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“You really ought to get around to reforging that.”
The voice startles Aisa, his head snapping up to look at the speaker. A pillar of a woman stands, her smile beneath her black mask as broad as her shoulders and as bright as her stark white hair. He follows her eyes to where they dance along the tool of his station. A battered old scythe, the shaft pitted and notched, the blade bitten and ground down to a crescent of what it used to be. The metal is so worn and scraped thin, Aisa is half afraid it’ll fall out of the haft one of these days.
Well, she is right. And he has been meaning to.
Aisa smiles sheepishly up at the woman, shrugging the shoulder unburdened by the scythe in question. “Heh, I just never seem to have the time.”
She smiles, leaning in slightly to inspect his mask. Its ornamentation is sparse, battered in some areas and worn in others. Aisa can’t bear to get it polished up when it’ll just get dinged up again. The woman’s hair shifts over her shoulder as she nears, and Aisa scents sea salt and ozone. No doubt she has ventured far, not unlike himself.
“What is your station then, that you are ever so pressed for time? If you don’t mind me asking.”
Aisa smiles, slightly nonplussed. But the woman is only curious, not inquisitorial. And with his current charge complete, Aisa has the moment to spare until he is called to his next.
“I am an augur, my lady. I am called upon to study creations that fail suddenly, or catastrophically. Our appointments can take us to nearly any corner of the star, in short order.” Aisa’s lips twist, but he smooths the melancholy away from his face. He is often called to investigate the sudden deaths of fauna, to study the workings of their bodies. It is a worthy cause, to study the mortality of the few to ensure the survival of the many… but very few live through his appointments. Besides, it's hardly something to share with a stranger.
The woman eyes his face, intent. The piercing blue of her eyes seem to bely her friendliness, looking into something deeper than the surface of his mask. Perhaps she does not conduct her inquisitions with her words. Aisa shifts minutely, about to step back. But the woman leans back and smiles again, her eyes gentling. The sparking of a hearth, not lightning.
“Forgive me, I didn’t mean to pry. I was just curious. It’s not often that I see a blade openly carried in broad daylight.”
Aisa laughs, at ease once more. But of course, how could he have forgotten? “No, no. The fault lies with me, not you. I’d forgotten how it might look to others.” Aisa looks up at his blade. Part of why he’s dragged his feet on reforging it is that he's loathe to replace it, the scythe one of his oldest companions. It's been with him longer than even his sisters.
“Among my peers, our tools are all unique to our needs, but I’ve found that this suits me best.” He pats his scythe’s haft, gesturing to the environs that surround them. “With a long handle and blade, I can reach deep into most objects to peer into their inner workings at a distance.” The work of an augur often entails cutting into an object to look within, be it flesh and bone or wood and stone. For living fauna, Aisa prefers to use magicks that minimize harm to the creature, as much as possible. For other materials the blade, infused with a touch of aether, is typically enough to open a seam in that object’s form. The long haft works well for keeping Aisa and his subject at a safe distance, to maximize his control over thrashing, or the troubling material realities of a seam in space suddenly closing around an object, such as Aisa’s own flesh.
“Of course,” Aisa scratches at his head sheepishly, “The way I use it, it’s become more of a tool than a weapon.” He flicks the edge of the blade with a finger, the metal resounding dully. “I assure you, it’s quite blunt. More of a bludgeon than a blade, these days.”
“Oh? What a shame. And here I thought it would be a fine weapon to test my skills against.”
The woman speaks boldly, but without arrogance. In her eyes, Aisa can see no more than the joy of attempting a new challenge, of testing one’s limits. He can understand why she would anticipate a spar so eagerly. He chuckles. It’s been a long time since last he crossed blades with another, but he can still recall an odd trick or so that might delight this stranger.
“If that’s what you seek my lady, I won’t deny you. This blade has served me well, if you’d like to see how. It has some fight in it still.”
She crows with delight, her joy infectious. Her eyes shine with that sparking energy. In a flash she has leapt away, a shimmering sword materializing in her hand. She lifts it in a challenge to Aisa, tempered by her playful smile.
“Before you think me uncouth for challenging you without asking your name, good stranger, allow me to offer you mine.” She sweeps her sword to the side, lowering herself in a surprisingly elegant bow. “My name is Venat. Will you honor me with yours?”
Aisa laughs once more, astounded at Venat’s chivalric demeanor. He doesn’t recall ever being treated quite so honorably. The courtly manners fell out of fashion long ago, when he was just a boy, so it’s a surprise to hear it in this day and age. She must be even older than him. He lifts his scythe and bends his knee, the best of a bow that he can offer while managing the length of the weapon.
“It's hardly an honor – just a joy to share, lady Venat. My name is Aisa.”