She never really knows why, but she always comes home to the city again and again. Nothing can really tear Esthalia's heart from its roots in the massive capital of Tyfnalg. No matter how many times she coaxed herself out of the hustle and bustle to retire to the city, she has always returned. She sighs, staring down into the cobbled streets from her window in one of the small houses surrounding the central focal point of the area: the Mages' Tower.
The Tower is a good set of stories high, definitely surpassing any building in the city, even the mighty cathedrals and garrison towers. In this tower, mages of all standings and disciplines come to train side by side, building allies and archnemeses all the while. Esthalia herself had studied there once, but she learned little.
In truth, Esthalia had, and still has, a magic discipline unique to her alone. She needs no charms, no herbs, and no incantations to complete her spell. She merely wills the thing done, and it is done. This talent had baffled all the sage teachers there, and she trained only a very little amount of time before it was declared that nothing the mages there taught would be of any use to her.
This set her off, three long years ago, as more of an outcast than she had been before she entered. Being, oddly, of very vague golem origins, her skin is stoney grey, her hair a bright cobalt cut short in a bob, and her eyes an unsettlingly sepia brown. She is average in height and lacks external ears, having instead only the canals that she might be able to hear.
However, there are many more, many odder creatures in Tyfnalg. Half-breeds of all types walk the streets quite readily, and many people, full and half-breed alike, come to Esthalia for her famed work on transmutations and charmed stones. She, herself, dislikes the attention, but she can not bring herself to turn away from the many people of Tyfnalg.
Sighing, Esthalia turns back to her client. She crosses the room and takes a seat across from him at the table. She places a hand on top of his, closes her eyes, clears her head, and says in her quiet tone, "You seek the heart of a lady."
"You know already? Usually the priests have to sacrifice many small animals to pay the price of so clear a vision!" the youth replies.
"A vision!" Esthalia laughs. "In all honesty, it's very obvious, just by your countenance," she admits, opening her eyes to smile conspiratorily. "Besides," she continues, "if there's one thing I learned at the Tower, it's never to trust a priest. You never know whether their reading is truthful or not."
"Oh."
"So who's the lucky lady?" Esthalia asks, opening her eyes to stare at they young man.
"Ummm..." he replies sheepishly.
Esthalia's jaw drops as she feels the notions of the answer from the contact she has with him. She pulls her hand away and shakes her head. "No," she says firmly.
"Why not?"
"I don't know you, and you're a client. I don't date clients."
"I don't think you date anyone. Keep it up and you'll die an old prune." He tips her a wink and waggles a scolding finger at her as he rises, too, from his chair.
"Okay. I yield that point. What I'm not getting, though, is why you suddenly think I'm such a good catch. I don't even know you, by God!"
"My name is Pent, and I'm the blacksmith's son and apprentice. I've seen you while working on the Tower's horses while you were training there, and I've often seen you from your window ever since. I love to gaze upon you, and I'm convinced you eminate this gentle wave of love and hope I feel every time I see you."
Esthalia blushes and shifts her weight uneasilly. "You speak more like a poet than a smith," she admits. "And yet, though you know my face, you don't know my nature." She backs up slightly and takes on the general appearance of a startled doe.
"You are kind and gentle and honest. Need I know more?"
"I've never had my love requested by a man before," she replies quietly, swallowing hard.
"There's a first time for everything, you know."
"This is... this is really sudden. I ... I'm not so sure."
Pent laughs. "Come, now! It's not like this is a request for marrage!"
"I yield that point also." She retreats to her window and sighs. "Still... I don't know..."
Pent comes up behind her and places his forge-strengthened hands on her shoulders. "Take a chance," he says gently.
Esthalia feels Pent's gentle spirit through his hands on her shoulders, and she nods slightly. She turns and looks up at him, aware for the first time that he is about three inches taller than she. She leans up and kisses him, a complete stranger. Well, not a totally complete stranger, but a fairly large portion of a stranger regardless.
Why? she asks herself as she pulls away, noticing, also for the first time, his golden brown eyes, his chiseled features, and his black hair. Her answer comes soon enough. This Pent is of a noble heart, a kind spirit, and his harmless intentions. This aside, Esthalia finds herself immensely flattered that any man should take a fancy in her, regardless of her appearance.
"That wasn't so bad, was it?" Pent asks, wrapping her in his arms.
"No," Esthalia admits. "But it could have been better." Pent blinks, stunned. Esthalia smiles lightly as she feels his warmth receed back into his core. She stands on her tip-toes and kisses him lightly on the cheek, amused at this sudden feeling of calm surrounding her. "I think I should let you try again, what do you say?"
Pent laughs and leans down. He kisses her again in response. Why waste words? That's all that needs to be said.
Esthalia awakes to the warm summer morning, the birds chirping loudly and the sun streaming into her room. She smiles sedately and curls up a little beneath her light covers, trying to fall quite contentedly back to sleep. She fails miserably and opens her eyes, glad to see daylight, though unhappy for not being with Pent still. She smiles and laughs lightly at his gentleness and kind nature, as well as his truth in his confessions to her. Never before had anyone - man or woman - spoken to her with such blutness and unguarded thoughts. It had been almost unnerving.
Almost.
Finally, after a few more minutes of deliberation, Esthalia drags herself out of bed. She hums lightly and happily to herself as she walks around her bedchamber, tidying it up, making her bed, and calling forth a swelling of warm water to fill her bathtub. She adds soap and watches as the suds froth over the lip of the tub before she shuts off the water.
She lets the water sit for a bit, finishing up a few random necesseties and selecting a fresh set of clothes to wear for the day. She lays these on the chest at the foot of her bed before she pulls her satin nightdress over her head and lets it fall in a smooth heap onto the floor. Bracing herself for any excessive heat, she gingerly steps into the water before sighing contentedly and relaxing in the fluffy bubbles.
She relaxes in her bathtub for quite a bit of time, glad that she does not have any clients to meet with today. She plays in the water, always having loved the frothy bubbles that soap makes, and finally dunks her head under the still-warm bath water, allowing it to clean her short blue hair.
She stays under for only a bit of time before she feels something grab her foot. She lets out a strangled yelp beneath the water as she begins to be dragged out of the water by her ankle. She forces herself not to scream and thusly drown herself, but instead propels herself to the surface, breaking the surface of the water and choking out the water from her lungs.
She yanks her foot back beneath the water before she realizes that there is a man - one whom she has never before seen - standing at the other end of the bath tub with one eyebrow raised quizically. He is tall and well-built with brown hair and purple eyes, as well as a vaguely greyish tint to his skin. He is dressed in various shades of purple and has a longsword strapped to his belt.
Esthalia realizes she is staring in her assessment of the man and looks down before she notices that her chest is bare. She covers herself with her arms and scowls at the man. "Who are you?" she demands quickly. "What do you want? What are you doing in my chamber?"
The man's eyebrow remains raised and he blinks. "You are the Lady Esthalia?" he asks, a smallish smile lighting on his lips.
"No," Esthalia replies with firm irritation. "I am the mage Esthalia. What do you want already?"
"I come with a message for you from my Lord Hemlock. He said it must be delivered immediately, despite the consequences of the hour or prior engagements."
"That doesn't tell me who you are, who Hemlock is, why you're in my bedroom, why you tried to drown me, or how you got in here in the first place," Esthalia counters, still quite irritated.
"My Lord Hemlock," the man continues, evidently either deaf or ignoring her, "wishes to meet with you and take you to wed."
A deep anger suddenly plunges into Esthalia's heart, and she splashes her greying and cooling bathwater onto the man. "Get OUT!" she shouts. "Get out of my house right now!"
"What will be your reply?" the man queries, not at all phased by her violent outburst.
"Tell your Lord Hemlock that I refuse on account of his irritating messanger, my lack of prior knowledge about him, and a previous love affair," she replies crisply before continuing in a low and menacing tone. "Now get out of my house before I do something violent to you."
A smile touches the man's face and his eyebrow once more raises. "We Golems are incapable of doing violence," he replies.
"Let me tell you what, you talk one more time, and I will tell you where to shove your high and mighty words. Now, do I have to tell you once again, or are you going to get out of here peacefully?"
The man stands there, his eyebrow raising once again.
In a flash, Esthalia rises from her bathwater and wraps a nearby towel around her body. She steps from the bathtub and shoves the man, who is noticeably taller than she, on the shoulders. "LEAVE!" she commands with blood-curdling intensity.
The man staggers but does not leave. Instead, the door swings open to the room, and Pent is standing there, drenched in sweat from the day's heat and his work in the forge. "Esthalia?" he asks, concern oozing in his voice.
"Pent!" Esthalia cries in relief. "Thank God!" She crosses the room swiftly and reaches out to him when the man in purple grabs her around the neck and pulls her close to him.
"My Lord Hemlock does not take 'No' for an answer," he explains.
"Hey, man! Let her go! She didn't do anything to you!" Pent protests, walking into the room towards the pair.
"My Lord Hemlock will not allow for such. Lady Esthalia is the last surviving member of the noble Tri'gaf family. She is essential for maintaining the continuation of the Golem lineages."
"Tell your Lord Hemlock to shove it!" Esthalia snaps, taking his hand and biting it hard.
The man does not move. He does not even flinch. Esthalia then understands why not. He is not a full man; he has only half a soul, and he is incapable of feeling pain or regret. He simply follows orders and does not need worry about the consequences, for they will not harm him morally or emotionally, for he lacks emotions and fear. What sort of creature is he?
He is not immune, as Pent gallantly demonstrates, to physical contact, however. A swift left hook loosens the man's hold on Esthalia enough to let her slip free and stand behind Pent. "Get your clothes," Pent whispers, turning to face her.
"Pent! Look out!" she cries in response as she clings to his back, sending the message through his body to duck as the man staggers forwards and launches a swing of his own.
"Get your clothes, 'Lia!" Pent commands, sending a fist into the man's gut.
Esthalia takes the opportunity to slip into her clothes for the day: a light, white sundress with a scalloped hem at the bottom. She shoves her feet into a pair of sandals and heads for the door. "Pent!" she urges.
"Right," Pent replies, throwing a final punch before turning tail and racing after Esthalia, out of the house. The two run on to the town square where a crowd of people allows Esthalia to declare the place safe, for now.
Panting, Esthalia catches her breath before fixing Pent with a hard stare. "Shouldn't you be at work?" she demands.
Pent blushes and rubs the back of his neck. "Ideally..."
"What happened?"
"Dad wanted to meet you," Pent mutters. "Please tell me you have something better to do!"
Esthalia blinks. "Are you embarrassed of me?" she asks, her brow furrowing in distress.
"No!" Pent declares firmly before jumping at the force of his word and repeating, more gently, "No. Not you, 'Lia. It's just... Dad's a bit ... overly judgemental."
"So?"
"He's not fond of the idea that I'm in love with a non-human, especially one who doesn't have any clear idea as to what she is, exactly. No offense."
Esthalia smiles genuinely. "No need to worry," she says, taking his hand and leaning on his arm. "Lead on, lover boy."
Pent begins walking, weaving his way through the streets. He watches Esthalia cautiously and looks away whenever she looks up at him.
"Is something wrong?" she asks finally.
"I'm just wondering whether Dad will take extra points off for your hair being soaking wet..."
"Problem solved," she replies, willing the water clinging to her hair to evaporate at an accelerated rate, leaving her with a soft, blue bob as usual. "Any other requests, darling?"
"None at all," he replies, wrapping his arm about her shoulder and leaning over to kiss her hair. "None whatsoever."
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