RP:A Foundation Forged in Blood

Part of the The God of Undeath Arc

Part of the Welcome To The End Of Eras Arc

Summary: Kasyr and Valrae meet in Vailkrin.

Vailkrin

Kasyr, for the first time in a very long while, feels vulnerable. It's not the brazenness in which he rests seated in the midst of Vailkrins square- even after the attack upon Vailkrins Castle, he still felt at ease with the city itself, with its many divided denizens. In fact, were it any other day, he'd even have relished the simplicity of a challenge to his name, for the opportunity to once more establish the simple consequences that would be meted out to poor pretenders hoping to earn glory.

No, what sets the swordsman ill at ease is far closer to his heart- nestled within the burlap pack hanging off his trenchcoated shoulder. An object whose very existence occasionally coaxes him into shuffling the bag, so he might evoke some plaintive out-of-tune note, just to reassure himself that it's still on his person.

And yet, by all accounts it felt necessary- if what he'd gleaned from the book he'd retrived from that verbotten library was accurate. And so, he waited- for the one who'd bear witness to this potentially final turn of events, for his now overdue visit to the Alnwick estate.

Valrae had been busy within the newly rebuilt and very gilded cage of Cenril's estate. With the renovations finally complete, there seemed to be an even more daunting amount of work awaiting her each morning. Every new issue was a building block of paper work stacking one on top of the other to create an impossible summit of white on her desk.

So she worked.

After the meeting with Kasyr and Lanlan, she'd heard little from either. The bond between them was a constant reminder of how sour their last meeting had turned. Like a hand pressing against a newly formed bruise. She dulled that ache with a new one, the one of overworked head aches that hounded her to sleep and rose as she did before the sunrise.

The sleepiness and monotony of this pause in her life felt as fragile as spun glass. The looming threat of Caluss posed over it and ready to shatter all that she'd been building at any moment.

And then Valrae felt a sense of tugging on the silver cord that wound from her toward Vailkrin. She'd been bent over a needlessly complex proposal for produce tariffs between Cenril and Chartsend. It took her only a heartbeat to accept this informal invitation and abandon her work.

The witch impulsively left her attendants to question her whereabouts as she dashed to her rooms. She stopped to collect her bag, throwing the emerald skull and a few bottled potions into it before crossing it about herself. She stuck her ash wand into the clever pocket of her cream dress and closed her eyes.

Her room faded around her, running like ink over reality to rearrange itself into a new image. When her dark eyes opened again, she was standing in front of Kasyr with a wry smile tilting the corners of her pink glossed lips.

Kasyr waits, his mind briefly teasing over the constant peripheral awareness he has of the bond- of the bitter resentment that hung heavily there, of the exhausted melancholy that seemed to threaten to spill forward - and the odd sense of complacency that had begun to crop up from the simple awareness of these pains. Of their presence. It was enough that he briefly found it difficult to discern the moment when it had transitioned from a distant acknowledgement, to a very real proximity- as reality finds itself a lacklustre backdrop on a canvas, her form painted in colours realer than it's surroundings.

He can't help the fond grin that creeps up in the aftermath, as the book bearing hand in his lap is lifted up in order to provide a salute, "Now that es a neat trick, madamoiselle." Here he pauses, if only to carefully add, "Are you faring any better since we last spoke?" Though his attention remains focused on her, it's not long before he provides a meaningful tilt of his head towards the shoulder that had been injured.

The witch drops into a playful curtsey. Her formalities almost a small joke between them now. The motion was played up in the dramatic lowness, her left foot slipping behind her right as her knee bends slightly and her white skirts shift around her. Her arm had healed, though that journey had been long and more arduous that she'd been used too curtesy of Quintessa's cursed blade, and her easy movement was a testament to the work she'd put in.

"Thank you," She chirps easily, returning his grin despite herself. "A trick I learned from a book." Valrae admits, her voice dropping in a conspirator whisper as she takes a seat near him and busies herself with rearranging her skirts to fall around her in the most ladylike and appealing fashion. "Much." She replies simply, tilting her face toward him. She studied him then, the careful measure of his countenance unbridled in her dark eyes. "How have you been, Kasyr?"

Kasyr nods his approval, not so much at the 'consideration' she shows him, but at the smoothness of the motions- the precision of those extended motions, and the ease in which she gathers herself anew to find an adjacent spot. Unfortunately, proximity would do a bit to dispell the easygoing illusion he maintains at a distance, because there's a certain degree of frayed nerves which is almost palpable- an agitation which is apt to be perceived both through their bond, and his own barely in check empathy. "Busy?" The non-answer sits heavy on his tongue for a few long moments, as he grapples with a proper answer. "Could be better, j'suppose." Truthful, as far as pleasentries go- but no doubt they can both tell he's simply striving to fill the air. To stall, perhaps. And it's in that knowledge of his own dithering that his voice grows just a touch sharper, as he settles on what part of his iternerary to address first, "But, before we get into the worst of it, I figured you ought to know something." The swordsmans fingers fidget here, his thumb running against the ring finger of his right hand- fidgeting at the signet ring which sat there, his informal marriage to his station. "You've a price on your head, and an assassin sent your way- though the individual seems to have little inclination to act upon it."

Valrae could feel the unusual disquiet that surrounded him. It was only made clearer now that she sat beside him. It itched across her skin as if it were her own, only there was no source within herself. If they had been in her home, she might have offered him tea or even bloodwine. It threw her to see the revenant in this new light. Even when they'd discussed the impossible odds of defeating Caluss, he'd never seemed so... Unsettled.

Her lips frown. The look was almost sullen, though her eyes were flashing with concern and confusion rather than pouting temper. She could tell he was just filling the suddenly off balance tension between them when he answered but she didn't press. She waited. His true answer surprised her into laughing. The sound was out of place. "Sorry." She says, covering her lips with slightly curled fingers. "Kas," The witch uses his affectionately shortened name gently. "I can handle an assassins. I'd like to think I've proved as much. My home is more secure now than before. If you're worried about me... Well, it's kind and I appreciate you but you shouldn't be." But she pauses. "Do you have a name?"

Kasyr purses his lips slightly, as he sifts through the information he held. On one hand, Valrae was perhaps due for the full extent of the truth, and yet- if she used that knowledge to take pro-active measures, it could, in turn, muddy the waters with his current ventures with Langley, his arrangement with the Maharan, and perhaps further endanger relationships between his city and cenril.

He does his best to avoid clenching his jaw, and instead tries his best to take heart in the simple certainty that she had in her preparations. "It's complicated. The assassin es the one that let me know this, because they had no interest in pursuing the job. They seem to understand that it would go poorly for everyone involved. Including his myopic employer." Not for the first time, the sword saint thinks about the oath he'd made- the words he'd offered up as an oath before the gods, one that would no doubt be enforced were the terms breached. Words he'd been careful about, for this very moment. "I can see about- or rather." It was complicated, wasn't it? He couldn't make promises for the future- the closest he could come to that was tucked away in his coat, in a set of plain envelopes. "Macon is the one behind it. That's the crux of the matter, what's really important. Even with the fate of the world looming- his animosity towards you es ...unchecked. Though, I've done my part to curb it." Through perhaps the most selfish contrivance imaginable. And yet- as he glances over towards the witch, as her expression shifts from concern, to humour, and that aggressive curiosity, a part of him feels that selfishness is warranted. He was tired of being the last one standing.

She could sense the inner turmoil that wreathed around Kasyr. It was palpable, enough that she might have felt it in the air around them without the aid of the bond they shared. It caused her brow to furrow as his jaw twitched. It almost surprised her how hesitant he seemed to offer her more information. Her busy mind tried to puzzle through it, to prod through the silver cord a little invasively. His anxiousness was at odds with the action of telling her. Why offer it at all? It didn't occur to her to feel hurt. No, Valrae had settled into her own kind of trust with revenant and there was no room for that now.

Macon's name caused her to flinch. The very mention of him had the taste of ash crowding her throat. Memories of her past life rising like the flames that had ended it. There was fear, something she wouldn't bother to hide from Kasyr despite the habitually careful mask of impartiality curtaining her usually open expression. "Oh." The word tumbles from her lips simply. It hangs between them uselessly. "I see." The witch leans back in her seat, crossing her legs at the knee and smoothing her skirts. "Well, I'm not surprised. I'm sure my position in Cenril was a great disappointment to him." She rolled her shoulders in a careful, practiced way. "I appreciate your efforts, anyway. Though, I don't know that he'll be satisfied until he's put me in the ground no matter what you offered him."

Kasyr draws his thumb down the spine of the book in his lap, a reassuring fidget that helps to keep him in the moment, to ward away the temptation to slither into the safe refuge of possibilities or excuses. He remains present, as the witch flirts with an old flame-bound fear, and what new anxieties would likely bubble up as a result of his revelation. And he knew, in part, that he could leave things at that- and yet, within the span of this instance, he shared something with the larketian king. They were far from satisfied with the events as they were. "Je m'en- ...Rather, I don't doubt it for one moment. -If- he had a choice in the manner. But, once I realized the extent of his hate for you- I was rather careful to- craft you a bulwark, j'suppose. A refuge that he agreed to without a second thought- an agreement that wasn't simply a matter of pen and paper, but that was sworn before his god et mine." An oath that, given his nature as Daedria's chosen paladin, would no doubt be enforced, in the case of a breach. "I swore an oath that myself et my house would not do any harm to him, or his city. In return, both Larket et him could likewise do no harm to members of my house." It's here that he finally pauses, the momentum of the words finally dissipating, as he allows Valrae to process everything that had been said.

The witch watches as he moves his hand over the book, her puzzling frown returning. She leans forward in her seat, her long hair sliding over her shoulder to form a golden curtain between herself and the dark world of Vailkrin. It hadn't occurred to her that she'd yet to feel the twinge of that bone deep, prey familiar feeling in the city of the damned. She was comfortable, open and unguarded in this hostile land, and the truth of it was that her single minded focus had been snared onto the man who sat beside her now.

She gasps, her breath passing her lips quickly as he reveals what he'd done. "He swore an oath?" She echoes, confusion mingling with a touch of awe. How in the gods names had he managed to pull an oath from the Rage King? But the rest of it sank into her mind like a stone. Her stomach dropped, as if she were standing on the edge of a very tall cliff. "Your house." She'd become a poor echo in her shock. The reality of this rolled over her like a cold wave. In a move born of panic, Valrae attempts to rearrange her face into something like a teasing smile. It appeared more as a grimace. "Is this your idea of a proposal, Kasyr?"

Kasyr had expected a number of reactions- frustration at her ally having tied his hands, indignation at the covert manner in which the Kensai had undertaken things, or even a sense of moral outrage at the prospect lain before her. What he had -not- prepared for, was that jest- which managed to elicit a trace of mortification on his part, and then a more lingering sadness. "I feel it'd be a rather cowardly contrivance, were that the case, madamoiselle." Some part of him strives to center himself anew, to put aside the matters of the evening to the back of his brain for the moment, so she had little reason to question their task later, "And that would hardly be fitting for someone who saw fit to provide a ring in such a forthcoming manner." He can't quite land the tone for the jest, so instead directs his attention away from her features- and back towards the endless night which hung about them, "Especially given how much of a field day your papers would have, I'd need to at least make sure the spectacle was worth the hassle." Though, would it really be him making certain of that? The envelopes in his coat felt a little bit heavier in that moment. "I'm sure you could talk things over with Inks, if you had any hesitations, en fait. She might be able to advise some form of recourse." An avenue that would be available no matter what, he reasoned.

She was still searching him, puzzling him together now. The ease that she'd felt slipped away like water through her fingers when the joke doesn't quite land. Instead she's met with a wall of tension and the undercurrent of sadness that leaves a bitter taste on her tongue. The witch frowns. He returns the tease in kind but it was harder to laugh now. The sound was strangled in her throat.

"If wedding bells aren't in my future I've no inkling of what else you might mean." Her tone was haughty, there was no air of confusion despite what she'd said, and stubborn. She knew what he'd meant. What he offered her now was a more permanent kind of bond. One that might even be stronger than the one she'd imposed first upon him and Lanlan. The irony of this was lost to her. The indignation that he'd anticipated rears it's head now. "Hesitations?" She repeats, nearly hissing. "Kasyr, do you have any idea what that would mean for me?" Her hands fist in her lap. "I've made a poor secret of how I feel about... Your condition. About vampirism. I am sorry for that but I'm not some simple minded bigot. Do you know anything of my culture? My magic? Do you have and idea what it means to me? It's my birthright. My heritage." She stands and pushes at her hair in frustration, suddenly animated as she paces shortly in front of the revenant. "Undeath would sever that connection. It would cut me away from who I am." Valrae speaks this as if it were truth because she believes it is. She stops in front of him, her arms dropping uselessly to her sides. "While I can appreciate your efforts at securing my safety, this isn't a choice I can make. I would sooner face the fire again."

Kasyr may have actually snorted at Valraes insistence on carrying the gag forward, and meets her stubborn obtuseness with a sardonic, "There would certainly be worse choices insofar as political marriages." And yet, when his words finally coax her into baring her proverbial teeth, he almost feels relieved. "It was, en fait, rather hard to miss." This, at least, cuts to the heart of the matter- and provides him something that he can actually respond to. A way to absolve himself of the quandry he's left at her feet, in the face her indignation, " I -don't- know your history. I don't assume to do so, madamoiselle. I just know that Macon has made it abundantly clear that he -will- not stop, and doesn't seem all that concerned that doing so might bring about the world, so long as he can garner the satisfaction of putting you in the ground. Et I would rather see that neither you, nor the world meet an untimely end, cherie." And yet, it's ultimately her choice- a fact that makes it a bit easier to stand up, to begin making the first tentative steps towards what entailed for the rest of the evening, "Let's just hope your decisions aren't reduced to such a desperate position then." And yet- there is a small petty thread that tugs at him. A simple idea which has him glancing over his shoulder to add, "I do have to question, however- that whatever patron you hold would be so petty to deny you its aid, when even in my states I hold the gods favor." Okay, now he's done. "In any case, That wasn't the crux of what I had to talk about tonight. I was able to read the book I'd found with you all." It's a curt shift, but, it felt a bit necessary at this juncture.

She'd only laughed, adding sweetly, "I don't recall objecting to the marriage." The witch leaned into the humor again, her temper passing as quickly as it had appeared. It was easy to let go somehow. She thought she should be more angry with him, her soul had somehow became a bargaining chip for safety, but she found she didn't have a taste for holding him to the fire for it. Perhaps because she trusted his intentions.

Valrae tilts her head slightly then, watching as he stands. She waits a heartbeat before following. She could feel a bone deep anger settle in the cage of her ribs. It wasn't for Kasyr, or even Macon really, but something broader than two men. If Macon could be considered a threat to her future and her life, why shouldn't she be considered a threat to his? She'd left Larket and their corrupt royalty behind from the moment they'd held her to the fire. Why? She should be vengeful. Valrae could become the dark, twisted and pain hungry version of witches that Macon seemed to fear so deeply. She could give him a reason to fear them. Is that what it would take? Was violence the only answer that a world ruled by men like the Rage King would accept?

Her thoughts are interrupted by Kasyr's question. Her lips tilt into a smile. She doesn't answer him, she didn't have one, and she thought he might have only asked her to antagonize her again. The witch stands quickly to follow him. "Something else?" She asks, surprise lightening her tone. She narrows her eyes at his back, dark humor flashing in her eyes like lamplight over a carriage window. "I see, lure me in with the big ask and then I can't say no to the next."

Kasyr is reassured when Valrae falls in tow, their momentary disagreement resolving itself far more painlessly than the bitter spats which so often plagued his dealings. But then, there is a rather marked absence- one which no doubt would have carried their own opinions on the exchange. And what dark undercurrents she manages to invoke on her own are blessedly not focused on him- her morbid musings directed elsewhere, and easily dispelled in the face of the present. "I suppose I could try luring you in with something properly scandalous in future, if it would better please you, cherie. Since you seem so open to misadventures-" He glances oevr his shoulder, offering what he hopes is a roguish grin, before his attention flickers up towards the homes that comprise Nightshade Avenue. The various abodes which marked the cities oldest residents. "I suppose I should actually provide some preamble, non? Since we are about to potentially make a rather large mess of things."

That, at least, provokes something closer to an actual grin- even if it does lean more rueful than most- as the Kensai adjusts his pack and provokes a fresh string of discordant notes. "How familiar are you with the workings of gods, and those things which aspire to be one?"

Valrae might have felt the absence of that other presence, she might have even noted the difference between the flash fire of their argument verses the slow and more consuming burn of others they had be party to otherwise, but if she did she wasn't going to speak it aloud. Perhaps it was their general proximity that lead her thoughts down a parallel path. Maybe it was the silver thread that wound away from them and toward wherever Lanlan might be in the world now. Either way, it didn't seem either of them were jumping to name the missing point of their peculiar triangle.

"Misadventures?" She echoes, returning his devilish grin with a feigningly innocent one of her own. "I'm sure I have no idea what you could mean."

The witch's smile turns toward something more thoughtful then. Her golden brow furrows at his question. "I should hope I'm intimately familiar, considering my position within the Devout's Guild." Her answer might have seemed impolite but the tone was genuine. She had no idea what mess they might be making of things now, as Kasyr had suggested. She also knew that no matter her knowledge, which was by and large bookish in it's nature, the revenant had been closer to divinity than she might dream. As they walk, Valrae looks away from him to follow his eyes toward Nightshade Avenue. "What is it we're here for, Kas?"

Kasyr's march eventually starts to slow in front of a particularily expansive estate, one surrounded with what had once been a rather ornate wall, if the weather-worn depictions of notable points in Vailkrins history were anything to go by. "..." The majority of them predate the Kensai, and yet, there's clearly been some more recent efforts- touch ups which had also seen to implement disquieting vistas seen in a nebulous sky. "Gaudy." He murmurs, alongside something about 'what tapestries are for'. Still, out of respect for whomever may be patrolling the grounds, and whatever their preternatural senses might pick out, the swordsman redirects his attention towards the witch. "Perhaps- but you'd be surprised by the amount of priests et paladins who never look too deep into the matter. As though the search for facts wasn't compatible with their faith, en fait." And yet, the considerations he'd long mulled over weren't simply matters of rhetoric meant to inflame zealots and offend the truly pious- but instead hard learned lessons, "For instance, I think, by this point- most people are aware that deities are empowered by faith. It's part of why they find means to aggressively expand their followers at times, and the threat -posed- by cults." Which, also goes a long way to explaining why he's spent years murdering groups of them wholesale. "And yet, it es not just the faithful we need to worry about. There's also the matter of a divinities domains." It's on this note that he strides further into the courtyard, crossing it in all due haste so he could reach the doors of the manse and begin knocking. The sound of distant footfalls is heartening- a clear sign his missive had reached the proper channels.

It also meant Kasyr was free to turn his attention back to Valrae, "I don't mean a domain in a nebulous sense- like what they represent. Non, what I mean- is their heavenly fiefdoms. Their personal realms. " The Kensai has a mischievous look here, but the humour doesn't quite reach his eyes, even despite the mild theatrical gestures which help to ponctuate the ideas, "In a less nebulous sense, we've seen fascimiles of them- temples and grounds hallowed in their name- so some small measure of their true power can be seen." There's a dramatic pause here as he waits for his little lecture to be absorbed, before he finally provides an answer, "If our shared foe -had- one, I don't think we'd have a means of winning anymore. Confronting an enemy in a space that is emblematic of who they are - Even on a small scale, it would be problematic." A beat, " -We- are taking preventative measures to preventing an outright catastrophe, Madamoiselle."

The witch followed him quietly, content with the easy silence that can grow between friends, and waited patiently for her answer. She doesn't argue with his assertion that the stonework was gaudy, though it had surprised her into laughing.

"Well, perhaps a bit unfortunately for us, I am neither a priest nor paladin." Valrae replies with the tilt of her head. No, she was a witch and a High Priestess. She'd shown herself capable of many feats in magic but her strengths did not rest in sermons or on the battle field. It was in research, neck bent over dusty books and surrounded by tea gone cold as her busy mind devoured the words right off of faded and yellowed pages. And there was ritual, drawing down down the power that begged to be brought to her fingertips as it sang beneath the earth or whispered from the moons. No, Valrae was not without her talents, and never without her tricks, but a warrior she was not... Yet.

Still, she listened carefully as Kasyr spoke. She doesn't interrupt, only watches him with wide and dark eyes as he begins to paint a picture of godhood and divinity. "Right," Was her only short response in his brief pause. "But-" She'd wanted to ask him a question. Several in fact, but he was knocking on the door before the words could leave her lips. It didn't seem to matter. He'd turned to her again and began explaining further. Her brow furrows as confusion passes through her eyes. Valrae couldn't help but feel as if she were two steps behind him as he spoke. A look crossed the revenant that she didn't yet understand. The pause between them is filled only with the sounds of the endless night surrounding them as she stares at him.

"Wait..." It was clear by the look on her face that she was still behind, that she hadn't quite caught up. "But what domain is venerable to him? How would we stop him?"

Kasyr can hear the footsteps drawing closer, and so his own tone drops to one fitting of a conspiracy, "A godling that lived in Vakmatharas' shadow? Where, indeed?" There was a reason the notes he'd passed onto Khitti had been so specific- every instruction having meant to draw the denizens they were meant for away from the supposed protection of the great temple. Gevurah had said it, after all- his faith, his power, was subverted.

Unfortunately, any petition to raze those grounds was apt to make an already ontentious attempt at ascension all the more complex, "And that's the -good- news." There's a sadistic sort of amusement in his tone, as the door creaks up, serving to quell his side of the conversation- and providing a moment for a pallid face to peek out at the pair of them. Kasyrs initial estimation is somewhere between 'dead tired or bored'- and the following moments do little to discern which, as the dark-haired 'youth' that serves as their greeter only manages a very neutral sounding, "Lord Azakhaer . . . and . . . company?" Considering she's a mayor, and a formerly famous matchstick, the swordsman almost certain it's deliberate- but the grey eyes never waver, the thin lips fail to twitch- leaving him to flatly offer, "Madamoiselle Baines. If you'd be so kind- we're expected. I'd requested access to your- ...shrine, j'suppose." That, at least, elicits something akin to a frown and a quirked eyebrow- though, whatever reservations might lurk behind those simple gestures goes unsaid, as their guide turns on their heels and begins to direct them further into the home. It also provides them a better look at the chaperone- and the fact that they seem to be wearing a slightly rumpled silk bathrobe, as though they'd freshly rolled out of a bed.

"Goddamnit, Jaymes."

Valrae's face had paled then. The words had been whispered but they fell on her ears as a thunderclap as the pieces finally snapped into place. Where indeed. She'd opened her mouth to protest but the door had opened then.

The witch doesn't seem slighted by the lack of recognition. The polite smile that affixed itself to her painted lips was one born of pure reflex and failed to meet her eyes. She let Kasyr do the speaking, only dipping her head in a polite nod of greeting. This was only in part due to her ignorance of Vailkrin customs. The majority of her silence was due to the revelation that the revenant had just placed at her feet.

She kept close to Kasyr as they crossed the threshold. Her hands were clasped in front of her demurely as her heels clicked across the floor, wide eyes devouring the unfamiliar surroundings and comparing the architecture to that of her home. It was moodier and darker than Cenril's typically costal and white toned rooms. The details were more intricate too. Her contemplation of the juxtapositions halted as a curse turned the air blue, her eyes darting toward Kasyr as a look of question settled over her features.

Kasyr is notably less interested in their surroundings, the swordsman having long since grown inured to the decadent treasures ached within the various estates- the subtle message carried within the almost casual displays of grand pieces of art, serving to signal the prestige of the house, their power in keeping it so readily open, and most importantly, the intentional tipping of their hand as to the age of their bloodline. In a certain sense, it's akin to navigating through an archive of the continents history, their footfalls bringing them past depictions of Lithrydel which seem almost alien- showcasing iterations of cities and regions in their primacy, a story told in countless brush strokes of differing styles. A story which is mostly lost on the Kensai, given the overall apathy of the individual guiding them. Valrae's questioning look finally earns her an answer, "I think Jaymes had a scheduling conflict." There's a snort from their guide, even as the 'youth' pushes over a heavy set of doors, and ushers the pair into a broad room. By all accounts a hall of sorts, and yet- their destination was not there, but the darkened stairwell which began to lead them down into the cellars of the estate. "Is he going to be joining us, or-?" This, at least, elicits something of an answer, as their bathrobed tour guide airily waves a hand, "My Lord Alnwick has been indisposed of for some time, but he left instructions for us to provide you with what you needed in honour of your old allegiances. That said, -I- have to wonder. Why did you even bother to come back? Why now?" It's at this juncture the Kensai can firmly place the speak as a younger addition to the house, due to that odd combination of sincerity and brashness. It's offputting, really- and leaves the swordsman with little to do then respond in kind, "Necessity. Something bad es on the way. I'm sure you've seen it in the papers, in the streets, with our neighbours. Et that's just the start of it all."

Fantastic pep talk. But hey, it at least quiets their guide.

Valrae might have been able to spend hours letting her eyes roam over the treasures of wealth and history. She could imagine herself here, with Kasyr as a guide, under different circumstances with her head tilted toward each gilded painting or carefully placed piece of artwork as she peppered him with questions of it's significance and origin. Unfortunate that this was a more formal visit.

"Oh." The witch replies simply, feeling a bit adrift with no face to assign to the name and only the smallest of understanding of what they were hoping to accomplish here.

As they're led to a darkened stairwell the already narrow space between Valrae and Kasyr is further lessened by the witch as she steps nearer. Her heartbeat quickened behind the cage of her ribs as the reality of her situation became more apparent and those bone deep fears that had been instilled within her emerged. She felt very human in that moment and very vulnerable descending into the heart of a vampiric estate with little more than her wits and a wand.

The conversation of her relative state of living resurfaces to the front of her mind. The witch trusted Kasyr to respect her answer on the matter, though she wondered how far that respect would take her if her options somehow became... Limited. She hoped that they wouldn't need to explore that bleak future but her hand found the discreet pocket of her shirts so that her finger tips could brush the smooth ashwood of her wand nevertheless. She might have scoffed at Kasyr's understated answer for their guide if her mind hadn't been anxiously flipping though various imaginings of her own untimely death.

Kasyr soon finds himself wishing for the barbed curiosity of their guide- because the staircase does not seem keen on ending any time soon. Instead, they're simply left listening to the lonely echoes of their footsteps, the scuff of their hands against the narrow walls- as they slowly transition from solid wood, into hewn stone. It is this continual descent into darkness that the Kensai attributes the staccato of Valraes heart, and the taste of her fear threatening to break the surface. It's enough that he actually pauses for a moment, a subtle interruption in their established pace so he could oblige the witch to either slow down and stop, even as their guide continued their descent. And yet, what could he say? 'You're looking like Prey? Please stop.' He frowns for a moment, rolls his eyes at no-one in particular, and then finally draws his hands up to the scarf so often coiled about his neck- so that he can remove it, and stuff it into her hands. "You're shivering." He pauses just long enough to make sure she has it in hand before he resumes his downwards descent, now slightly hastened as he hears the grind of metal hinges- their guide having proceeded without them.

Following in his wake, it's not long before he reaches the source of the noise- being a thick metal door inscribed with a numberous of symbols, and certain bits of script, unrecognizable in any real sense of the man, though, a scholar familiar with a cult of ancient mysteries might be able to discern...fragments of it. Notably, only fragments- given there's a sense of incompleteness to what is there, as though portions were simply eroded out of existance. Cleanly wiped away. And that had been the case, hadn't it? The kensai readjusts his hold on the book he'd been carrying, and pushes forward - only to be greeted by a massive stone chamber. Their guide, at this juncture, had not proceeded further, but had taken a post near the entryway- body rigidly standing vigil, even as his gaze is averted away from the rest of the room with a pronounced fierceness that seems painfully unnatural. Almost like, "...If you were ordered to ensure we had what we needed, you're no longer needed here." The youth actually exhales here, and some morbid part of the Kensais mind almost has him wondering if they were chosen for a certain degree of expendability- or . . . It didn't matter. They were already gone- jostling past Valrae if they'd not reached the bottom yet, in their haste to get away from . . .

The chamber was impressive, a subterranean ampitheater whose vast proportions seemed less a matter of intelligent design, having perhaps been carved into existence by some cthonic cavern dweller long departed. The benches which span the room, are more deliberate in their craftsman ship, and yet, those gleaming slabs of mineral carry a certain eerie connotation- looking as though they could have served as either a spectators seat, or an altar in a ritual. And yet, the most prominent feature in the room was perhaps the hardest to look at. An elevated Dias, vacant by all accounts, perhaps even abandoned -and yet- that emptiness seemed hungry. As though it were waiting for some opportunity to be given purpose. A steady drone in the darkness seemed to hang in the air, a hum which seems to catch in the acoustics of the room and intensify with further scrutiny- buzzing with a sense of history. A tingle of something ancient, a coppery taste that filled the back of the throat and made it hard to breath.

She mirrors Kasyr's pace, slowing to a halt as he does without question. Her eyes were downcast and locked on the steps before her as her busy mind flipped through blood soaked visions of her future. Valrae was brought back to the narrowed stairwell only when the revenant pressed the scarf into her hands. The witch blinks twice, her fingers curling around the soft material as the lines of her face shifted from terror to something closer to the sleepy confusion of a daydreamer. "Oh," And "Thank you." Tumbled from her lips but he had already turned to continue down the stairs. Embarrassment flooded her cheeks as she wrapped it around her neck and pulled her long hair from it's coils. Her heels clicked loudly in her own ears as she hurried to follow him and mentally scolded herself for dissolving into a trembling mess. At least, for doing so in a way that had been noticeable. She was pressing her knuckles to her lips, the scarf between her palm and fingers, when she finally reached the landing a few short moments after them.

She'd taken long enough that she had to step toward the side quickly to avoid their guide as he turned heel and all but ran from where he'd been charged to lead them.

The witch frowned, opening her mouth to speak but the words died in her throat. The chamber nearly evoked a gasp from her as she hovered just beyond the threshold. The runes on the heavy door drew her dark eyes toward it and she quickly began attempting to place the unfamiliar curves and lines. Her hand moved out as if to touch one of the more deeply weathered markings, her fingertips hovering over them before falling to her side again.

The yawning hunger that called from the vastness of that rough hewn caused her to linger there for several heartbeats. "Kasyr... What is this?" Her voice nearly echoed in the large, nearly empty space as she stepped inside. With one hand on her ashwand and the other still tangled in the scarf, she quickly closed the space between them. Her eyes were locked on the dais. It was seemingly the source of the anticipating power that saturated the air, brushing over her skin like pin pricks and filing the back of her throat with the taste of blood.

Kasyrs' gaze sweeps over the room one more time, before it focuses back on Valrae- even as she begins to make her way through that rapacious darkness and over towards his side. "History." The Kensai takes a tentative step forward, one booted foot moving to sweep across the ground- sending decades old dust and detritus up into the air, and revealing a symbol etched into the ground. One which lay interconnected to a number of runic circuits- though the details are soon lost beneath the accumulated grime. "House Alnwick have occasionally dubbed themselves caretakers et historians of Vailkrin- In fact, it would not be exagerration that they worship it. It's why they supported moi, in the first place. They felt I would do whatever it took to protect their home, this monolithic shrine of a city." Kasyr pauses here, drawing that curious book he'd recovered from the library, one thumb running over a cover that was no longer the colour of dried blood- but instead a richer shade of red. A warm color that seems to adhere to the crystalline surfaces within the room, captured within their facets and accumulating as the speech continues, "Because they believe it's a god- an entity that brought itself into existence through a catastrophic blighting of the land, providing a -bastion- for the darker residents of Lithrydel. A massive sanctuary, which feeds on the worship of this within it, as it continues to expand it's reach."

It's here that the Kensai flicks the book open, and then clicks it shut for emphasis, "Sounds rather grim- given our circumstances, non? Where it not fiction. You see, what I retrieved from that ...place-" That literary crypt which even now eroded away at the memory of itself, "-was a journal. The notes of one of the founding members of this city. One Mathias Alnwick." The smirk on his face could barely be suppressed. After spending so long mulling over these details with only Iintahquohae to consider it's repercussions, there was something altogether cathartic about sharing it all now- especially as they rested on the cusp of the dias and it's voracious ... deficiency. That painful absence. "What they pass amongst themselves is a fairy tale, a neat corruption of the truth they formed to fill in the gap left in the wake of what their predecessor consigned to that academic abyss." And it's with those words that he steps forward, trying his best to ignore the buzzing that fills his mind- "Vailkrin isn't a God. It's a domain. An artificial domain meant to -house- a god." Those were the words he couldn't say for these long weeks, in fear that someone might hear, might look in. There's more to say, he seems all but posed- but he buries the impulse, allowing Valrae the time to grapple with the deluge of damning realization.

Valrae listens carefully, her face painted in the soft lines of curiosity and keen interest. She watches as his boot reveals a hidden symbol and leans down to trace her finger over the shape. Dust collects on her finger tip and she brushes it on a kerchief produced from the mysterious chasm that was her purse. She leaned back on her heels, her knees still bent and her white skirts pooled around her like spilling moonlight in the darkness, as she tilts her face toward the revenant. "They worship Vailkrin." She echoes, slowly absorbing this information and rearranging into her mind in effort to find the full picture of this place and why he'd brought her here.

The witch watches as he opens and closes the book, her head tilting as she stands. "Alnwick bound the truth to the library?" The revelation has her golden brow raising in surprise. But it was what Kasyr said next that sent a tremble of fear along her spine. It came together then, the full picture. The whole truth of what Kasyr spoke settled over her the way a wave settles over you before it pushes you down and drags you back out to sea. Her hand tangles into his scarf once more. It was horrific in the wake of what they faced. It was obvious too. Vailkrin was a pocket dimension, accessible only by portals and removed from the rest of Lithrydel. The sun never rose. The weather was different. And this knowledge had been bartered for something in that library and forgotten. Valrae shook her head, the ashwand slipping back into her pocket. "If Caluss knew..." The witch's eyes were very wide and very dark as she turned them back to Kasyr. "He cannot know. If he had even the barest of notions Vailkrin would have already been lost. We would have already lost what little hope we do have."

Kasyr stands at the cusp of that ancient space, his empty hand drifting forward to tease at the increasingly conspicuous absence that lay etched into the very heart of the room. His flesh tingled, his hair raising on ends as though subconsciously aware of some imminent danger- an unseen danger clarified within a single instance. The idea of a yawning abyss, which seemed to grow realer by the moment, which tempted the Kensai into staring deeper- save for the small blaspheme which brought the swordsman back from the brink. "Don't say his name. Don't even invoke the idea of it." The words are abrupt, sharp, and with an intensity that is oft unheard from the swordsman, "It's truer than you might imagine, cherie." With some effort, he turns his head back towards the witch, his lips pressed together in an effort to quell the disquiet he felt, "Because they weren't simply content to build a house et leave it empty." He glances down at the book in his hand, readjusting his grip upon it, before he finally sets it down on the ground, turning his focus instead to the pack he'd brought along. "Why is it that Vailkrin, despite being one of the younger City-states, has such a murky, contradictory set of stories to explain it's appearance? Because one of them wasn't entirely wrong."

The Kensai pauses for effect, before finally providing the punchline, "They -tried- to call Vakmatharas here- but the house they built was too small, their temple unable to contain his majesty- et it flooded forth in a calamity that changed both the land et it's inhabitants. The ones that survived, anyways. ...Little wonder the Alnwicks founder sealed the knowledge." He tries for a moment to gauge the witches expression, to see whether it was terror or determination that would exert itself in the moment, before his attention was inexonerably drawn away from her, a simple shrug of his shoulder serving to slide his pack down to a waiting hand, a few errant notes accompanying the gesture, "It spells our doom if he discovers it, oui- but, it had occured to me. They -failed-. Which means, there's a vacancy."

Valrae had flinched, the sharpness of Kasyr's words sending a trill of fear anew along her spine. Not for the revenant himself but for the warning in the intenseness of his tone. She shakes her head, taking a step backward as he turns toward her. She couldn't place the emotion on his face or the feeling that tugged between the bond they shared. She couldn't read him now. And she had no answer for his questions. There was a brief moment of quiet between them and it hung like a thundercloud in the eeriness of the room, crawling over her skin until she was chilled to her bones and gooseflesh rose on her arms.

The witch watched him with the same intensity. There was the shadow of fear in her eyes, though this was for the bleak future that Caluss posed and not yet for what might come. "He hid their failure." She responds softly, her voice hardly more than a whisper. "But if they didn't succeed that means Vailkrin is vulnerable." She watches as his attention moves away from her and to his bag. Her head tilts with curiosity. "Yes, a vacancy... But if it cannot be filled by Vakmatharas....?" The half formed question tumbles from her lips and hangs in the cold air between them without an end.

Kasyr can't help but wonder if the fear in her eyes was strictly due to the terrible portents which had been lain before her- or if her half-formed question was a deflection to the obvious truth. Did it even matter- whether she was playing at the Ingenue, or not? Steeling himself, his fingers dip into the pack, rummaging through the nebulous space of its interior- if only so he can withdraw a simple wooden instrument from its fold. To say that it had been well-cared for over the years would be a lie, and yet- despite the slight accumulation of dust, the lyre's surface was otherwise unmarred, it's strings still carrying a delightful resonance that's quick to fill the emptiness of the amphitheater. "What was it something needs to establish a semblance of divinity? A domain? Then what would happen were I to claim it, par chance? There would be nothing for him to claim- et he would be greeted by a land hostile to him at it's very core." ...Though the question therein remained. What -would- happen to him if he took those few steps forward, grasped hold of what was left and echoed the words meant to finish this sad, sorry affair. "That would give the rest of you a fighting chance, non?"

Valrae suddenly felt as if she were standing on the edge of a precipice. Her heart dropped to her stomach as she watched Kasyr produce the dusty lyre. He spoke and the words were heavy as stones. "Kasyr!" She hisses the revenant's name, taking several steps forward. Her heels clicked against the uneven stone floor as she closed the distance between them.

The witch reached out, one hand still clinging to the scarf and the other searching for his arm. She didn't know if it was to still him or to cling to him as he was now. Her heartbeat was like a drum against her chest. "You can't."

There was fear and something like anguish in the depths of her eyes, dark as forest shadows and too wide on her face. She felt the same sorrow and worry that had crowded her mind the day Lan had shared the contents of his own book. It was a dark promise of power. Of divinity. It was unknown and unfamiliar and terrifying. "You don't need to do this. We can find another way. You don't know what this will do to you. How it might change you." She thought back to the words she'd spoken to Lanlan and repeated them again. "When is the last time you've spoken to a god? When is the last time one other than Caluss blessed or cursed mortals with their presence?" She seemed desperate. "You don't know how you might change and... And we need you."

Kasyr moves forward another step, now carrying the witch with him in his seemingly inevitable destination, as something intangible seemed to catch upon the surface of the lyre, sinking invisible teeth into its surface, as though it might tug it towards whatever blackened heart beat at the core of the room. And yet, the Kensai hesitate at the cusp, finely deigning to look at the witch. At Valrae. There's a bleak levity in his voice, "Shouldn't, peut-etre? Because I assure you, I can." The Kensai's grasp stays upon the lyre, however, refusing whatever siren call might be there in lieu of the arguments she'd leveled in his direction, "Would it change me? I've spoken to another deities to see them for who et what they are. They aren't as indecipherable as scholars would like to teach you. Not inscrutable things beyond our understanding. The motivations, petty et otherwise seemed famiiar enough- just slightly more distant because of a grander scale." His index finger flickers away from the Lyre, one bit of anchoring slipping away, setting it to drift just a touch closer. "Perhaps it might help to introduce new blood- someone that might have a closer interest in the realms at large. ...Especially if they deigned to leave me as their last link." His thumb drifts now, the instrument briefly bucking beneath an invisible tug, the Kensai casually waiting for some sign that he was going to be smited for his blasphemy. Nothing. "...We've only been spared this long because the corpse thing has been distracted, but if he were to come here, to raze this city. He might stumble onto this place." His pinky slides off now, his grip almost slackening, even as the tugging upon the lyre grows more insistent, "What -solution- do you have to offer?"

The witch doesn't release him as he continues forward, caught and carried out in the tide of his resolve. She's breathless when he finally hesitates. But her lips do not perk at his pedantic joke, instead Valrae only shakes her head.

"Please don't do this, Kasyr." Her voice carried the sorrow of knowing that whatever was to happen next could not be stopped. The revenant would make his choice and the witch would be helpless to stop him. She had no might that would stay his hand, only this soft spoken request.

She could hardly hear the words he spoke next, the blood rushing in her ears leaving her with the sense of being trapped underneath water. And she was cold, as if she'd been plunged into an endlessly deep lake of black water. She wanted to argue. To curse. To kick her feet and scream and wail against this. But she had no solutions, no sudden epiphanies that would solve the problems placed at her feet and change anything that mattered in this moment. "We'll find them." She protests weakly. "Together. We can't find them if you're gone." Her voice hitched, her breath caught in whatever tangled thing crowded her throat. "Please. Kasyr, please stay."

Kasyrs' hold upon the lyre is tenuous- the last of his mortality ready to be cast into the awaiting void, a necessary sacrifice for his apotheosis. All it would require is a slight slackening of his fingers, and the die would be cast- their sword and shield cemented in a singular moment. Only, it's not quite that easy. The desperation in her voice digs deeper than it should, that poignant sense of abandonment bringing with it a bitter influx of memory- the dissapointment and terror that accompanied each step away from humanity that he took. The distance that had formed between those who he'd once called comrade and family- as he took each sacrifice, each death wordlessly. The burden ever his own, the aftermath theirs to carry. "Do I change?" Her words hung acrid on his tongue, the irony bitter- alongside the far bleaker realisation. Faith had always been the key- and for the first moment, he had to consider if it would be enough. If he'd even be able to be buoyed back from the edge of oblivion through their belief, or wind up simply serving as the new foundation for that vacant domain. He exhales, slowly- his fingers starting to slide tighter around the Lyres pristine wood. "It was that complacency that brought us to the brink, Cherie." It's no longer the scent of decay that accompanies them- storm-called ozone flooding the area as the swordsmans very essence boils to the surface of his body, fueling the unnatural force exerted upon the phylacteries form. "Still, we don't need to leave things in -my- hand." With a sound like thunder, the wood abruptly snaps- the same force that had defied impossible spaces and felled things beyond imagining brought to bear against a vessel meant to contain it. Perhaps this moment might even spur some form of epiphany in the witch, as the wave of divine force surges out from the vessel that had been forged from it- before, with a sound like the twinkling of bells, it snaps back to the center of the room.

Taking root as though it were always meant to be. "..Sorry." The words aren't quite as coherant as they once were, distant as though he was underwater. And in a sense, he is- the swordsman drowning as his essence is dragged along, his own earthly vessel starting to unravel, flaking away with every passing moment, "But we need someone to do this, and if it can't be me-" He shakes his head, seemingly heedless of the manner in which the motion seems to expedite his dissolution. What's more difficult is for him to meet her eyes again, preferring to stare off at the ceiling, "You'll want to talk to Khitti. I left- " The words dissolve alongside his arm, flesh and cloth scattering like grains of sand caught in a breeze. His body starts to follow, and it's all he can do to retain his focus, "... Guess I'm due ... a chat with her."

There's a clink on the floor as a signet ring drops to the floor, and with that, Valrae is left alone.

As Kasyr moved forward, there was a brief moment where time slowed to a stop. Valrae was suspended in that moment, caught in the finality of what was yet to come. Her hand fisted over his sleeve, her knuckles white. His expression unreadable to her now. She prayed for a moment of hesitation to cross his eyes. She wished for a sudden change in his heart.

It never came. The revenant slipped from her grasp as easily as a parent shrugs away a child and her hand hung empty in the changing coldness of the air as it trembled. He spoke but she could hardly hear the words over the uneven beating of her heart. "No, it doesn't have to-" But there was no more time for arguments. The lyre breaks. The energy of the room comes undone around them. There is a flash of confusion on her face as she's pushed back by the divine magic and lands ungracefully on her ass. Her golden hair snapped like flags behind her as she lifted a hand to cover her face. When it falls away there was only a vision of horror awaiting her.

"Kasyr!" His named ripped from her throat, nearly drowning out his apology as she stumbled forward. Her mind rejected what she saw now as he shook his head. Terror and sorrow in equal measure ripped at the franticly drumming heart that struggled behind the cage of her chest. "No, no, no, no," Over and over again she denied the reality of what was happening as the revenant disintegrated before her. But there was nothing to hold on to. Nothing left of him to piece together to save even as she tried.

The witch fell to the cold stone floor, her palms stinging as she caught herself. Through her tears she snatched up the ring, gripping it tight enough in her hand that it left the impression of the crescent moon on her skin as a mournful cry tumbled from her lips. Her body trembled at the center of the now empty room as she bowed her head and whispered, "Come back. Please." Unit her throat was raw and her mouth was dry. But no matter how she begged, when she finally stood again, Valrae was alone.