There is no defense line, but defense territory.

[noonlight]

Who: Illumination & You.
What: Various goings on at the abandoned building that Lu has moved into.
When: Throughout the second and third week of the story.
Where: A former wine merchant (possible smuggler's) abandoned house in the 'neutral' territory.
Content warnings: None, yet.

Comments

[logosmaxima]

Even if the wards don't compel him, Magnus can feel them plucking at his will like the attentions of little fish to a wader's toes. The strength and intent behind the work is worth admiring, and in fact he does so as they approach the house, eye gleaming with appreciation.

He won't speak a word of what he sees until they're well inside, though. No sense further confusing any poor mortal who is already mazed by a hard-to-see house.

"I would be glad of a cup," he says, warmly. More for the sake of engaging with another's hospitality than any need for the depressingly weak stimulants in the stuff. "Though it does seem they treat the art of the leaf as an afterthought in this poor city, does it not?"

He'll locate himself a chair and suit himself to its bulk, losing a few inches of height to better fit what he finds. No sense being uncomfortable.

"I do not believe we were formally introduced, back in the Library. I am Magnus, called 'the Red', when I am not playing at Miracle Max." Magus extraordinaire, foreign werewolf of mystery!

[noonlight]

"I couldn't really say much of anything about the 'art of the leaf', but it's hot and brown," they call out from the kitchen while they return with two ceramic cups of tea (adjacent beverage). "Close enough for horseshoes and handgrenades."

After offering him a cup, they hop up to sit on one of the shop counters. Better to be at a more reasonable eyeline, hmm?

"And we were not. I'm called Illumination, or Lu if you want to shorten it."

gremlin part of my brain read the first line and went "mmm cup of gravy"

[logosmaxima]

"So long as it doesn't explode," Magnus says cheerily, "I will be content with whatever it may be."

He accepts the cup but does not drink immediately, curling his hands around it and permitting himself time to experience its aroma in full. It is, truly, not a thing of great complexity or subtlety. But it is a piece of offered hospitality, and that flavors it.

"Illumination," he repeats, "and you are a thaumaturge of some subtle skill with appearances. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, and witness your works.

"What have you made of this Story, thus far?"