: Matisse cracked his knuckles absent-mindedly, just out of excitement, smiling at the man, "Like I said, off-duty, but my usual employer might get the idea to collect me so…" he trailed off, a bit more solemn at that, "That's already oversharing. You'll have to excuse my childlike giddiness, I really did not expect to make the trip here in such… condition." He was clearly trying to shift the topic, uncomfortable with discussing his prior employment.

:: Iskrin frowned at the evasiveness. "Your usual employer?" he asked, pointedly. "Are you still under contract to them?" He had noted the discomfort around the topic, which made him yet more interested in pushing it further. He didn't change his posture, or his voice, but something in his attitude might have indicated a growing suspicion or concern kindling in his breast.

:: Matisse ran a hand through his hair, eyes wandering the planks of the deck underneath them awkwardly, sobered from his power trip by the interaction enough to finally gleam the other man's growingly stern behavior, in turn becoming yet more uneasy with the conversation taking place, feeling it beginning to shift interrogatory, "I will be as long as I live, but they're not the malevolent type, just a little overbearing… it's no matter, though rather something I'd avoid in any case." He seemed to be itching for an out at this point.

:: Iskrin nodded as he listened, tilting his head slightly to the side. He was quiet for a moment or two, clearly thinking how to outline the man's situation for him. At length he spoke: "Since you are new to this world, Matisse, perhaps it is worth explaining where you are. This is the Kingdom of Sa'Viir-Arin, ruled over by King Malekith. You are within its capital city, Ansa`fel." He gestured beyond the rails of the boat to the elven-built walls, walkways and buildings around them, a faint but noticeable look of pride on his face. "This Kingdom, Sa'Viir-Arin, sits on the edge of the continent and High Kingdom of Ysa Thalas, ruled over by the High King. The High King is benevolent, but strict. They tolerate powerful magic users," as he said this, emphasising the word powerful, he looked pointedly at Matisse, "in only three ways: they join a sanctioned mage guild, they join a sanctioned organisation that serves the local or high crown, or they join the afterlife." He smiled thinly. "I assume that latter is of no interest to you, and you have indicated that the first is off the table. Which leave us with the second option. Service to the High King and a plege of fealty to them." He shrugged his shoulders. "The nature of your service will depend on your skills and interest, but you should know that the High King will not simply let you wander freely in their realm." He smiled, softening his expression a little. "Forgive me," he said with a small chuckle, "I fear I have laid it on rather thick. Of course," he continued, relaxing his shoulders and widening the smile, "You need not decide now. Take some time to think it over - we will be keeping an eye on you and you may return here to relay your decision to me, or you may tell it to the Dame Commander. But you must make a decision."

:: Matisse listened along to the man's explanation, visibly taken aback by the outpouring of such authoritative dialogue from one whom he had assumed to be no more than a common shipmaster, despite his later suspicions, nodding along now as he seemed to have cracked his proud air of regality, feeling more like a child being talked down upon now, his thoughts racing trying to find his mental footing, "The Dame Commander didn't seem to want me in her guard but she did mention…" he trailed off, uncollected yet to form his thoughts that clearly, "Right. I seem to have misjudged your authority as well, but if that's the way magic is handled here, I suppose I'll have to play along." His lips pursed, feet pivoting to leave, "I'll seek someone out, then, in a few days… For now, though… If you'll excuse me." He started into step hurriedly, though offered another courteous nod as he departed.

:: Iskrin nodded to Matisse as he made to leave, almost as though he were giving him permission. "Be well," he called after him, slightly annoyed with himself that his irritation about the repair work the Promise needed had spilled over into his surprise and response to Matisse's display of magic. He scratched his chin thoughtfully, reflecting on what he had just told the sorcerer. Celestial magic was not something he felt comfortable having wander around the city unchecked. But taking or engaging the sorcerer unwillingly would not be wise. "Clumsy," he chastised himself as the figure walked away out of earshot. He made a mental note to speak urgently with Lyrena, and then moved along the deck to enter his cabin.