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He hadn't actually intended to sketch the inside of one of the "tea houses". As a matter of fact, he wasn't even sure he was supposed to be inside them; but the sky overhead looked cloudy, and he didn't want to be caught under a sudden downpour. The change in angle meant he had to cover his painting again--a simple spell, purchased from a Psion a very long time ago, preserved the oils. Usually he used acrylic, for the speed in drying, but for something that (he hoped) Embla might someday see...

Aska shoved his curls out of his face, peeled aside a curtain to peer at the sky again. No change, really, everything still dim--maybe he should just head home while the heading was good, he thought, sitting down again on the very edge of the interior space. He pulled the large sketchbook back into his lap, picked up the graphite pencil. After two lines, what he had just seen registered inside his head. He leaned back, head peeking through the airy fabric again to stare, quite unabashedly, at a young... woman... who sported wings and a tail.

Could Dragon Kings be women? Was that a thing? Goddesses were, he'd met one, but... he'd looked it up. Kings were men, but that figure... He was not even going to try to reason it out.

As the woman approached, Aska tried to pretend he hadn't been staring. But he couldn't help it. He was a man, a healthy man, and to be honest--he was more than interested in attractive women where they presented themselves. Sure, if they didn't want his attentions, he looked elsewhere, but he was unique enough in the face that women tended to at least befriend him.

Except he found it didn't matter. That face was clearly masculine, for all the body looked feminine enough, and the voice... "Meaning no disrespect," he said, "but are you male or female? What I mean is, what pronouns should I use when referring to you, because I've heard that's important." He'd never in his life heard of someone who didn't identify with their apparent gender before coming to this new world (Gaia?) but he had been the student of a swift education at the hands of his downstairs neighbor, a young man who shared this (apparent) young man's affliction of an overly feminine body.

"Only I don't want to give offense where it's not needed," he explained, hurriedly.

Oh. At least it wasn't just him. He offered the man a smile that was more than a little relieved, and bowed. The name sounded like the same language as Tian Yue's, even. Maybe he was on to something? "Thank you, sir," he said. "My name is Aska Kepanan--but you may call me Aska if you like."

Oh, are we talking now, came Althai's grumpy question. Aska didn't need to think about it to know that the god was irritated at being told to be quiet earlier. Who to, the Grand Pubah of Whateverland--Ohhhhh. Instead of asking, as he knew Althai expected him to, he said, "I'm sorry for the confusion."

Aska shook his head quickly. "Of course you didn't. I mean, if you had, I probably wouldn't say so. That would be rude. But in this case, you sincerely didn't, I've... gone about as far as I can, today." He wasn't shy about showing off his art; he hadn't ever had reason, being an instructor of the arts before he became any sort of gallery artist--it had never been a secret that he sketched more than just designs for cabinets, and with no small amount of skill. Beginning your training before you could properly write probably had something to do with it, more than any innate talents.

"It's a gift for an old friend," he explained, doing his best to ignore the ache that came with referring to Embla as a friend when she had been so much more. Protector, meaning, life, and hope, and now gone. Long gone. Part of the grief was that he no longer hurt as much as he once did, and the rest... well, it too would fade with time. "I'm sorry if this is rude, Xun Jiang--" his pronunciation was wrong, he winced to hear it, but it was a very strange name and he wasn't at all used to names lacking the harsh consonants he'd grown up with "--but are you one of the gods who were... resurrected?"

"You don't look much like Tian Yue," said Aska, and then he regretted it. Perhaps dragons just happened to all look very different from each other! He wouldn't know, flying sky monsters were not really Lampadas's thing. It was more... a somewhat (highly) imbalanced class system, that was the thing.

He was starting to think he might prefer Gods and Dragon Kings. "I meant no offense," he said, grimacing at his own idiocy.

Did he say Dragon King, asked the god in the back of Aska's head. Ask him which one!! Ask him if he's Lifewater!

"Would you happen to be Lifewater," parroted Aska, a bit more dully than he'd meant to. It was a bit irritating to be bossed around by a voice in your head. Was this what it was like to Navigate, back at home?

Aska shook his head, settling down before his painting when the Dragon King sat. It was interesting, to hear the ways the dragons had divided their duties; he listened attentively, hands clasped together before him. It was a bit strange that they'd give the water dragon wings, but he wasn't exactly an expert on what sounded like intelligent design of an entire species… Maybe the wings had some sort of use in water? Like rudders on a boat?

It seemed vaguely sacrilegious to keep thinking along those lines, so he stopped. "Oh. There are stages to it?" It seemed pertinent that he know, since it was his body that would be doing the… ascending, even though he would not be going along with it. "No one had mentioned that to me," he said. On the one hand, it was a bit of a relief. His image wouldn't have to go down in the history books as one of the Gods, it would be someone else's face--on the other hand, it made him nauseous to think of. He really was going to die, wasn't he? And not naturally, of old age…

"Althai," he said at Xun Jiang's question, "the God of Healing." His hand went to the jewel where it rested under the fabric of his shirt, almost on its own will. "He's happy to see you again."

Althai seemed wordlessly disappointed by the lack of reaction, but then there was a mental shrug. There were plenty of things Althai didn't yet remember, after all, and Aska might have reminded him had the God not taken to reminding himself. "Perhaps this is where the stories come from," said Aska, subdued, and he started to tear down the small easel and the diminutive canvas upon it. "Although if it is, I'm not sure what kind of story I'd make. The carpenter who became the healer's god, I don't think many people would want to hear it." It would assuredly be very boring. He was a person who seemed made for solitude, after all; he didn't do adventures.

Althai might.

"He seems to think you're a friend," he said, "he's disappointed you don't remember, but understands that some things get lost in the healing process. Scars and such, I guess."

He nodded, and smiled a little crookedly. "It's a bit early to be saying such things," he said, shrugging. "Perhaps Althai will do something legendary, but it's almost certain that I won't. I only ever…"

He trailed off and shook his head, shouldered his backpack. "That's how it goes. My mother used to say it wasn't how many scars you bore, but how you dealt with the scars Fate gave you. Strong men were the ones who lived up to the very edges of what they could do, the weak just stayed inside them." He shrugged; he had loved his mother, but that was a memory long scarred over. He didn't grieve anymore, and he didn't miss her that much, either. She'd been wise, though. And he suffered for lacking her good advice anymore, in his adult life.

"I do," he said. "Luckily, I had time to get established before… all of this."