maskormenacelogs

The answer came only a few moments later, the door swinging open on Maxwell, who - despite a small bit of tension around his eyes - offered a genuine smile.

"Welcome," he said, ducking his head in a small, polite bow. "I hope you didn't have too much trouble finding it."

He stepped back, gesturing for Finn to come in.

"Kitchen's just through on the left," he added as he closed the door behind the elf. "Tea's already on."

"Trust me, finding a cave in a snowstorm is hard," Finn said lightly, entering the house. When Maxwell showed him to the kitchen, he set the pie down on the table. He took off his satchel, hanging it from his chair, before sitting down.

"You know, I was thinking of getting a potted plant for my bedroom, but after what happened recently I think I'll wait a little while."

He chuckled.

"Oh, I've been on that adventure too, trust me." But his humor died as he circled the counter and Finn mentioned the incident in Maurtia Falls. "I wasn't in Maurtia Falls," he said softly, reaching for the cupboard that held his tea box. "But I heard..."

He turned back, bringing the box to the counter so Finn could take his pick from the selection inside - everything from zesty lemon to soothing lavender apparently made especially for aiding sleep, according to the package.

"Is it true, about Archie-- the man who caused it?"

Edited (typo and clarifying ) 2018-01-25 11:39 (UTC)

"I took the bus there when I heard about the plants. Figured I could help out, since that was what I did back in my world." He looked at the selections of teas, then pointed to the zesty lemon.

"He's... gone, yes. I didn't see it, but I heard about it afterwords." And he'd actually spoken to Archie soon after he'd been imported. He'd seemed nice, if a little boisterous. "One of my friends was turned into a tree, and a mushroom sprayed me with spores that made me see things." The sound of Finn's voice made it clear that he hadn't enjoyed what he'd seen.

Maxwell was silent for a long moment, pulling out the tea bags (a warm spice for him) and turning to fetch cups.

"Archie's a good friend," he said finally, softly. "A good man. He wouldn't have done it unprompted." China clicks gently as he sets the cups down on saucers. He drops the tea bags into the cups and passes Finn's back to him. "Hopefully when he gets back he can explain."

He starts toward the fridge, pauses at the door.

"Your friend, were they able to free them?"

"I spoke to Archie once, and he seemed nice," Finn took a sip of his tea. Funnily enough, he and Archie had talked about tea during their one conversation. Finn was also well aware that sometimes a friendly face hid a more sinister side to somebody, but the way Maxwell spoke of him, what had happened in Maurita Falls was out of character for Archie. The fact that one could come back from the dead in this world was still something Finn was trying to wrap his head around.

"I think he just turned back on his own. When I saw him last he still had some leaves and fruit."

"Archie was one of the first people to reach out to me when I brought here. He's helped me a great deal, often simply by being."

He didn't mean it as an excuse for what happened, he just didn't believe it could that cut and dried. Whatever mistakes Archie had made before, he seemed so determined to avoid making them again. There had to be a reason for what happened.

He shakes his head and ducks into the fridge, pulling out cream.

"At least they're coming back. If slowly, it's still something. Where would we even start if they weren't?"

"He wanted to know everything about the whole dragonborn thing," Finn smiled as he recalled that conversation. "I don't think he quite understood, but he wanted to."

He eyed that cream when Maxwell brought it out. Back in Skyrim, if he wanted cream he had to go all the way to a dairy farm. Back home, he'd thought about learning to make a lot of the things he bought, such as cream and butter. Possibly grown his own garden. Multiple gardens even, one for food and one for potion ingredients.

"We'd probably have a lot of uprooting and moving to safer locations to do."

Maxwell smiles softly.

"That's his way. I hope you'll get a chance to know him again, better, once this is sorted."

Noticing the look at the cream carton, he gestures over his shoulder to the counter beside the stove.

"Do you take anything else with your tea? Sugar, honey?"

"I should hope so. He still owes me tea made of his world's special berries."

Finn waves at the counter. "Honey would be lovely." Tea with honey is always good after a long day of adventuring, back in his world. It's also good for days when he just wants to lounge around and do nothing.

"A man after my own tea."

He grins and turns back to a cupboard, pulling out a jar of honey that has clearly already been liberally used. As he opens a drawer to fetch spoons, he asks, "Speaking of the 'dragonborn thing,' do you mind telling me more about it?"

He sets down the honey and spoons, and pulls another chair up to listen while the water finishes heating.

"The way you described it before... I can't think of anything like it in my world."

"It's a Nordic legend back in my world. A dragon soul in a mortal coil," Finn explains. "Basically, my body is elven, but my soul is that of a dragon's." He wonders if he's going to have to use the nesting dolls explanation. "That means that I have some of the powers that a dragon does. If a dragon dies near me, by my own hand or not, I absorb their soul and gain knowledge of the dragon language. Mainly, though, I have a dragon's ability to Shout. In other words, when I speak the dragon language, I can use all sorts of abilities."

Finn pulls out his sketchbook from the artist satchel, and turns to a page with a drawing of a stone wall and what looks like various claw marks in the stone. Closer inspection will reveal that the claw marks aren't as random as they appear, and there's almost a fineness to the way the scratches are arranged. "Normally I learn the dragon language by reading a word wall, but as far as I know there are none in this world."

Maxwell leans closer to see better. He starts to reach out- then glances at Finn in permission before he touches the sketchbook.

"So they're sentient, in your world? They communicate with other species?" He shakes his head, laughing softly at the wonder of it. "Amazing. What I would have given to--" His smile falters slightly. "Well, it would have made things a hell of a lot easier if we could have just talked."

Finn gives Maxwell a brief nod to indicate that he can touch the drawing. The sketch is done in pen, and he has to say he likes using pens and pencils to sketch more than charcoal. Much less messy. Though he did see pencils made of charcoal at the art store.

"That they do. They have their own language, and know how to speak the language of us mere mortals. Most of the time they don't feel like talking though." Finn flips to the next page, where Finn has drawn a dragon. A black dragon that doesn't just look mean and scary, but looks downright evil. "I did meet some that were nice, though."

Maxwell physically pulls back with a blink when Finn shows him the drawing. "Oh, well, that's a look isn't it." Then he leaned back in to study it closer, curiosity winning out over comedic timing. "Do they all look similar to this? Just the four limbs?"

As he asks, he's reaching, hand sliding down the counter to pick up a small leather book. He flips through the pages, glancing down, every few seconds until he finds what he's looking for.

"Here," he turns it toward Finn, revealing that it's Maxwell's sketchbook. "These are what our's look like."

There are several smaller sketches, but the pages are dominated by one dragon in particular.

"The wings are separate limbs in any that I've seen, and they vary quite a bit in color and pattern," he points to a one with stripes, and then to the prominent one with it's solid color.

Edited 2018-02-01 12:26 (UTC)

Finn smirks at Maxwell's reaction to the drawing. He thinks a drawing of that dragon looks scary, he should have seen the real thing. "Just the four limbs, yes."

When Maxwell shows his own sketchbook, Finn leans in for a better look. Except for the wings being a separate body part from the forelegs, they don't look that much different from the dragons in Finn's world.

"Look at the horns on that beast."

Finn turns the page in his book and shows Maxwell more of his own dragon sketches. On one page, there's a few headshots, and some full-body sketches. On the other, there's a single, large drawing of a dragon that, in contrast to the black dragon, looks wise and benevolent.

As they flip pages and share sketches, it's clear that Maxwell has something of a love for dragons as they fill up a lot of space. But there are other images scattered throughout, often between claws, or under wings. Patterns of dots with gentle shading, revealing them as constellations; the face of a towering fortress; and there, every now and again, the shape of a man - scant on detail, but obviously carefully rendered, with the lines gone over several times.

"How would you say they're viewed in your world?" he asks, ignoring these other drawings, still curious about the dragons. "Being that they can talk, even if they chose not too - are they--" he pausing, searching for the world he wants, "--accepted? Are they viewed as part of society?"

Finn's eyes catch the drawings, noting the constellations and wishing he could see those in the night sky. Maxwell's world has some interesting star patterns. He also doesn't miss the drawing of the man with the mustache. If he had to guess, he'd say Maxwell misses that man very much.

Finn knows that feeling. He misses some of his friends back in Skyrim. Lucien, Cicero, Paarthurnax, and many others he's met on his travels.

His own sketchbook has some interesting drawings in it. Strange artifacts, elemental beings, a black horse, and a tentacled something from Finn's home province.

"They're feared," Finn explains. "They were gone for centuries, up until recently, and when they returned they wanted to destroy the world. Partly because they were serving their king, Alduin," He flips back to the drawing of the black dragon for a moment. "They're not without reason, though. It's just that dragons tend to have an innate desire to conquer, and dragons who want to change have to struggle with that desire." Finn finds that rather admirable.

Maxwell looks at him in surprise.

"Really? Now that's very interesting." He shifts and pulls his chair around so he can sit where he can see both sketchbooks, side-by-side. "It was the same for my world. We thought they were extinct, completely gone for solong, and then, suddenly, there they were again. That's why the current age is called what it is - The Dragon Age - for their miraculous return."

Then he frowned.

"Unfortunately, it doesn't seem we learned from it. Most believe them to be dangerous nuisances at best, or wish they'd never returned at all at worst."

"The Dragon Age," Finn mulls that around. "I like that. We just have numbered Eras where I'm from. In my world, we're currently on the Fourth Era."

Finn turns his sketchbook back to the page with the dragons, so they're side-by-side with Maxwell's own dragon drawings. "In my world, dragons are immortal. They don't age, and if they're killed they can be resurrected even centuries later." Well, except when Finn absorbs their souls upon death. There's a reason he's the one dragons fear. "That's how they came back in my world."

Maxwell considers that a moment, then shrugs. "I don't know, I suppose it helps keeps things simple. You see ours have names - like the current Dragon Age, or the Blessed Age before it - but an age is one hundred years long." He smiles, feeling a bit like a student again, with lessons of calendars and dates and the names of long deceased Divine's.... "So, you have qualify it anyway 42:Dragon."

He waves it off with a chuckle and slips off his chair to walk back to the stove where the tea kettle has begun to whine.

"We can trade calendars when we're done with the dragons."

He comes back and pours scalding water in both their cups.

"Which, they aren't like that in my world. Dragons are just - animals. Powerful, incredible, but mortal. I myself unfortunately have to put down two." He sets down the kettle, pauses, looking at Finn. "Though... there are the Elves. The Ancient Elves, I'm not sure if they were technically immortal, if it was some sort of magic, but.... It's not an entirely foreign concept."

"Good idea. Dragons are much more interesting than talking calendars," Maxwell's world's way of keeping track of the years does seem a bit more practical, though. In Finn's world, an Era is usually marked by some world-changing event.

"Dragons don't like me very much." Once the tea is soaking, Finn adds a spoonful of honey to his cup, gently stirring it in. "In my world, we elves tend to outlive humans by centuries."

Maxwell laughs as he reaches for the honey after Finn.

"Dragons don't really like anyone, or really anything, in my world, so don't feel bad." He fills a spoon and dunks it into his tea cup. He fiddles with the bag string. "It was said that the ancient elves were immortal until humans arrived in Thedas and we corrupted them. Then I actually met one and the truth, as so often is the case, is more complicated." He frowns. "Even now I still don't believe I have the whole truth."

Finn takes a sip of tea, not even bothering to blow in it first. He gives no indication of discomfort or pain from drinking something so hot.

"To the dragons, the Dragonborn is the ultimate dragon slayer. But, well, if they didn't threaten the lives of everyone I wouldn't have to fight them to the death." Much as he regrets killing such magnificent creatures.

Maxwell's stirring slows, watching Finn taking a hearty drink. One of his eyebrows twitches upward and his mouth curls - Dragonborn indeed, huh - and then he resumes speed, turning his spoon through his darkening tea.

He waited, patiently, and then blew carefully on his before taking a drink.

"One of the ones I had to kill was because of a misunderstanding. We were actually trying to save her, but how was she supposed to know that?" He shakes his head sadly as he reaches out to flip gently through Finn's drawings. "So tell me more about your world. I understand you're a mage? Is that common there?"

Edited 2018-02-09 11:39 (UTC)

As a Dunmer, Finn has a natural resistance to heat. Maxwell might see some sketches of lizard people, a mad god, and a creepy looking elf. Finn has seen some very interesting things.

"It's fairly common, depending on where you are. Anybody has the ability to learn spellcasting, though some people have more of an aptitude for it than others. We elves tend to appreciate the mystic arts more than, say, Nords, who tend to believe that magic is for milk drinkers." Finn makes a tiny flame dance between his fingers as a bit of a demonstration.

Maxwell pauses for a long time on the sketches of the other races in Finn's journal, meaning to ask, but then looks up, caught off guard by Finn's response to his previous question.

"Everyone can learn?" Both eyebrows jump up this time, clearly the topic an interesting one to him. "Even if they aren't born to it?"

"Magicka is something that exists in everybody," Finn explains. "Whether you harness that magick or not is up to you." The idea of not everybody being born with the potential sounds weird to him. It's like Maxwell told him that not everybody in his world is born with ten fingers.

"Some people who choose to learn spellcasting only learn a few spells, while others, like me, learn the craft extensively."

Maxwell just looks at him, all rapt attention. Like a child being given a gift.

"Well," he says finally, "I suppose I don't have to ask how magic is viewed among your people then. I expect if everyone can do it, it's rather accepted?"

Maker, how refreshing that sounded. Imagine Thedas with that tale as old as time sorted.

Finn just smiles at Maxwell's enthusiasm. He likes talking about magic, and Maxwell is a nice change of pace from half of Skyrim.

"Among my people, and most elven races for that matter, yes. Among the Nords of Skyrim, not so much. Most Nords think that magic is for wimps, which is rather ironic considering that Skyrim is home to the Mages' College, where most mages come to study."

Finn had met one or two Nord mages, so obviously it wasn't a universal rule, but rather a cultural thing.

Maxwell's head tips, bobbing slightly.

"If it's that versus thinking it's an dangerous aberration that needs to be eliminated, I'd rather someone just think it beneath them," he replies, lifting his mug to take another drink. "No offense, of course. It's just the latter is not uncommon in my world and it has led to many - disagreements." A beat. "To put it very lightly."

Finn's about to sip from his tea when Maxwell makes his other comment, the mug stopping halfway to his lips as he makes an incredulous face. But then he just takes another sip and continues.

"Well, some people fear magic because they feel like mages were responsible for a daedra invasion two-hundred years ago, and part of that is due to some cultures' pre-conceived notions about magic. But to want it eliminated? Magic is still too useful a craft to want gone."

Though Finn doesn't doubt that there are probably some who feel that way, and just want magic gone. "After all, magic can heal, or enchant weaponry. For all Nords' talk of magic, they do like their enchanted weapons."

Edited 2018-02-09 23:26 (UTC)

"Not everyone is capable of magic in my world. You're either born with the ability or you're not." He drinks and then sets his cup aside. "And it is true that demons tend to be more attracted to mages over anyone else because magic is, after all, power and demons like that. But anyone can be tempted, mage or no. I even had a Desire demon make a pass at me once."

Maxwell's lip purse into a frown, his head shaking in a helpless sort of gesture.

"It's like the dragons - it's easy to be afraid of something that's different from you, especially when it happens to be powerful and sometimes can be dangerous."

Finn's assuming that demons are more or less the same as daedra. "Magic can be dangerous, true, but so can anything really. A man with a sword or bow is dangerous, and even most tools can be dangerous. A blacksmith could bash you with their hammer, or a playwright could stab you with their quill. Void, I once killed someone with a fork."

He takes another sip of tea to wet his throat.

"To hate and fear what you don't understand, it's asinine. Magic is a tool just as much as it can be a weapon. Certainly more of a tool than a sword is."

Maxwell smiles, pleased. Yes, he quite likes Finn.

(He'd already decided that, but it was always nice to have it so directly reconfirmed.)

"Always nice to find another open mind," he replies. "Especially as I might otherwise have just made tea time very awkward and we haven't even gotten to the pie yet."

Finn smiles back. "Likewise."

He taps the box he brought the pie in. "I'd hate to have made this pie for no reason. Speaking of, I should think it's cool enough that it won't burn your mouth by now." Maxwell might note how Finn said 'your' and not 'our mouths', much like how the tea didn't burn his tongue.

He did make a note, and it makes his smile widen. Both amused and appreciative in the same beat.

"I'll get the plates then." And he slides off his seat to cross the kitchen to the cupboard. When he comes back, he hesitates teasingly with Finn's fork, holding it back a few inches. "Dare I?"

Finn just smirks. "Unless you're mistreating children I don't think you have anything to worry about." The elf plucks the fork from Maxwell's fingers.

Maxwell grins in reply.

"I think we're going to get along just fine, Dragonborn."

And he reaches for the pie, happy to cut in and share with Finn.

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