Parthava cities part 2

Margu took them to his home. A big villa, with a few servants. They were served rice, with rich and expensive spices and rose-flavored water, which was to no once taste. But it smelled good though. 

"So, what are you?" Amala asked.

"I am rich," Margu said jokingly and drank some rose water. 

"So a stateman....." Amala said. 

"And that."

"I had heard sorcerors are hated across the universe?" Suomi asked. 

"We are. We hide in the shadows, so we can practice our crafts without the hatred of any god and their zealots," Margu explained, "But here it is different. The Parthava cities are a group of independent cities, that may sometimes get raided by some Scethains, or mostly just pay them off. Erebar, is one of many equals. No one great city, whom the others envy, as all of the sassan heaven is nowhere special as us. Scethians, Essyrians, Aremanians whoever may say this and that about their culture, but they know the truth and always will. We were here way before all of them."

Margu then took them down. 

"Why are you so friendly towards us?" Rufus asked.

"There used to come a chill wind from the mountains. A demon used to dwell there, making crossing them impossible. This chill wind no more blows, and then you came. You do not have to be a sorcerer to calculate what happened. Take this as a gratitude for what you did," Margu said and led them deep down. 

He opened a door, and on the other side was corridor after corridor. 

"What are these?" Suomi said and touched the walls, feeling some type of carvings. 

Margu then called upon some divine winds, and then the entire corridor lit up. Corridors, built like a maze, that stretched all over under the city, had their walls lit with blue light as divine scripture illuminated all. 

"Our proof," Margu said

"In Erebar, sorcery is not just tolerated, it's respected," Margu continued, his voice taking on a note of pride. "We have a long history of mystics, seers, and sorcerers. Our city thrives not just on commerce and trade, but also on the mystical arts. This is a place where knowledge – both mundane and arcane – is cherished."

"Who made all these?" Suomi said inspecting the scripture. 

"No one knows, but undoubtedly sorcerors. Way before Arslan and Xerxes, Way before even Cyrus, and even before the other cultures understood who they were in this heaven," Margu explained.

"Would you then say that sorcery is..."

"Is it older than gods and divine powers in general? It may be," Margu interjected, a knowing look in his eyes. "Sorcery is dissection, understanding, and finally reconstruction of the fundamental forces that weave the fabric of our universe. It predates the gods as we know them. It's a force that's as old as creation itself, perhaps older. May not be sorcerors themselves, but...I guess you understood"

~~

Rufus and Margu stood on the balcony, the cool night air brushing against their skin as they gazed out into the starlit sky. The atmosphere was serene, a rare moment of tranquility amidst their turbulent lives. They were both rulers in their own right, yet here they stood as equals, sharing in the solitude of the night.

Margu poured some drink to Rufus and said to him, "Please have some. I guarantee it is the best mead, wine, ale, and all of the rest alcoholic drink you can think of, and the better than any."

Rufus was skeptical and looked at the cup, which looked like water, with some color in it, indicating it was mild. He drank from it, and to his surprise, it actually tasted amazing and asked, "What is this?"

Margu laughed and said, "Water."

Rufus was confused and was sure the liquid was not water. Margu laughed hard and explained, "This is made from the daisy of paroxysm. A flower that grows in the steppes and is hard to find. It has many effects as it is believed to be a great hallucinogen or even a fertilizer to help desperate women get pregnant. But in reality, that is not the specialty of this flower. The specialness of it is that whatever one believes the daisy does, that is the thing it shall do. If one believes it can even bring back the dead, from the clutches of Erlik, then it shall."

"And you believe it does what?" Rufus asked with a grin. 

"That it makes the best evening drink," Margu laughed. 

The two enjoyed the night sky and the tranquility the peaceful city brought with it. Far from wars and conflict. A special place in the world. 

"So, you're a king?" Margu broke the silence, his voice tinged with a mix of curiosity and respect.

Rufus nodded, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "And you, Margu, a ruler in your own domain," he responded, acknowledging their shared bond of leadership.

They lingered in the moonlight, savoring the rare peacefulness. Rufus's thoughts drifted back to times past, reminiscing about his camaraderie with King Ritter of the Aurelian kingdom. It was a memory of kinship and understanding, a connection forged between peers.

Margu, sensing Rufus's reflective mood, ventured further into the conversation. "What compelled you to embark on your epos? Kings of your caliber rarely abandon their realm. Their love for their nation drives them, fuels their desire to protect and guide their people."

Rufus's expression sobered, "I lost something... something far more precious than my people. It's the reason I'm on this quest, seeking answers, seeking... redemption."

Margu nodded, understanding the gravity of Rufus's words. "And you believe the key might lie in the records of Bubu, now in the hands of the old man of the mountain?"

Rufus answered "I'm not certain. But it's the only lead I have. The faintest glimmer of hope is worth pursuing. I'd go to any length, endure any trial, for even the smallest chance of finding what I seek."

As they spoke, a servant approached, refilling their glasses with a rich, amber liquid. Margu whispered something to the servant, sending him off with a nod. 

Margu turned back to Rufus, his gaze piercing yet compassionate. "Tell me, Rufus, what exactly did you lose? What drives a king to forsake his crown and embark on such a perilous journey?"