Baptism of Prophecies

"Hiding a soul's beauty until death will cause the world's end over the grave of other gods, and of course, by Adastrielle's flawless hands."

-Beauty Fatalities

©

The new dawn trespassed the windows of Hallowbarrel Inn- "An abode for tired souls and bones."- it promotes. From its highest room were thin rays bathing over the platinum locks of a man mistakable for a being of the firmament upon his sleep. Shut eyes smiling with his lips.

But the coastal waters outside were already replenishing the wood-roads of the elevated city, high tide gushing through its veins to wake every citizen of honest work. It was Ian's cue to wake up, he was late for his morning routine with Sion and he never missed it once, though a Sailor's schedule requires him to stay away from land most of the time- his priorities were shaped around The Alchemist in perfect liquidity.

Glacier-coloured eyes opened, clearer than any Sovenian's, grim enough as if the cold waters gave them as a birthright. He escaped the bed's trap, with no sheets only hay. He had lent all his blankets to the slum-children sleeping by the inn's basement since he can't suppress Sion's influence.

His face soured with dizziness from last night's festivity, when he licked his lips its as if his tongue ran through rough stones, a whole desert of corpses rotting in his mouth. So he chewed on bitter santifar leaves and gargled vinegar-mixed saltwater for hygiene, wincing from the acidic juice when it ran through a cut on his lip; Drina and Geraldine were animals last night.

He meddled in his cupboard for pants, tired eyes widening in shock when daylight unraveled a green potion tucked between his folded clothes- the Stallion's Stupor. He recalled Amanita's instruction of having to drink it first thing in the morning, and not following instructions from alchemists is the same with not following a Mezenian Surgeon's pre-operation preperation.

With no care left he grabbed the potion. The spider's hairy legs clawed the gelatinous mix upon the popping of the cork, bubbles escaping from the oxidising eggs to sting the insides of his nose. Yet he still drained the disgusting content down his stomach, eyes squeezed with tears as he felt the eggs crack midway while the hairy legs tickled his throat walls.

His palm and knees met the floor, gagging with a fist pushing his stomach. This is nothing, he had put things far nastier in his mouth... but what a way to start the day.

Upon such loathsome awakening he decided to rest by the window. Not to commune to gods but to commune with his own self. Ink-tipped quill on hand and parchments flat on the sill as he wrote besides a large jar jammed with cycles-worth of poetry.

There he poured his recent dream on blooded ink:

Snowberry Wine

As if compressing Fonclere's Oceans in a bottle;

They pressed all beauty in thy body.

Preserved for millenniums,

In timescales not of mortals but of Gods.

Which alchemical ingenuity could not dare remake,

I'd gratefully suckle in thought, uncorked spirit, locked in the dark...

From the conception of dusk,

I watch you rest until dawn-

Such sedated windows watching how the vast universe shrinks

In the shape of thy lithe body.

To be lost in your forest eyes and skin's akin luster of honeyed marble, I find myself losing my way back home...

If thy breathing neck seems far- thousands of wound lines on my chest would smirk-

to recall the strands

Of thy spring-held hair.

Not a grip but a touch...

"Fuck, I'm just horny..." he scoffed with his blood-ink fingers pinching on his high nose bridge. Putting the quill down the ink pot he severed away from his bad poetry to perform calesthenics with an already active heart.

He went down by the Inn's fireplace afterwards as a cat with subtle steps, he wouldn't want any of the sleeping drunkards on the Inn floor disturbed. While passing through the last table he bit his sore lip, the sole of his feet pierced by a blood-dried molar, just his luck, the bar fight must have been rough last night.

A round-bellied man sweeping shattered glasses at the door steadied the agonized Sailor, his beard as rough as the broom brush he's holding and his height as short as the stick handle.

"Grab me a crate of wax by the market aye? Would pay ya' next dawn." Old Khod whispered, just like his nephew, the rasp in his voice is more worthy of shiver than a dark cave with ice spiked stalactites, but his kind eyes are enough to add to the daylight.

"Uncle, I just bought a batch two moons ago. Did some thief steal our candles to lighten a whole castle?" Ian looked down at his uncle's shiny head, they were of the same height when he was merely ten winters young, now his uncle is eye to eye with his navel.

"Nay boy, damn Frostguards trashed ole' Guentiach's crew last night. Says: 'The Peace of Dirge is violated by the mere presence of drunkards.' when they themselves were drunk!" Khod kicked on air, his boots flying to a drunkard's face.

"Then why buy waxes? Our chandelier's still candled."

"Nay, am concerned 'bout Guentiach and his boys, the prison docks are of no lights and am deeming to visit 'em later at dusk." Khod snorts.

"Oh, aye uncle, little man with a big heart as always. Though I can only purchase a crate or two with this light pocket of mine."

"That's easy me boy, just milk silver coins from that fine duchess of yours." The short man grinned.

"Well, they don't call her the Silver Lady for nothing, see you at dusk." Ian pats his uncle's laughing head. Khod is one of many in Dirge who never change, except for the few greys stranding out from his beard.

"Now scurry off and keep yers' and Tuna's noses clean aye?!" Khod shouted as Ian makes his way to the apothecary.

He whistled through the dark morning town. And after passing through two districts, a hole by the pier-road, three ice bridges, and four river channels, he finally reached the Apothecary, tucked on the other side of the city where the slums are. A wooden sign that reads Blackmercy Haven is inked in the darkest hue, the plaque nailed lazily by the front porch.

Ian inserted his key on the door, he had been going to the apothecary daily since his youth that Miriam had decided to give him a spare key so she won't ever open the door for that cunt-scented fish-child each morning.

Darkness convened when he entered its halls of strangeness and charm. Carefully passing through cabinets of liquids and powders, ducking over dried leaves and animal parts hooked by the ceiling; the only guide for his sight are the few crystals and eggs glowing in display cases- but he knows his way inside this peculiar abode. The books and ingredients within the confines here are of no value in the eyes of a thief, but for an alchemist, this is heaven.

"Rise with the sun snowberry!" Ian's shout bounced across the walls. He knows that the apothecary is devoid of Miriam, gone yesterday for an urgent medical aide. But if she'd ever hear Ian shout like that on such a fresh morning, his soon to be paralyzed body would be displayed on her tea table like a manequin.

"Rise and shine!" He rushed up the stairs to reach Sion's room. When the knob turned upon the twist of his hand, he found it worrisome, Sion always locks his door at night.

He pushed the door open, and his chest sunk, the room was empty. He ran off to check the loo and the balcony, and they hold none of his friend too. Sion always comes home early before twilight to sleep with the sun, no friends could have taken him away, for he had none except for Ian.

And Ian won't allow it either way.

"Sion?" his call came out frail, opposing his growing panic.

Yet silence met him again.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck..." He ran back to the hall, thinking that Sion followed wherever Miriam went. When he turned by the corner his chest had hit hard against something sturdy. And the red-haired boy yelped as his face landed on the fur doormat of Miriam's room.

"Oh Fuck! m-my ap-apologies, are you hurt?" Ian knelt, fingers rubbing down the boy's forehead.

"Isn't it obvious? What in inferno was the ruckus about you fish-headed fuck?" and like any other, what a crass morning for them both.

"I'm so sorry, your room was empty and I thought you were kidnapped- wait... did you sleep in your mum's room?" Ian diverted his attention behind Sion, a ridiculous clatter of tall books filled Miriam's room with a large deluxe bed at its centre. "You have a death wish or something? Why did you unlocked Miriam's room?"

"Not that I unlocked it, I just find it a little odd last night. Mum was rushing around like the house was on fire before leaving, she even forgot to lock her room. So..."

"So you took the pleasure of sleeping on her bed?"

"You know it can't be helped! Both our beds are haystacks and she got these soft fur sheets straight from Syrosh'jaal!" Sion ran back inside the room, throwing his body on Miriam's bed shaking each stacks of books. "Experience it yourself!" he yelled from the luxurious bed, bouncing on his back and completely unaware of the hazards of his request.

"No!" The sailor screamed in his head, an invitation to bed with Sion is not healthy for his weakening heart, this is a temptation straight from the depths of the Inferno!

"Ian get off you fish-headed scum!" Sion squealed under the heavy weight of Ian, the Sailor's rock-formed abdomen parting his legs apart as books fall down all around.

The struggle stopped when Ian rose with a toothy grin, making the trapped boy beneath him twinge.

"Oh no you don't..." Sion warned, but Ian already buried his head down the boy's bare chest, their energy piercing the ceiling. The alchemist bursted into laughters when Ian's face began to drill his belly as if tickling a babe. "Stop thi- ahaha! The sun is not up yet! you'll wake the neighbours-ahahah!"

"Mvvmmm..." the sailor blew raspberries on his tummy with his fingers finding each ribs to tickle more. By now, Sion is floundering like a gill-dried fish.

"By the gods! Stop this madness-ahahahah!" Sion grabbed a fistful of Ian's hair, an action that made the Sailor stop yet his head was still on Sion's bosom.

"By the Gods you're hot! Do you have a fever? your skin burns against me!"

"It's nothing just- uhm, tired... from last night's party." he severed himself, feeling a pierce of need as he abandons his proximity. He sat at the edge of the bed with his back against the boy to hide the fresh flush on his face.

"You went to Graygreen with Lady Drina right?"

The Sailor just nodded in response to him.

"So that was the Silver Lady, eh? She's the most delightful maiden compared to all your previous affairs."

"Aye, she is indeed something else..."

"You know, It's stupid that you're crashed with a hundred waves of love and I'm here loved only by two freaks." Sion propped himself with his ankles, pushing Ian's sturdy back.

"And the only freaks you'll ever need in your life." Ian replied "aren't you crashed with a hundred waves of love too? You have the slum children."

"I know, but why do you guys need to keep me from outside the walls? by the gods, the farthest I've been was only to the nearest village. I've never been outside this province!" His voice raised a little, irritation peeking in a simmer.

"Are we going to argue about this again? You're definitely smarter than this."

"But I've been pondering, what if the Dirgeans would open their hearts if I open myself to them, the slum children didn't mind."

"Sovenians aren't exactly fond of foreigners like you, the slums are an exception since they live beneath everyone."

"That's too much of a stretch-"

"Oh! You think that they'll receive you as kindly as the slums did? But wait! The slums are only kind because you provide them free medicine."

"Ian'drah Dawnsnow, Are you still intoxicated?"

"Just face the facts, Sion, the Dirgefolk would only be fair to you if they have to use you to... to... to gain something from me or Miriam! And don't tarnish your Mum's reputation more, what if they learned that she raised a foreigner all these years? Do you want to be accused of being a spy? Or worse, the Dirgefolk Dread? The guillotine is what you're asking for if you ponder more mate!" Ian'drah shouted at the alchemist, face marooned with desperation, anger... affection.

Sion soaked from the bitterness of those words. After a long silence that added to the arctic cold, Ian stood up, walking out with careless steps that shook the glass apparatuses.

"I better see you have a cloak and hood on, it's cold outside." He left the boy in the dim room.

Their walk to the white cliff's coasts hangs in dead air, their silence ominous even for the vultures and ravens above.

The Alchemist followed behind with the Sailor six feet ahead from him, Ian'drah's forceful tailwind landing on his cheeks like cold kisses. That until the Sailor felt like there's an ocean between them.

"Don't fall behind, there's a fucking serial killer on the loose..."

Ironic.

"I said come here..." his gritted teeth caged a growl. And so, Sion stepped closer.

"For fuck's sake..." the Sailor pulled the other boy by the shoulder- closer.

As usual, they set sail from the empty black beaches. The wind against their sail clawing through Sion's forehead for Ian's rowing towards the sea is too robust and forceful. He won't be surprised if the oar's wooden arm would break anytime soon.

"Ian..." He called through the loud waves, but the Sailor just kept rowing faster, eyes shadowed by a scowl.

"Ian." He tried louder but Ian's mind is still raging deep beneath the seabed.

"Ian'drah!"

"What!?" The sailor snapped.

"We're far past the spot already! Get a hold of yourself!" Sion shouted through the scream of waters shredded by their boat.

"Oh? Rather sad huh?" Ian scoffed, picking up the oars to continue his unreasonable rowing through the increasing waves.

"By the gods, Ian don't be a brat! I apologize from earlier, I should have thought of you folks before pondering selfish thoughts..." Sion surrendered.

The next thing he knows, A hand gripped his shoulder, and his back, slammed against the floorboards, swaying their boat in a nausea inducing rocking.

"What in inferno? I said I'm sorry!" He screamed as the Sailor forced himself on top with an unfair strength. He lied there like a fish caught in a net, eyes squinting as waves of violent exhalations fan against his face and a string of saliva drop on his cheek... what damn beast possessed his friend?

"The fuck do you want to do now, huh angry guy? tickle me to death?!" He taunted, but Ian kept pressing on him to a near suffocation.

Ian'drah wept, he is at war within. Heart ramming painfully as it begs to tear through his chest and land besides the boy's heart. Lips in quivering forfeit to the pull of gravity and drown down the burning heaven below yet his mind was screams in disagreement. This proximity caused mechanical reactions underneath his clothes, and even chemical.

Then it hits him,- Amanita's potion, this is the Stallion's Stupor taking effect.

"What the fuck Ian? by Askala's beard, I won't come along anymore if you'll act like this!"

Sion's warnings felt like knives piercing every corners of his brain. Adrenaline surged through as veins trailed bitterly from his neck and arms. In the painful war within, a side had already won. Sion squirmed when the sailor took his wrists hostage with a single grip of hand, throat clenched and jaw unhinged when Ian felt down his pants in an uncomfortable search, scratching against his tender skin that formed streaks of red lines.

Sion felt trespassed beyond words...

"I'm so sorry! I am so sorry, so sorry..." Ian reduced into a whimper, with a pouch emptied on hand, his mind had emerged victorious. He can feel his strength and energy leave his body as soon as the orange powder sizzled on his back, but his desire is still growing exponentially. If his hand haven't had found the pouch of Hydenian's Bane in Sion's pocket- he must have dethroned Diarthe already for the ravish of the century.

The alchemist managed to wiggle his way out of the paralyzed weight, the foam bubbling from the sailor's mouth staining his robes and burning his skin. With two fingers on neck he checked his friend's pulse, and it was too fast for his own good...

Ian'drah had overdosed.

Just when he thought his morning couldn't get any worse; he sees a blinding silver-coloured monster from behind, breaking every ice cap in loud echoes as it charges towards them. Thousands of swords pierced throughout its giant body.

"Sea god's cock..." a tear escaped Sion's eyes before their bodies were thrown underwater by a wrecking impact, face hitting water, and he swear he felt his brain recoil in his skull walls.