OUTCAST Ch 2 Fishing

BEFORE

“Really? Fishing again?”

Kalibose paused in the act of pulling his fishing pole out of the hall closet. He had thought the way clear when he came down for an early breakfast, with his father locked in his study and his mother in the drawing room, but he hadn't accounted for random visiting cousins. Marathel was two years further into his studies than Kalibose, and in Marathel's opinion at least, that meant he was that much better than his younger cousin. Marathel was a classic Woodstalker of his father's build: long thick white hair, skinny and tall as a reed, high cheekbones, and a pervading sense of self-importance. Kalibose was the outlier of his siblings. He did not have the stature of a gorilla like his eldest brother, Terral, nor was he the tall stick of a man that was the next brother in line, Alfric. Even the middle brother, Talrend, the one his parents kept trying to forget about, was stocky, muscular, and bore resemblance to Terral and their grandfather. His petite fiery sister Lorel was the closest in looks to the ruling matriarch of the Woodstalker family, with her attitude and her short stature. Kalibose was somewhere in the middle. He did not have the height of his father, nor the broad shoulders of two of his brothers. He had a delicateness about his hands and a softness in his posture that most resembled his mother.

Although the Woodstalker clan in general had moved on from arranged marriages or forbidding the mixing of classes, Tenethor Woodstalker, the rising leader of the druidic family, had shocked quite a few of the older generations when he chose Lunariel Moonweaver as his mate instead of pulling from the pool of available powerful druids. The priestess from the Temple of the Moon was soft-spoken, had bright blue hair, and seemed very plain to the nosy aunts in attendance to their wedding. But like any decision he made, Tenethor was steadfast in his devotion to his wife, and she bore him five children, an almost unseen feat in the age of the night elves' dwindling fecundity. Powerful druid blood ran in the Woodstalker veins, and the first two were boys born with golden yellow eyes, white hair, and an obvious talent for the druidic arts. They were nearly grown when Lunariel gave birth to their third son. Although built powerful like his oldest brother and also having white hair, he had plain silver eyes and seemed to have no talent at all: not druid, not priest. The next child born was a girl, with golden eyes and she was the darling of the family. Kalibose came last, and he also had silver eyes and the blue hair that belonged to his mother. He had early on started his training for the priesthood, and although his father sometimes gave him looks of disappointment, his mother would catch him with his books open and lightly ruffle his hair when she passed, or affectionately pat his head. She was a very quiet woman, seemingly buried under the exuberance and brilliance of her talented offspring. But secretly Kalibose admired her and thought her a very strong person, that she could maintain her grace and poise in the midst of the politics of the ruling druid family.

Kalibose sighed through his nose in irritation. He didn't know what Marathel was doing in his house at this early of a morning, but his hopes of getting out the door without an interrogation were dwindling. He leaned the fishing pole over his shoulder and closed the closet door.

“What do you want, Marathel?” he tossed over his shoulder as he made his way to the dining area. His fishing basket was already there on the table, and he laid the pole down beside it. Marathell followed him as he searched about the kitchen and laid out cheese, bread, and apples to pack for lunch. His cousin plucked at the sleeves of his apprentice priest robes as he spoke.

“Uncle Tenethor wanted to me to come help you study. Since, you know, you're falling behind.”

Kalibose gritted his teeth as he wrapped his lunch up in a towel and shoved it forcefully into his basket. Of course his father had noticed his grades were slipping. He'd done his best to cover it up, hidden the letters, but in this family, everyone was watching everyone else just a little bit too closely. He took in a breath, let it out, and tried to resist the urge to punch his cousin in the nose.

“Well it just so happens I'm taking my books with me to study today. So I don't need any help this morning.”

“Are you going to be studying or fishing?”

Dammit.

His father stood at the door of his study, watching the entire conversation. He was wearing expensive green and gold robes that were loose on his thin frame, and a pair of spectacles were perched on his nose. He had obviously already been at work for several hours, because he had rolled the sleeves of robe up and his white hair was starting to come undone from the tail he had pulled it into when he started. The Druid Council leader moved his glasses to the top of his head and pinched his nose as he entered the room. Kalibose straightened up subconsciously, holding his chin higher, his arms tight against his sides. To his relief his father went for the tea kettle balanced on the stove, instead of leaning in to interrogate him. The tall druid started water boiling and then leaned back against the counter to regard his son.

“You would do well to accept your cousin's generous offer of help, Kalibose.”

The way he said his name made it sound disappointing, like the idea of failure was synonymous to his existence. Kalibose gritted his teeth and tried not to let it show.

“Marathel distracts me from studying, Father. I do it best in quiet.” He nodded at the fishing pole laying next to his basket as his cousin made an indignant huffing noise behind him. “That's why I go down to the river.”

His father's face was unreadable as he went back and forth between the cousins. Marathel's father was also a member of the council, and one that could be considered a competition to Tenethor's leadership. They were on amicable terms for now, but the Council Leader never let his guard down as far as the other druid went. Tenethor had a strong family showing in his two elder sons, already prominent members of the Cenarian Circle, but the embarrassment of their middle son still hung over the family. Even after Talrend had quietly left Darnassus to find his own fortune, Tenethor kept a tight leash on the two youngest Woodstalker children. They must be neat, polite, exemplary in their studies, and every moment the picture of an offspring of the Council Leader. Tenethor uncrossed his arms, keeping his face infuriatingly neutral.

“You are bringing your books with you in this moldy fishing basket?”

It wasn't very much of a question, more of a confirmation. Kalibose nodded tightly, too nervous to speak. His father crossed the kitchen to the counter and opened the basket. Inside were several thick tomes with titles such as The Way of the Light and Elune's Blessing. Tenethor pulled the top one out, turning it over, and then flipping through it. Kalibose held his breath as a few random parchments fell out of the pages. He made himself calmly reach down and pick them up, turning them over so the writing was facing the floor. His father didn't notice that he handed the papers to him face down, and stuck them back in the book with a noise of approval. He handed the book to Kalibose, holding onto it a moment longer than necessary so that he could pin his youngest son with a stern look.

“You have one week to make significant progress. Elune above knows why you are set in this emasculating path, but if you intend to follow its course, you will do so at a level that is on par with the rest of this family.”

“Yes, sir.”

Kalibose swallowed down his hurt at the insult. His father released the book, and he quickly shoved it in his basket. His father's face no longer hid his disapproval as he turned his back on his son to attend to the screaming tea kettle.

“And get a proper book bag. You're going to ruin your books.”

Kalibose stuffed his lunch into his basket, threw his fishing pole over his shoulder, and fled the kitchen. He had nearly made it to the front door when a quiet voice stopped him.

“Kalibose.”

His mother materialized from behind the curtain of the drawing room. Her blue hair was hidden by a lace shawl that covered her head and shoulders and draped down her back. She was not required to cover her head or her face as some Temple Priestesses did, but most days she clung to the ritual. Marathel had teased Kalibose once that she must be covering some kind of ugly scar, and he had not stopped himself from punching his cousin in the nose that day. He thought it made her look ephemeral, as if she were not meant for this political, material world that they lived in. Today though, when he was already on edge from his father's words, he resented her quiet countenance. She hid herself away from the unpleasantries of their life, and it wasn't fair that he had to take the full force of them. He held his body stiff as she reached up to smooth his long hair out of his eyes. She noticed his angry demeanor, and pulled her hand away as she turned her head to the side. Her words were nearly a whisper as she spoke.

“I will purchase you a satchel for your books in town today. Would you prefer leather?”

Kalibose flushed an ugly shade of scarlet. He had hoped that she had not overheard his father's callous dismissal of her chosen profession, but it seemed she had heard every word. He nodded without meeting her eyes.

“I've got to go study now, Mother.” Without looking up, he pushed the door open and escaped the house.

NOW

One more black mark against the silver-haired monk: she was obviously a morning person.

Kalibose was a fitful sleeper: he always had been, even before his discovery of the arcane, when he would wake in sweats and rushes of mental alacrity. Even now, when his body was constantly drawing from a source of magic, he woke with a gasping start, always reaching for something that was amiss. He had long ago learned to counteract his exhaustion, but his temper still suffered from a bad awakening every morning.

She literally woke him up with her talking that morning, chattering on to herself like there was another separate person in the cave. She had dug through his travel bag and found a coffee pot, and was brewing something fragrant and strong on the smoldering coals of their campfire. He had started awake worse that usual, knowing for sure there was someone else there this time, even though the coffee smelled pleasant and washed the dusty scent of the cave from his nostrils. He sat up sharply, shoving his hood off his face and looking around with bleary eyes.

“Good morning, Sunshine,” she greeted him cheerfully. She looked just as fresh and spry as she did yesterday evening, and he felt acutely aware of his sweaty hair and worn clothes. He half-heartedly smoothed his blue hair back and located the tie that had slipped out while he was sleeping. He pulled his stringy hair back away from his face and heard another rustling from the fire. He watched the monk with open exasperation as she rummaged through his travel bag and produced two cups. Anger flared in him and brought him the rest of the way awake. He gathered his cloak around himself and grumbled as he stomped his way closer to the fire.

“Have you truly never heard of a thing called personal space?” He grabbed the cups out of her hands and she gave him a puzzled look as he poured himself a cup of coffee. He carelessly took a sip of the burning liquid, forgetting that it had been moments ago boiling, and cursed as it burnt his tongue. He tossed the other cup at her before gesturing from the coffeepot to his travel bag.

“This is my coffeepot. This is my bag. Don't go poking through my stuff without asking. We learned that in nursery school, remember?”

Still smarting over his scalded mouth, he whispered an incantation and produced an sliver of ice to cool his coffee down. Mae held her cup out to him, and he did the same for her, although not without rolling his eyes first. Just in case she forgot that he was not a nice person. She blew on her cup and gave him a curious look.

“How was I supposed to make coffee without finding a coffeepot? Besides, we're sharing: this is my coffee, and your pot. We learned that in nursery school too.”

The triumphant smirk she gave him stole away his angry retort and he grumpily stared at his cup as he replied. “Just ask first next time.”

They broke camp quickly, and true to his word, they stepped out into the morning air just as the sun fully rose into the sky. It was crisp in the early spring air, and Kalibose pulled his cloak tight around him as they walked. Much to his consternation, the monk had resumed her earlier stream-of-consciousness talking, only now it was directed at him. Every now and then he grunted in reply, but his mind was off making plans.

He had passed his own perverse mockery of adult trials months before, and had been presented with his mage's staff upon completion. It was with him now, oozing a trickle of magic in its wake. It was powerful in its own right, but it was fitted with a casing to hold an amplifier, and that was the object he was searching for in Dustwallow Marsh. His staff was nothing special: merely the standard oaken branch covered with runes that every young mage received when their apprenticeship was complete. His fellow students might be content with it, but it was not enough for Kalibose. Before he had even taken his trials, he had been researching amplifiers and enhancers to add to his staff to make it truly powerful, and uniquely his. There were so many different things that could be used in this manner in Azeroth: crystals, religious artifacts, objects that by themselves held no power, but were etched with ancient runes that glowed with an inner light. They all enhanced different kinds of magic as well. Fire blossoms from deep inside the Maelstrom that lived after being plucked from their plant, crystalized tears from ice giants in Winterspring, those were common amplifiers of fire and ice magi. Although Kalibose had a little talent with those branches of magic, and he was confident he could master whatever kind of magic he desired, his special spark was arcane. It was the most temperamental branch of magic, the hardest to define, and by far the most powerful. Wielders of pure arcane magic were more prone to madness, and even if a neophyte mage realized they were more inclined to the arcane, they would often study another field to test in, then learn arcane slowly, gaining experience with age. Many arcane mages died during their adult trials. Kalibose never even entertained the thought that he would fail. He was not well-liked among his instructors, and especially not among his peers. But he surpassed what everyone had expected of the young outcast mage.

The amplifier that he chose was one of the most powerful attainable amplifiers in existence. It was a piece off of the draenei ship Exodar that had crash-landed on Azeroth several years previous, and was still charged with the energy of the Nether. Immediately after the draenei's violent entrance to the planet, gold-hunters had collected fragments of the ship that had broken off and sold them on the black market at exorbitant prices. This particular crystal, an octagonal gem of deep amethyst called the Eye of Argus, had not been broken in the fall. It had been stolen right out of the center of the ship by a very bold goblin. It was a fragment of the ship's communication computers, and it was fine-tuned to absorb and transmit energy.

Kalibose had spent months tracking the gem. It had passed from bad sale to bad sale, fallen into enemy hands, and lost in battle. Every single person who laid hands on it fell to a horrendous fate. It eventually made its way to Dustwallow Marsh, where its owner succumbed to the destruction of Theramore. Ogres of the marsh had scavenged it out of the ruins, and they held it in their horde at the center of Stonemaul Ruins. At least that's what Kalibose assumed. He had used a powerful scrying spell to find the location of the Eye, and as far as Kalibose knew, he was the only one who knew where it was. He didn't believe stories that the gem was cursed: most likely the magic was erratic and hard to control. Like his trials though, he never entertained the thought of failure. This gem would bring him power that he had never felt before, and he was going to make it his.

The monk laughed loudly at some story she was regaling and clapped him on the shoulder. He flinched and turned on her in irritation.

“Can you please just shut up for five minutes so I can think?” Kalibose scowled at her, and for an instant her silver eyes looked hurt, then they hardened and she lifted her chin.

“There is no need to be rude-”

“There is no need to talk incessantly without stopping. You realize that we are not in a particularly friendly area, there are Horde and ogres and rogue Tauren infecting this entire region, and I would prefer to keep out of their notice.”

Kalibose clenched one shaking hand. He was inordinately angry, even for him, and he knew it was because he was nervous to finally be this close to the Eye. Even with this knowledge, his mouth opened and continued to run without his approval.

“I have no clue how you aren't fucking dead by now. You latch on to people, you pawed all through my stuff, you talk without ceasing, and--”

“I am trying to be friendly!” Mae stomped her foot and shoved her face close to his. Her cheeks were flushed dark purple, and her eyes were lit ablaze. She poked him in the chest with one finger.

“Look, you fancy-ass jerk, I am being nice because I am supposed to be. I am a monk! We are supposed to help! We are supposed to be friendly and kind to all we meet! I am usually the nicest person, but you are making it especially difficult!”

She withdrew her finger from his chest, which he was grateful for: he nearly froze it off before he caught himself. She took a deep breath, blew it out, and brought her hands together in front of her. He had no time for her serenity bullshit, and opened to his mouth to say so when she spoke again.

“Now, let's start over.” She opened her eyes, and extended her hand to him. “Hi, I'm Mae Songwhisper, I'm a monk in training, and I'd like to help you on your quest as part of my final trials. May I have your name?”

Kalibose gritted his teeth. He chewed the inside of his mouth, clenched both hands on his staff, and he screamed every obscenity he knew in his head in her direction. With an enormous effort, he nodded his head curtly.

“I am Kalibose. I am trying to retrieve a crystal from the ogre camp south of here. I prefer to walk in silence.”

That was all he could get out before she smiled again, that smile that he loathed because it lit up her face and let sunshine into the air around them.

“There, wasn't that much easier?” She whipped around with a flourish, and started south on the path again. He gripped his staff and leaned on it as he followed her, feeling the runes on it with his fingers and trying to calm his temper. To his dismay the quiet only lasted a few minutes.

“I don't think I caught your name before. It's a nice name. I don't know anyone else named Kalibose. Do you have a surname?”

To her credit, she had quieted her voice down to a normal volume. He snorted to himself, wishing this day was already over, the crystal was in his possession, and he no longer had a travel companion.

“It's Woodstalker.”

She turned around and walked backward to face him, seeming not to mind the pits in the road. Her steps were sure, and he grudgingly admired her grace.

“Aren't there some druids called Woodstalker in the capital city? I'm from Astranaar, and I don't get to Darnassus often. The Cenarian Circle passes through on their way to Felwood though, and I've met a few.”

She tipped her head to the side, still walking backward without falter. “They weren't very talkative either. You must be related to them.”

“Most likely,” came out of his mouth before he intended to reply. He ducked his head to the side, and stopped watching the otherworldly way she seemed to avoid obstacles without seeing them. He examined the bushes around the edge of the path, and tried to plan out how they were going to sneak into the ogre camp undetected. She continued to talk while turned toward him, her voice drifting quietly back to him on the still morning air. When she wasn't screeching with laughter or being loud, he found it a pleasant ambiance to the morning.

“Astranaar is kind of backwoods, even for night elves. It's a big city, but it's a big city in the middle of a huge ancient forest. There isn't much to do there if you aren't a farmer or a druid. Thankfully Master Lau came wandering through on his exploration of Kalimdor, and stayed for awhile to train the beginning monks.”

She stepped carefully around a bend in the path without turning. Kalibose squinted his eyes and gestured to her, curiosity finally getting the best of him.

“How do you do that without falling?”

She smiled and laughed a little at her feet. “This is a game my sister and I used to play. We'd see how far we could go without tripping. That way we could talk face to face while we walked to town. I've always been good at stuff like this. That's why I decided to become a monk. Well, that and I like to help people.”

She turned around and waited for him to catch up before continuing. “My parents weren't really thrilled with the idea of me being a wandering, helpful traveler. They're gardeners, just humble vendors in town. They don't leave much.”

Her voice quieted, and he stole a glance at her under the cover of his hood.

“I guess this is why it's so important for me to do well on my final trials. I want to prove to them that I'm better than just a simple farm girl, that I can go out and do some good in the world on my own.”

She fell to silence then, finally, but Kalibose found he didn't mind that she had been talking. Not that much though. Not enough to continue the conversation, and not enough to reply. Just enough to remember what she said and think on it as they neared the rocky crags that indicated the Stonemaul Ruins.