"Fine, fine," Kutur said, only half listening. Kali was especially chatty today, it seems. Maybe she felt as nervous as he did. The ridiculous nickname stung, though. In the days of his studies, when he trained, as many others did, under the guiding hand of the Bythesea Archmage, he had taken a human name. Alexius Lionus Garrakus, it was. It was a name he wore with pride, for it told the world that he was a peer to some of the greatest wielders of the arcane found in the world. Kut . . . he'd rather not, but he wasn't about to say anything to Kali. Perhaps he should stop thinking about it. 

He went over to the riverside and put a toe in, but pulled his foot back with a squeak. The water was a bit cold for his taste. "If you would . . . sorry, but . . . " he muttered, waving his hand in a vague indication for her to give him a bit of space. When he felt comfortable, he rubbed his hands together. Sparks of flame leaped out of his fingers, jumping to the ground. Kutur felt, as he always did, the primordial forces coursing through his frail body, and he knew that such power would never be his. He is but a road, redirecting the power instead of generating it. The thought made him feel both small and important at the same time. With a hiss, he pushed the flames out of his hands, and they erupted into a wild inferno that licked at the water like a thirsty dragon. He then gingerly stepped back into the water. It was still cold.

"Apologies, I interrupted you. What was it you were saying again?"