He's a busy man who balances his busy life of managing a Free Company (he's not even the leader) in the Lavender Beds, and teaching at the Arcanist Guild as a part time teacher. The ladder is mainly to assist those who are having issues with grasping the basics of arcanima, so maybe a specialized trainer/tutor would be a better name.
He's a well-mannered man, strict to his ideals, and is what people would call a Mom Friend. While he might seem like a prickly pear, he has a very gooey center, and his sympathy for others is a huge Achilles heel.
Feel free to come at me to hash out ideas for a thread, or if you got an idea, I'm pretty flexible and can work with what you give me!]
So these Carbunnies. Do they have to look like that?
[ Really, she should probably concern herself with not being able to use a basic Ruin spell before worrying about the 'Carbunnies'. But she knows what she's about. She knows why she's poking around the guild in the first place, and it's not to- ugh learn things. She's here for the CUTE PETS. ]
I mean, they come in different colours but- Can you make them fluffier? Oh! Maybe with really, really curly fur, like those little dogs-! If you had a really fluffy Carbunny and you gave it a cute haircut, would it keep it if it went away and came back? Could you make one with spots? Or with little socks on its feet? Oh! I want to make one with one ear and one foot that's the wrong colour, that would be just adorable!
His eyebrow twitches at the inaccurate moniker, but he lets it slide. Now isn't the time to be nitpicky over such trivialities. Here is a prospective student—a possible new mind to add to their fortress of Arcanum.]
I do suppose one could, but little does that mean one should.
Had you the mind of an artist—well, your options could be nigh limitless. Most lack in such creative wants, looking more to the practical and practiced. Caring far more for their measure of skill, than the folly of aesthetics.
[Which is his nice way of saying making them fluffy is STUPID.]
The colors of each carbuncle correlates to its abilities and function—a haircut less so. The lack of coifed carbuncles is not without reason, I fear.
[ There's a slight pout at that, and for a moment she actually goes back to trying to make sense of the page of symbols and formulae that make up Ruin. For a moment, in part because trying to make sense of it seems a hopeless endeavor but mostly because actually doing what she is supposed to be doing fails to have the immediate desired effect of making an extra-fluffy pink carbunny with a white ear and foot appear. Then she goes right back to asking her countless stupid questions. ]
What kind of food do they like? The carbun...-clies. [ ...closer, at least? ] Do they eat meat? Oh! Could you use one for a ratter? That would be a useful function!
[At her retort, he merely raises his eyebrows in an unamused fashion. Cuteness isn't going to keep pirates in check, nor human traffickers behind bars. When she looks back to the book, Khamu'wo mistakenly assumes she's actually going to do some studying, but before he can even return to his own task—working on a complex formulae for a possible new incantation—she belts him with more inane questions.
Internally, he prays to Thaliak for the strength...]
Seeing as they are aetherial beings, they feed primarily upon that. Through our grimoire's channeling, and the ink in which we inscribe our incantations, we feed a bit of our aether to them in exchange for their servitude.
[A beat as he still processes the idea that someone would think to use a carbuncle for a ratter. In some ways, that isn't inaccurate, particularly when dealing with the Qiqirn, but...]
Perhaps a small feline would be better suited to ratting, than that of an aetherial being such as a carbuncle.
[He closes his book, looking her over with no small thread of skepticism.]
Pray excuse my fordwardness, but are you truly sure this is a discipline you wish to pursue?
Oh, not at all, really. [ If he thought he was being forward... ] It looks difficult. It's all- rules-ish. I thought it'd be- you know. You ask a thing to happen really nicely and then it happens, like conjury is.
[ She shrugs. ]
I just wanted a carbunn- carbuncle. [ SUCCESS! ] They're cute, and they light up, and they have really good ears.
[Khamu'wo's jaw clenches as she answers. His knuckles turn white with how tightly he holds his tome. Is she just here to waste his time? Precious little of it there is...]
I... see.
[The words are strained, as he speaks them through grit fangs. He tries, very hard, to not say something rude or uncouth. The curious are allowed to wander, he tells himself, they are allowed to reach out to that which they do not understand, in ways that they might be able to understand.
The salt in the wound truly is that she's a conjurer. Like a deep wound that's never healed, the word presses a dull ache into his core.]
Arcanima is scant for the ignorant.
[THAT'S NOT HOW YOU DON'T BE RUDE.]
If you wish for a simple animal to fawn over, pray seek an adventurer, surely they have some measure of creature they've excavated from their travels that might entertain that dull mind of yours.
Little is this a place for such thoughtless and frivolous desires.
[you know the sort of highly intelligent, capable student that is also a complete and utter smartass? that's alfeoux... with the caveat that he "graduated" from the arcanist's guild ages ago, is fully a master of arcanima, and is really only lingering around to be ridiculous.]
I've a question for you, Master Zhwan. If, theoretically, I wanted to turn my carbuncle into an ungodly creature of corruption and spite, what sort of core would I use to maintain its form?
[alfeoux's perfectly ordinary, docile emerald carbuncle looks at khamu'wo with doleful eyes. according to arcanist theory, carbuncles shouldn't have feelings per se... but if that is the case, this one certainly looks as though it is pleading to be saved...]
[You know, Khamu'wo typically doesn't mind those students. He cannot blame them, they're usually bored with being above their peers, cornered into a situation where they need to learn, but aren't learning what they need because they're above the rest of their class. The boost in those seeking paths of academia means more students and less teachers—the truly talented are left to minds rot with boredom and contempt.
Khamu'wo was there once, so his is not a reaction of annoyance—that is, until he hears the full of the question. His eyes—same in hue of the carbuncle that seems to beg for a savior—fall to the poor aetherial creature, before darting to Alfeoux's face. His expression is flat, serious, and reserved. Full certain is he that this elezen wishes to pull at his tail, but he knows better than to give the desired reaction.]
If you wish for something so grim, then mayhap the answer you seek would be within the clutches of less desirable arcanists. I have heard there is a rise in those who chase the forbidden arts of summoning. Such foul practices may yet bequeath that which you seek.
[His eyes fall once more to the carbuncles adorable glossy eyes. His heart hurts.]
However, should you corrupt such an innocent being, 'twould be a guilt you alone would have to live with. Doubtless you do not truly wish to pursue such an end.
[He hopes, at least. He is not a fan of Summoners, little of them that there are... they take the teachings of the Arcanist guild and corrupt it with their foul need for power. Or, at least, that's how he sees it.]
Are you quite certain that carbuncles are innocent beings? Why, mine lays abed with a man each night.
[khamu'wo is absolutely correct in that alfeoux does not, in fact, have any real desire to turn his carbuncle into some voidsent mass of aether. as a matter of fact, alfeoux is rather fond of carbuncles himself — which is why he is quietly ordering his poor little aetherial servant to act as adorable as possible. just look at the way alfeoux's carbuncle is pouting, khamu'wo! look at it timidly waddle over and paw at the hem of your robes! don't you feel your heart melting?]
Sounds as though you've a bit of a bone to pick with summoners, Master Zhwan. Not pleased with people who'd make pets out of primals?
[the eerie-eyed elezen fixes his miqo'te "tutor" with a mocking smile. why yes, he is preposterously proud of himself over all those p words he just employed.]
What—or rather whom your carbuncle wishes to lay with each night is merely its own business.
[He's now completely certain Alfeoux lacks seriousness in his inquiries, which makes this a little less annoying.]
However, as far as the morality of carbuncles, I do suppose you have a point. Carbuncles are creatures that serve their master's will, and to what end—while not of their own design—still reflects upon them. Be it just or villainous.
A piteous existence, truly.
[Of course, it seems like he's trying to ramble on about carbuncles, and not his contempt for summoners. Even he knows he cannot run from answering that forever, so after a moment of silence, he lets out an even, thoughtful breath.]
One could compare carbuncles to primals, truth be told. However, to what ends we use these summoned beings—and how we bring them to our plane—bespeaks our values.
Summoners seem to care for precious little outside themselves. A trait I rather abhor.
[fury have mercy, this man loves carbuncles. if alfeoux weren't already so good at keeping a straight (well, half-smirking) face, he'd be laughing right about now.]
Ah, so it is the morality of taming beastman gods you object to? Interesting — yes, interesting...
[alfeoux lounges in his chair like an emperor at rest; his carbuncle takes a seat in front of khamu'wo, wagging its long tails. evidently it is no longer at risk of being turned into a monstrosity, but alfeoux's strange imagination seems to be conjuring up other plans.]
But what if... yes, what if... an enterprising young man developed, hmm, a jet black carbuncle, bedecked in the chains of some forbidden demon sealed away, with the leathery wings of a voidsent succubus... yes, what if carbuncles had wings?
[His personal office is in total carbuncle decor, his love for carbuncle knows no bounds. Nor shame.]
Deeper than just morality—what actions oft spawn from such questionable values is the crux of my discontent.
[Adjusting his red-framed glasses, Khamu'wo looks over the Elezen before him. Cursing himself at how long his eyes lay upon him, before looking elsewhere with a sense of casualness. No, he was not checking him out, thank you very much. He is a man of strong MORAL FIBER!!!]
That man may face ridicule and disgust. Particularly from the guild, but moreover from the city-states themselves. Perhaps even exiled for such taboo acts.
[Finally, he lets his eyes meet his company's.]
Pray tell me, would this—how did you put it—enterprising young man feel his obtuse dark aesthetics and tainted carbuncle with wings worth pariahdom?
[Hey Khamu'wo it's ya boi Ikar, here to interrupt your work at the Arcanist guild! He's dressed casually with his fishing gear though he's visibly tired from working down at Fisherman's Bottom most the day. As you can imagine he smells terrific.]
Oi, Khamu'wo! Are you doin' anything important right now?
[The smell is enough to alert him. However, Ikar has never been a quiet man, and so his trudging through the halls of the guild is sure to alert anyone not blessed(cursed?) with the nose of a miqo'te.
Secretly he hoped Ikar would not find him, squirreled away in the lower levels as he was, but of course the Twelve would not answer him as were their wont. With a resigned sigh, he closes his tome and looks over to the boyish hyur.
[It's a wonder why people steer clear of him in confined places, the smell wasn't that bad. Not when you're used to it at least. Either way it cleared the way to find Khamu'wo easier.
He made a point to look around the room, almost exaggeratedly so. Sure the miqo'te was always buried in his tomes, but Ikar didn't see any students. Certainly there was nothing he classified as pressing going on.]
I mean you're not teachin' anyone right now. Do you have any more lessons for the day?
[What a dilemma. Khamu'wo could lie, tell Ikar he's booked up for the day, despite the fact he honestly was about to head out to the Free Company... but that would require him to not do that, and stick around longer than he had planned.
Or he can be truthful and deal with whatever it is Ikar is laying on his feet. It honestly comes down to what would be less annoying in the long run...]
I do indeed have a few more classes to attend.
[Ah.]
But we are in recess at the moment. Out with it, time is ephemeral.
[WOW don't lie to Ikar!! He thought you were his friend! Not that Ikar knew it was a lie anyroad, but it really didn't matter. The question was honestly just a formality, the answer never mattered in the first place.
Closing the gap between them, Ikar leaned his butt up against the desk Khamu'wo was working at and put on his best persuasive smile.]
Look I just figure you been here long enough, cancel the rest of your day! I was goin' to head back soon myself so...
[Rummaging through his pocket he pulled out some spare gil and put it on the table.]
[Khamu'wo grimaced as Ikar placed his fishy ass on his desk, and idly wondered what it'd take to get the smell out. However, soon after Ikar offered a worse affront, and Khamu'wo does nothing to hide his surprise, or irritation.
This little shit is trying to swindle a teleport out of him because he's too broke to get home... Is this what Khamu'wo's life has come to? Truly?]
Ikar. First of all, that is not half—must we return to our math tutoring?
[Khamu'wo at least asks that genuinely, with a hint of worry. Did the marauder before him not retain what he had taught him?]
Second of all, I cannot merely cancel on my students on account of you ill managing your gil... You do realize that, yes?
[It was not the first time Matthias found himself at the Arcanist Guild. He had taken up studies there, once upon a time, but that was more due to the lure of the grimoires than anything else. His magic generally lay with conjury, more for self-defense on his travels and his best friend always getting hurt than anything else.
But even still, he was often there delivering a set of new bound books, the Guild being a usual benefactor to his growing business. Just like now, he made his way through the main entrance towards the winding stairs in the back. He was a bit too preoccupied with making sure the large stack of books wouldn't fall that he didn't see someone coming up the stairs... until he bumped right into them.]
Ah-! M-My apologies, ser. [Although he hardly looked at to whom he bumped into, bending down instead to gather the scattered books and checking them to make sure they had not suffered any harm. His work was good, so there should not be, but it was better safe than sorry.]
[Khamu'wo is hardly a man someone could call graceful. While he might not be some bumbling idiot, who trips over particles of dust, neither is he some smooth moving chap who could glide over obstacles with fluid and precise movements.
So when Matthias runs into him with his stacks of books, it sends the man sprawling on the floor in front of him. His own tome flying off somewhere, landing rather unceremoniously open on the floor, while Khamu'wo's glasses clatter off somewhere.
A curse or two under his breath, and he's attempting to orient himself. Hands reaching out at the blurry colors before him, as he squints trying to make heads or tails of what it is he's looking at.]
'Tis quite alright. Pray, assist me and finding mine eye wear...
[Last thing he needs is someone stepping on his glasses and breaking them...]
[With enough books gathered, he set about looking for a pair of glasses as bid.]
Yes, of course. It was my fault.
[He located the red spectacles, fairly hard to miss amongst the gray stone and he picked them up. He made his way over to the other miqo'te and took his hand to place the eye wear in his palm.]
Felih likes to come back and visit the guild- after all, it's where his journey as an adventurer truly began, and if it weren't for the guild, he probably wouldn't have gotten anywhere near as far as he had. He wouldn't have accomplished anything. The familiar faces in the guild make him feel calmer.
But these days, he's realizing how much more he still has to learn, to accomplish, how weak and powerless he can still truly be.
He's tired and sleepless, thinner than he should be. He sets a heavy tome on Khamu'wo's desk, and he murmurs, uncharacteristically listless, "I- hello again. This- I borrowed this, thank you, but it didn't have what I needed. Are there perhaps other tomes here in the library that might... have more information on corrupt primal aether? How to purge it, or deflect it, or resist it..."
If there was something he could have done... well. It's too late now, but if he learns, he can stop it from ever happening again.
Khamu'wo oft finds himself a little too thin and too tired than what one should be, but ever is he concerned with those around him than himself. This proves true when he notices the Seeker come in, placing the book down on his desk. Green eyes look over the other Miqo'te, and he wonders how much he might be straining himself—before he realizes exactly who is before him.
A few turns it's been since they might have ran into each other proper, what with Felih going off to become the adventurer legend he is, while Khamu'wo has run himself ragged between his two jobs.
"Felih, if I am not mistaken?" He asks coolly, keeping his eyes on him. The question did not go unheard, but at the moment, there are far more pressing matters.
"Pray, when last did you eat—or sleep? You look far too thin and tired to be worrying yourself over such matters."
Felih nods quietly. "Yeah," he murmurs. "That's me." There is none of his usual vim and vigor, none of his preening or vain pride at being remembered or recognized. None of his chirping and flirting- he's just tired, the exhaustion sinking its claws into every ilm of him, showing in the dark bags under his eyes, the way his frame is beginning to get slightly gaunt.
Yellow-gold eyes look listless, and he cannot meet Khamu'wo's gaze.
"That's not the important bit," he responds simply. "I just- I need the information. I can even search myself, just- just point me in the right direction. I know you're probably busy." And since when does Felih not pester people for attention, regardless of busyness?
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valoirs
Khamu'wo Zhwan | Miqo'te Scholar and Arcanist teacher
He's a busy man who balances his busy life of managing a Free Company (he's not even the leader) in the Lavender Beds, and teaching at the Arcanist Guild as a part time teacher. The ladder is mainly to assist those who are having issues with grasping the basics of arcanima, so maybe a specialized trainer/tutor would be a better name.
He's a well-mannered man, strict to his ideals, and is what people would call a Mom Friend. While he might seem like a prickly pear, he has a very gooey center, and his sympathy for others is a huge Achilles heel.
Feel free to come at me to hash out ideas for a thread, or if you got an idea, I'm pretty flexible and can work with what you give me!]
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[ Really, she should probably concern herself with not being able to use a basic Ruin spell before worrying about the 'Carbunnies'. But she knows what she's about. She knows why she's poking around the guild in the first place, and it's not to- ugh learn things. She's here for the CUTE PETS. ]
I mean, they come in different colours but- Can you make them fluffier? Oh! Maybe with really, really curly fur, like those little dogs-! If you had a really fluffy Carbunny and you gave it a cute haircut, would it keep it if it went away and came back? Could you make one with spots? Or with little socks on its feet? Oh! I want to make one with one ear and one foot that's the wrong colour, that would be just adorable!
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His eyebrow twitches at the inaccurate moniker, but he lets it slide. Now isn't the time to be nitpicky over such trivialities. Here is a prospective student—a possible new mind to add to their fortress of Arcanum.]
I do suppose one could, but little does that mean one should.
Had you the mind of an artist—well, your options could be nigh limitless. Most lack in such creative wants, looking more to the practical and practiced. Caring far more for their measure of skill, than the folly of aesthetics.
[Which is his nice way of saying making them fluffy is STUPID.]
The colors of each carbuncle correlates to its abilities and function—a haircut less so. The lack of coifed carbuncles is not without reason, I fear.
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[ There's a slight pout at that, and for a moment she actually goes back to trying to make sense of the page of symbols and formulae that make up Ruin. For a moment, in part because trying to make sense of it seems a hopeless endeavor but mostly because actually doing what she is supposed to be doing fails to have the immediate desired effect of making an extra-fluffy pink carbunny with a white ear and foot appear. Then she goes right back to asking her countless stupid questions. ]
What kind of food do they like? The carbun...-clies. [ ...closer, at least? ] Do they eat meat? Oh! Could you use one for a ratter? That would be a useful function!
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Internally, he prays to Thaliak for the strength...]
Seeing as they are aetherial beings, they feed primarily upon that. Through our grimoire's channeling, and the ink in which we inscribe our incantations, we feed a bit of our aether to them in exchange for their servitude.
[A beat as he still processes the idea that someone would think to use a carbuncle for a ratter. In some ways, that isn't inaccurate, particularly when dealing with the Qiqirn, but...]
Perhaps a small feline would be better suited to ratting, than that of an aetherial being such as a carbuncle.
[He closes his book, looking her over with no small thread of skepticism.]
Pray excuse my fordwardness, but are you truly sure this is a discipline you wish to pursue?
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[ She shrugs. ]
I just wanted a carbunn- carbuncle. [ SUCCESS! ] They're cute, and they light up, and they have really good ears.
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I... see.
[The words are strained, as he speaks them through grit fangs. He tries, very hard, to not say something rude or uncouth. The curious are allowed to wander, he tells himself, they are allowed to reach out to that which they do not understand, in ways that they might be able to understand.
The salt in the wound truly is that she's a conjurer. Like a deep wound that's never healed, the word presses a dull ache into his core.]
Arcanima is scant for the ignorant.
[THAT'S NOT HOW YOU DON'T BE RUDE.]
If you wish for a simple animal to fawn over, pray seek an adventurer, surely they have some measure of creature they've excavated from their travels that might entertain that dull mind of yours.
Little is this a place for such thoughtless and frivolous desires.
[KHAMU'WO!!]
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I've a question for you, Master Zhwan. If, theoretically, I wanted to turn my carbuncle into an ungodly creature of corruption and spite, what sort of core would I use to maintain its form?
[alfeoux's perfectly ordinary, docile emerald carbuncle looks at khamu'wo with doleful eyes. according to arcanist theory, carbuncles shouldn't have feelings per se... but if that is the case, this one certainly looks as though it is pleading to be saved...]
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Khamu'wo was there once, so his is not a reaction of annoyance—that is, until he hears the full of the question. His eyes—same in hue of the carbuncle that seems to beg for a savior—fall to the poor aetherial creature, before darting to Alfeoux's face. His expression is flat, serious, and reserved. Full certain is he that this elezen wishes to pull at his tail, but he knows better than to give the desired reaction.]
If you wish for something so grim, then mayhap the answer you seek would be within the clutches of less desirable arcanists. I have heard there is a rise in those who chase the forbidden arts of summoning. Such foul practices may yet bequeath that which you seek.
[His eyes fall once more to the carbuncles adorable glossy eyes. His heart hurts.]
However, should you corrupt such an innocent being, 'twould be a guilt you alone would have to live with. Doubtless you do not truly wish to pursue such an end.
[He hopes, at least. He is not a fan of Summoners, little of them that there are... they take the teachings of the Arcanist guild and corrupt it with their foul need for power. Or, at least, that's how he sees it.]
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[khamu'wo is absolutely correct in that alfeoux does not, in fact, have any real desire to turn his carbuncle into some voidsent mass of aether. as a matter of fact, alfeoux is rather fond of carbuncles himself — which is why he is quietly ordering his poor little aetherial servant to act as adorable as possible. just look at the way alfeoux's carbuncle is pouting, khamu'wo! look at it timidly waddle over and paw at the hem of your robes! don't you feel your heart melting?]
Sounds as though you've a bit of a bone to pick with summoners, Master Zhwan. Not pleased with people who'd make pets out of primals?
[the eerie-eyed elezen fixes his miqo'te "tutor" with a mocking smile. why yes, he is preposterously proud of himself over all those p words he just employed.]
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[He's now completely certain Alfeoux lacks seriousness in his inquiries, which makes this a little less annoying.]
However, as far as the morality of carbuncles, I do suppose you have a point. Carbuncles are creatures that serve their master's will, and to what end—while not of their own design—still reflects upon them. Be it just or villainous.
A piteous existence, truly.
[Of course, it seems like he's trying to ramble on about carbuncles, and not his contempt for summoners. Even he knows he cannot run from answering that forever, so after a moment of silence, he lets out an even, thoughtful breath.]
One could compare carbuncles to primals, truth be told. However, to what ends we use these summoned beings—and how we bring them to our plane—bespeaks our values.
Summoners seem to care for precious little outside themselves. A trait I rather abhor.
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Ah, so it is the morality of taming beastman gods you object to? Interesting — yes, interesting...
[alfeoux lounges in his chair like an emperor at rest; his carbuncle takes a seat in front of khamu'wo, wagging its long tails. evidently it is no longer at risk of being turned into a monstrosity, but alfeoux's strange imagination seems to be conjuring up other plans.]
But what if... yes, what if... an enterprising young man developed, hmm, a jet black carbuncle, bedecked in the chains of some forbidden demon sealed away, with the leathery wings of a voidsent succubus... yes, what if carbuncles had wings?
[yes. he is trying to design a gothbuncle.]
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Deeper than just morality—what actions oft spawn from such questionable values is the crux of my discontent.
[Adjusting his red-framed glasses, Khamu'wo looks over the Elezen before him. Cursing himself at how long his eyes lay upon him, before looking elsewhere with a sense of casualness. No, he was not checking him out, thank you very much. He is a man of strong MORAL FIBER!!!]
That man may face ridicule and disgust. Particularly from the guild, but moreover from the city-states themselves. Perhaps even exiled for such taboo acts.
[Finally, he lets his eyes meet his company's.]
Pray tell me, would this—how did you put it—enterprising young man feel his obtuse dark aesthetics and tainted carbuncle with wings worth pariahdom?
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Oi, Khamu'wo! Are you doin' anything important right now?
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Secretly he hoped Ikar would not find him, squirreled away in the lower levels as he was, but of course the Twelve would not answer him as were their wont. With a resigned sigh, he closes his tome and looks over to the boyish hyur.
Completely deadpan:]
Always.
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He made a point to look around the room, almost exaggeratedly so. Sure the miqo'te was always buried in his tomes, but Ikar didn't see any students. Certainly there was nothing he classified as pressing going on.]
I mean you're not teachin' anyone right now. Do you have any more lessons for the day?
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Or he can be truthful and deal with whatever it is Ikar is laying on his feet. It honestly comes down to what would be less annoying in the long run...]
I do indeed have a few more classes to attend.
[Ah.]
But we are in recess at the moment. Out with it, time is ephemeral.
[Find a man who can do both?]
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Closing the gap between them, Ikar leaned his butt up against the desk Khamu'wo was working at and put on his best persuasive smile.]
Look I just figure you been here long enough, cancel the rest of your day! I was goin' to head back soon myself so...
[Rummaging through his pocket he pulled out some spare gil and put it on the table.]
Split the cost?
[He gave way less than half.]
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This little shit is trying to swindle a teleport out of him because he's too broke to get home... Is this what Khamu'wo's life has come to? Truly?]
Ikar. First of all, that is not half—must we return to our math tutoring?
[Khamu'wo at least asks that genuinely, with a hint of worry. Did the marauder before him not retain what he had taught him?]
Second of all, I cannot merely cancel on my students on account of you ill managing your gil... You do realize that, yes?
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But even still, he was often there delivering a set of new bound books, the Guild being a usual benefactor to his growing business. Just like now, he made his way through the main entrance towards the winding stairs in the back. He was a bit too preoccupied with making sure the large stack of books wouldn't fall that he didn't see someone coming up the stairs... until he bumped right into them.]
Ah-! M-My apologies, ser. [Although he hardly looked at to whom he bumped into, bending down instead to gather the scattered books and checking them to make sure they had not suffered any harm. His work was good, so there should not be, but it was better safe than sorry.]
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So when Matthias runs into him with his stacks of books, it sends the man sprawling on the floor in front of him. His own tome flying off somewhere, landing rather unceremoniously open on the floor, while Khamu'wo's glasses clatter off somewhere.
A curse or two under his breath, and he's attempting to orient himself. Hands reaching out at the blurry colors before him, as he squints trying to make heads or tails of what it is he's looking at.]
'Tis quite alright. Pray, assist me and finding mine eye wear...
[Last thing he needs is someone stepping on his glasses and breaking them...]
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Yes, of course. It was my fault.
[He located the red spectacles, fairly hard to miss amongst the gray stone and he picked them up. He made his way over to the other miqo'te and took his hand to place the eye wear in his palm.]
Did you lose anything else?
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But these days, he's realizing how much more he still has to learn, to accomplish, how weak and powerless he can still truly be.
He's tired and sleepless, thinner than he should be. He sets a heavy tome on Khamu'wo's desk, and he murmurs, uncharacteristically listless, "I- hello again. This- I borrowed this, thank you, but it didn't have what I needed. Are there perhaps other tomes here in the library that might... have more information on corrupt primal aether? How to purge it, or deflect it, or resist it..."
If there was something he could have done... well. It's too late now, but if he learns, he can stop it from ever happening again.
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A few turns it's been since they might have ran into each other proper, what with Felih going off to become the adventurer legend he is, while Khamu'wo has run himself ragged between his two jobs.
"Felih, if I am not mistaken?" He asks coolly, keeping his eyes on him. The question did not go unheard, but at the moment, there are far more pressing matters.
"Pray, when last did you eat—or sleep? You look far too thin and tired to be worrying yourself over such matters."
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Yellow-gold eyes look listless, and he cannot meet Khamu'wo's gaze.
"That's not the important bit," he responds simply. "I just- I need the information. I can even search myself, just- just point me in the right direction. I know you're probably busy." And since when does Felih not pester people for attention, regardless of busyness?