"Arts, yes. Song and dance is common.. We have bards and singers aplenty in the capital, though they do not typically wander about unguided. The capital is cold, and spending your time outside may grow miserable when there's no promise of gold or food to it," Diens explained. "Dance on the other hand is more common to ladies and children. Some gifted nobles end up becoming part of a group of travelling entertainers. But commoners, if they choose to go on the path of dance..." He diverted his gaze to the window, where the sun was beginning to rise. Rays of gold that transformed the pitch black into violet and scar<br/><br/>"A lucky few end up entrancing a man so strongly that they marry. Others are not so fortunately. Once people have seen you dance, they tire of watching. Some think to move on to better places. So they do. Alone they succumb to the earth and snow. Or they manage on to a new place with new denizens to watch. Others are afraid to brave travel, so they remain where they are. But when everyone is weary of witnessing the same dancer dance, there is little else to do but change. Dance does not place nourishment in your mouth; gold does. Some become laborers. Laundry women, farmers. what have you." The sun was casting its rays over the horizon, peaking just a bit over. " Many find that the harsh labor of other professions is too much, and would rather sell their bodies. Their dance for entertainment becomes one of lust. Though I would presume you would rather stay away from brothels. Some might take you, but most are full of women."<br/><br/>Diens nodded, turning back to face Altair. "In time you will come to discover that purpose again. Though perhaps not through religion, as you thought." Diens moved for the candle and he extinguished it, watching the tendril of smoke that had billowed up dissipate. It was always a perplexing sight to behold, the dying wisps from a freshly blown candle. "The gods of Weiss can work in strange ways, like others. They are benevolent and they are not, their moods as variable as a tempest. In that way they may be likened to gods that you know. All places have wrathful gods, do they not?" He placed his hand against the room's door, shut for privacy. "A door will open to you and with it, the warmth hidden behind it."<br/><br/>He agreed with Altair that Dusan and Weiss were a world apart. Cold and hot. Sand and snow. Open lust and closed doors. The two were different as night and day, but still connected in ways they didn't know. "As you should. If you wish, I may tell you all that you would like to know about Weiss. There are things that are not quite apparent at first, as is like all other places. Things that you may have taken for granted in Dusan may not even exist here. But for as long as we are together, I'll tell you what I know."<br/><br/>"Pray, then. I have no qualms." With that, Altair began to murmur, praying in a language reminiscent to song. It was a beautiful prayer, sounding endless to his ears — not that he hoped for it to cede. The man's eyes were closed, his hands cupped together, pointed towards the sky. Too weak to prostrate himself, he had remained in bed. For a few minutes he continued like that, though the dulcet tones soon muddled into feverish babbling.<br/><br/>It was then that Diens came close to Altair for the first time, reaching forward and placing his palm against the slave's forehead. Evidently, he was febrile to the touch. Diens had hoped for the best, that perhaps the man might push through his malady on his own, but now it seemed unlikely. Medicinal interference would be required. Tenderly he tilted the man, setting him down so that he would lay upon his side. Following that he nudged Altair, rolling him onto his stomach. Removing the blanket nestled around the slave so that it wouldn't bother him, he began to unravel the linens bound around Altair, so that he could get to the wound underneath.