Chapter Text
At this time and age, with it being afternoon and more apprentices passing tests and becoming full-fledged witches with the blessings of their masters, the city of Kalhn is lively.
Witch folk cover most of the cobblestone grounds that Kalhn is built on, a sea of people bustling through the streets. One man avoids bumping into the busy crowd, pressing his arms at his sides as firmly as one can, in attempt to make himself smaller. It is he who manoeuvrers through the mass like he is a local, making his way up stairs and to The Starry Sword.
It is he who wears a rich blue shawl with intricate geometrical designs on it, framing his body well with the silvery chemise and loose, flowy skirt. Tattoo that swirls like smoke decorates his bare forearms reveal themselves from the shield of his shawl to rest at his hips. “Mr. Nolnoa?” He calls out, voice rough from being unused. “Sir, I’m here to pick up a package. Are you present?”
“Yes, yes, my greatest apologies,” he hears from above, and he sees the elder make his way down the stairs that encircles the embellished Silverwood Tree. “I was busying myself making magical dyes upstairs, yes. A package I hear?”
“Aye.” He taps the wooden floorings with his feet. Mr. Nolnoa walks down from the last step, back hunched and wrists behind him. “I’m on a time crunch. I’m correct to assume you have it all?”
Mr. Nolnoa sends a smile his way, eye closed and all. He makes his way to the packages over the counter. “You would be correct, sir. For a…” he pauses. “Mr. Fyuoco?”
“That is me, yes.” Mr. Fyuoco nods. The elder gives him the package and Fyuoco makes the purchase, sending a thanks his way before heading out.
The streets are just as loud as he had left it. With his package in hand, as grey as any other package as stores, stalls and shops share, no one would bat an eye that an Outsider is sending off a package from The Starry Night. Mr. Fyuoco meets a shoulder and a sharp bump occasionally. It doesn’t hurt, no. Neither does it damage the goods in the bag.
His tattooed arms ––yes, inked skin that has caused nothing but trouble for him –– creates a bulge under his scarph where he hides it from the public’s eye. His left arm comes over his other to hold it in place, exposing the art on his arm.
Every now and then, a witch would observe the ebony streaks on his arm and search for anything that relates to magic. Fyuoco would dare them to look for anything discriminating. They would back away. Truly, the tattoo isn’t illegal.
He’s not a witch, is he? No. Only a mere Outsider ignorant to the knowledge of magic.
Though, it is he who slithers into an alleyway as smooth as a snake, swift and quick––and it is he who opens the packages and tears off the shawl off of him, fastening the new wands and inks onto his Inventory Corset that fits securely around his medium. The additional tools sticks to him like glue. Fyuoco takes a hold of a ribbon from his corset and ties it around his neck, activating a disguise all while capping on his attire.
It reveals the Pointed Cap Erdono that visits Kalhn three times a month, perhaps once give or take.
It is he who’s shawl has become a black cloak with midnight blue inner linings that hugs his shoulders fully, his pointed cap a matching black with gold accents. He returns to the energetic street with a simple smile, the paper material of the package long gone. He joins his heels together and flies over the crowd, floating just above most people’s heads. He descends before a food stall in the market area and waits in line till he’s up to order; a simple bun with chocolate filling.
As he waits for his dessert, his eyes trail to the other stalls in the streets.
Qifrey and the others stands less than four metres away from him. His heart beats faster at their sudden appearance. Oh, the man breathes. He forces his gaze away. Ooh. He hadn’t seen the man since last year when he had a run in with him in one of his other disguises. Oh, how humble and polite Qifrey had been, apologised for bumping into him with a smile. He couldn’t help but send one back and tell him “Ah, no, that’s alright,” and leave it to him to figure out why he sounded so familiar.
Erdono scans over the sweet choices at the food vendor and takes his order, settling to stand beside the stall to eat his chocolate bun. The dessert itself is good; a smooth rich filling of cocoa filling his mouth as his tongue registered the oily, sugary bun that had been fried. Erdono sees two of Qifrey’s little apprentices make their way to the same food vendor and he catches pieces of their conversation. Staying at his spot, he eats his fried bun, pretending to look distracted.
“Here–Coco! This stall sells amazing buns with different fillings! They even have willowgrape jam as an option!”
“Wow,” the green haired girl drools. “Now that sounds delicious.” Her hands clasp together. “Which one are you taking?”
“I’m thinking of the honeydew cream filling. I’ve had enough of vanilla for the meanwhile,” the pink haired girl responds and places her order. Coco follows shortly after and they stand before Erdono with their blatant dialogue, chatting away.
As they converse, the topic transitions into an incident that rammed them earlier that week –– if he has the time right. Good. This is what he has waited a couple of minutes for. Rather quick for a switch, aye? “It would’ve been better if that didn’t happen,” the curly haired girl, Tetia, taps her forefinger at her chin, the focus behind her eyes fading away. “I wish I could’ve been more of an aid to them. It was bad enough that it had to occur…”
Oh? Erdono ever so slightly slows down the pace of his eating.
“No, you did what you could do!” Coco holds her shoulder with a soft sigh. “It was an accident. No one wanted it do happen either.”
“But I was the—”
“You brought out a basin right after it happened!”
“Coco, please. It was me who––“
“You helped to destress them while Qifrey went to find nurses!”
“But…” then the sentence dies. Erdono finds the rest of his chocolate bun gone and licks his fingers clean, dusting off sugar from his beard. “Had I known how to help properly… it would’ve served them a lesser injury.” She looks down.
Guilt and self-directed anger send a sense of similarity throughout him. Someone who wished they could do more to help an incapacitated person–don’t we all? To withdraw the agony that ails your loved one? Heal them from whatever that’s deteriorating their health?
Him, of all people, can relate.
Abruptly, Erdono turns around and walks down the street, sudden silence overcoming the two girls before their tones become hushed. It is he who doesn’t look back to catch their alarmed expressions, wondering whether or not he caught the real sense of the conversation. Whether or not he did, it was their mistake to encounter him at all. Erdono aligns his Sylph Shoes together and flies off into the distance, away from the buildings and to the paths that stretch from the forest, until he arrives inside the core of the woodland.
It is then he strips away from the identity of a well-mannered Pointed Cap that is named Erdono, and instead, allows his true self to emerge. He tugs at his ribbon and slides it off his neck, disabling the contraption’s effect as the edge of his hat elongates flatly and creates a ridge; where a thin, see-through sheet covers his hat.
It stretches at stops at his collar, flowing behind like cloth –– till the ends ignites. The whole sheet lights up in flames and smoke follows him, his brim casting a shadow over his visage, guarding him.
It is he who calls himself Olruggio, who’s titles are many, but the most popular one among small group of Brimmed Caps, Witch of the Ashes. And it is thou who has found thy lucky one. A kind-hearted, empathic soul that is alacritous to help anyone in need. Anyone.
On the forest ground where fallen leaves rests on top of organic soil, Olruggio looks up, his cloth of flames rustling in the breeze, to drown in the sunlight the trees above allow. It feels good, he breathes. It feels good.
Back at the marketplace, Qifrey turns and stares at the vacant space beside the stall and catches a feeling that he missed someone imperative. A crawling sensation nauseates him, and for once, it is not the Silverwood roots that fills room in his veins, no.
It is something else.