RP:A Lesson In Paranoia and Haruspicy

This is a Necromancer's Guild RP.

Background

Leifong, acting as bodyguard to Joliette Thorne, intercepts some potential undead troublemakers, and in the process becomes even more enmeshed in the sin-eater's nefarious existence.

In A Mausoleum Near The Black Library, Vailkrin

Jolie was seated on a clean patch of marble, presumably wiped so by the necromancer herself, poring over a book held open in her two hands. The only other disturbance in the thick pall of dust that lay over the room were her footprints leading in. A dim and flickering lantern sat beside her, all there was between herself and total gloom, and while it did not provide a lot of light, it was enough for her lycanthropine eyes to see the glyphs and arcane scrawlings that so absorbed her.

Leifong wonders if Jolie knew he was here, watching her quietly from just outside the circle of light cast by her dim lantern. Probably, he decides. Even at his most stealthy the woman always seemed to know when he was near. "Find what you need to know in that dusty old tome?" the man asks as he slowly makes his way into the light, seeming to coalesce into being as he exits the shadows rather than simply be revealed by exiting them.

Jolie, for once, didn’t know – which was evident in the way she startled, snapped the book shut and drew a knife, in less than the space of a hasty breath. The blade glinted dully in the lamplight, appearing to tremble for the flame’s flickering. There was a moment of silence, in which Jolie simply stared at Leifong, and the dagger was returned to its sheath. “Sneaking up like that…” she admonished, her tone holding no true chagrin, while she made sure to tuck the book inside her vest.

Leifong makes a chiding motion with a long finger so thin it seemed nearly skeletal, the fat in his now dead flesh having slowly rotted away since his transformation, leaving the man with an even more pervasive 'wasted away' look than before. "I'd almost reached the conclusion that you were incapable of surprise. You must be.... losing your touch." The priest's eyes were very soundly aware of that book which she'd hidden so quickly, as though it were a child that the she wanted to keep from harm. "But I'd think you would feel secure, knowing there's someone to watch over you in the dark places of the world. Isn't that what you conscripted me for?"

Jolie hesitated, pointedly, before answering, “… Yes.” Her fingers clasped the edge of her vest and drew it more tightly closed, as she peered at the revenant. “Though it’s not the dark places that worry so much as the things which tend to walk in broad daylight.” He could figure out what she meant on his own, if she wanted, was her thought, as she changed the subject, her gaze set steadily on the sere lines of the priest’s face. “Aren’t you a bit… you know. Cross at me?”

Leifong seems to find this all amusing, for his half shadowed face splits wide in a grin as he draws up alongside the woman and seats himself lightly on the marble beside her, not bothering to wipe the grime away first. "Perhaps." he replies dryly "I'd have a bit more time to plot my revenge If I wasn't continually trailing at your heels, making sure you don't do anything... foolish. Maybe you should release me from your employ, so I can get down to scheming. Maybe I should set fire to your bed while you sleep. Or I could raise a posse of rotting halfwits to chase you from Vailkrin." this all was spoken in jest of course, though with the Priest's dull tone and only half developed sense of humor, the sarcasm is only a subtle hint in a fine wine. Yet that all evaporates and a far more serious sort of air hangs over him as he finishes "Or maybe my revenge is to watch, as you slowly destroy everything you hold dear."

Jolie had gone along with it as a kind of joke – kind of, she thought – until the priest’s final comment, whereon her gaze narrowed to green slits, and she spoke through her teeth, “What in the nine hells would you know about what I hold dear?” Jolie gave him no chance to reply before continuing, with a decidedly sharp edge to her tone, “No, I really want to know –exactly- what it is that you –think- I hold dear, and –precisely- how you –think- I’m destroying it. Go on. Tell me. In detail. Because I –really- goddamn want to know.” If the words she snapped out were indication that Leifong had possibly hit a nerve, she didn’t seem to care much.

Leifong laughs softly, he really can't help it. "I don't think elaboration will be necessary." he finally manages after a moment, her sudden burst of anger seeming to feed him somehow, bolster him. Though whether this was a physical thing, or a mental one, is hard to tell. "I've been watching you rather closely, Miss Thorne. I've been... learning. And if there's one thing I've learned, it's that my intervention is unnecessary. Utterly pointless."

Jolie snorted derisively, and he might feel her anger collapse on itself as she lapsed into mere annoyance, “Thought so. Horsecookies and hot wind. My clan are growing in strength. My people are, themselves, strong. I have my pub back, just negotiated a deal with the drow for…” she snapped her mouth shut, “… stuff. Things are going swimmingly, you morbid little toadstool. So chew on that. And fat lot of good you’re doing me here, lurking in the cobwebs like a… spider, picking at me. That your idea of being my keeper? I have better men, by far.”

Leifong lets out a yawn which, if one were to think about it, must have been purely intentional seeing as the priest no longer breathes or tires. But perhaps it was merely an unbroken habit of the living he'd yet to remove. "And when your glass palace has grown to record proportions, when the last room has been completed, the tea cozies set out and the pillows properly fluffed, you will start casting stones. It is quite fitting actually." with an airy grace the priest crosses his legs and lounges back, apparently all too comfortable in his current role of devil's advocate. "There's a man over there by the wall." he mentions through another yawn before pitching his body a little to either side, releasing a series of loud pops as he cracks his back. "A couple others spaced out through the hallways. Dead, I might add. I killed them." After cracking his back Leifong then begins on his neck, twisting it unnaturally far to either side with a little groan. "And to think you made it here at all, it's a wonder, truly."

Leifong said to Jolie, "It seems you have a secret admirer."

Jolie looked over there, by the wall, glanced to the entrance of the room, and back to Leifong. “What.” Whoever they’d been, they’d eluded lycanthrope scent and hearing, and her well-honed paranoia. That was of some concern. She eyed the priest warily, her gaze flitting to the doorway as if half-expecting a gaggle of assassins. Or some kind of trick. “Any idea who?”

Leifong waves a hand lazily, and without any visual sign of exertion or effort or even any hints of arcane manipulation at all, the nearest corpse responds post haste, lifting itself off the floor and trundling lazily over to the pair. This most effortless use of arcane manipulation is key evidence that Leifong's powers had indeed grown. The man, for that's what he had been before his life had been so brutally snuffed out by Leifong, is drenched down the front in a substance which for all intents and purposes is still wet blood which seeps from a perfectly circular hole that goes straight through his neck, from back to front, yet it is strange, it holds no scent, no sustenance. If one were to look close, between all the gore and hanging snippets of sinew, they could see the wall behind him through that hole. His body too is utterly devoid of human scent, not as though it were masked but as though it had never even existed. The only conclusion one might come to, or at least the only correct one, is that someone with a great extent of knowledge in the arcane had prepared these men for their mission. The priest makes a much smaller motion with that same hand as the corpse draws up before them and comes to a halt, a slight rolling of the wrist, at which the corpse drops into a ludicrous, over-the-top bow. "Why not ask him?" Leifong says idly to the woman at her side, enjoying being in the know where she was not. "Go on, ask him whatever you'd like. Though I doubt it will make for great conversation." A smirk was pulling the corners of his mouth up as the humor of the whole situation still had not been made readily apparent to Jolie.

Her nape was prickling, and her flesh rose in goosebumps, not of horror but in the kind of bristling natural to her kind when a threat is perceived. She studied the dead puppet, studied the hole, her entire frame tense though it would not appear so from any perspective outside her; Jolie was, most times, easy to read – but only because she cared not who read her, unless it mattered. This mattered. She nodded to Leifong, “Alright, I’ll humour you.” And again perused the walking corpse. “I say, old bean,” her words an echo of Cornelius’ trademark speech, if lacking its cheery timbre. “Who sent you? Who’s your master?” There were ways to discern this with almost certain accuracy, but Joliette had the priest to contend with, possibly, and if not then this revenant and the several others he’d mentioned, maybe, and taking down a gaggle of zombies was something that’d require focus. Focus. That was inner command, to focus – on the words she’d been learning when Leifong found her. As if summoned by her memory’s accession alone, they came crawling up her throat like insects, abuzz, eager for release, and she’d swallow hard to banish that sensation, waiting for Leifong’s little friend to speak, if it would.

Leifong grinned even wider as the corpse, without hesitation, made to speak. What followed from his mouth was a series of innate gurgles and a little bit of blood. "Not tongues!" the priest comments with a chuckle quickly following. "Not a one. And their minds... oh how interesting they are. So blank and stupid. Only orders in there."

Jolie sneered. Well, almost. She was irritated by the priest's obvious delight, but there was laughter in her throat. No, not laughter exactly, it was something darker that wanted out, in the same way a laugh erupts, effortless, easy. She swallowed again, and said, "Leifong. You haven't been a necromancer for very long, have you?"

Leifong thought he knew exactly what was going to come from Jolie's lips next, and was a slight bit insulted. So like her to listen to half of what he said, and not the other half. But if that was what she wanted... well, then by all means. "Oh, only most of my life." he comments dryly. "But go ahead if you must."

Jolie's life had extended for some centuries beyond the former human's but she wasn't in any kind of regular petty mood and so wouldn't point it out; not directly, anyway. "The art of the haruspex is not terribly popular any more. Probably because of the smell...." She stood, paced toward the mutilated body. "And if you don't know what that is, Leifong, it's what they call people who are good at divining things via the interpretation of innards." Without looking at him, she went on, "Now, if I disembowel our talkative chum there, and scrutinise his insides for a name, an identity, whose do you think it might be?"

Leifong felt the slightest bit ashamed, he'd been wrong about what the woman was planning to do. But more than his being wrong, his shame was fueled by the fact he hadn't thought of it first. But he does not let that show. If Jolie was baiting him to admit some sort of guilt, or perhaps make him nervous with this line of questioning, she would end up failing, quite soundly. For despite what she might want to be true, considering how easy it would make things for her, the Priest was perfectly innocent. He honestly had no clue who might have sent the men whom he'd slain before they could carry out such orders. "I'd say that depends on your skill." The priest replies as he sits up, actually a bit curious to watch the gut reading take place. He'd read, and studied, but never witnessed one first hand.

Jolie shook her head, taking a slow circuit around the corpse. “My skill is consummate,” she still hadn’t looked at Leifong, but was studying the body with particular intent. “But I am not going to read his intestines.” It was only then her eyes snapped upon the priest, and in the same scant moment her knife was again in hand, flipped, held by its point. There was barely a whisper of a smile on her lips when she threw it toward Leifong – not in the deadly, direct trajectory it could have taken, but in a weak sort of lob that demanded the hilt be caught lest the blade clatter to the ground. “You. Are going to read his intestines.”

Leifong , truth be told, is not at all bothered by the prospect of rooting through intestines and getting covered in blood, or puss, or ichor, or any manner of other things. It came with the territory really. "Very well then." he replies softly, trying to see exactly -what- Jolie was examining so closely. He'd pulled out all manner of dark tricks to attempt and figure out the origins of the would-be assassins. The priest had even gone so far as to reconstruct the tongue of one of the first men, only receiving stupidity in return. "Master is master. Master looks like master." and etc.

Jolie would instruct on the best place to cut; of course, the corpse stood still unfazed by the disembowelment, swaying stupidly even as its guts unfurled to gather in cold, wet, ropy coils at his feet. Nodding to the mess, she instructed the priest to first study the patterns in which the coils had fallen, from these could be derived, as per the spell she’d spoken to herself while stalking about the body, clues as to future events and the outcomes of questions asked. “Look,” she said, her forefinger indicating a glob of viscera that resembled, vaguely, a lion’s head. “Success in your venture.” And so on, the necromancer making Leifong repeat the preliminary spell until he’d committed it to memory, and prodding him for possible interpretations. “No, it’s not a giraffe,” she said, biting back a smirk. “It’s a broom. Here, a symbol for servitude, loss of self to some second, over-riding personality.” She shrugged. “A lot of it is simply adding two and two to make four, you know? But here comes the fun bit…” All the while, the undead swayed, empty as a windsock, as the Darkness spoke on, “…you see, there’s another layer to this. Deeper, more arcane. And this is where you’ll really need to roll your sleeves up.” Literally, as it turned out; Leifong would be elbows-deep in tripe and liver while Jolie imparted the knowledge of how to ‘listen’ to the energetic signature left imprinted on the dumb flesh of the living dead, the ‘maker’s mark’ via which one necromancer may know the work of another. “If he never knew the name of the one who raised him, it matters not,” she explained. “You only need to memorise that particular frequency – do you feel it? quite distinct – so if you come across it again, you’ll know who did this particular deed. A little roundabout… Yes, there’s many other things you can learn from this method, but that’s advanced stuff. First, master the haruspex. Then I’ll teach you how to plunder the dead for the knowledge they held whilst alive.. tricky stuff. Not very pleasant,. I might add, but most effective.”

Leifong does as he's told, obediently and precisely, with hands practiced in the art of dissections and a mind well versed in anatomy both human and otherwise. His progress is swift, and he listens well, taking the meaning from the words of his 'tutor' as though sucking it straight from her rather than having it imparted to him. Soon enough Leifong is coated in blood, on his robes, arms, and even face for he cared not about spreading it upon himself with a wiping of his brow to keep away stray strands of hair which had come loose from his braid. "And you're saying that everyone leaves behind this... signature?" he questions curiously, his thirst for knowledge insatiable. "Is there no way to prevent this? To erase such, or to mask it perhaps?"

“Of course there is,” Jolie grinned, “But it’s difficult, very difficult to mask one’s own imprint so that a good necromancer can’t find it. Every mage has his own ‘mark’ if you will, like a fingerprint, unique to him alone, and it’s nowhere imprinted as clearly as in the practises of the dark arts, which employ a far lower octave, if you will, of magic. The impression is deeper, more easily discerned, for that reason…” she paused to let that sink in. “I will tell you that a large part of it is in guarding one’s thoughts carefully, creating vaults in the mind specialised for sections of knowledge separate to one another. Much as I have done with the masking technique.”Her smile was almost sweet. “I have several mental hidey-spots. And they’re boobytrapped. A successful necromancer, dear priest, is a paranoid necromancer, and never forget it.

Leifong nods, understanding the bits about mental walls far better than his 'mentor' likely suspected. He might not have lived near as long, and his skills in necromancy were, in comparison, shoddy. Yet one doesn't dedicate themselves to an art without learning a good few things, and this particular practice of mental discipline was something he excelled at. There were places in the priest's mind that even he would not be able to find, and this was intentional. For Leifong's paranoia extends far past the art of necromancy, or personal pride, his was a paranoia born from a wholly other source, and one which he'd not easily comment on. "I try to understand." Leifong responds, carefully adding those two extra words, knowing that in all truth, he most likely did not understand fully. Considering his arrogance, if Jolie were to catch the variance, this was something of a compliment. With a wave of his hand priest dispels the magic which had kept the corpse standing, and it falls with a wet thunk onto the granite floor below, spraying droplets of already coagulating blood in the process. "Is it possible to take it further?" he asks curiously, "To... follow the energy, rather than simply read it. Surely if such imprints are a byproduct of magical influence, there must be traces which follow the user like a wake. Like strings of energy floating in the aether. Could one follow them back to the source?"

Jolie watched the corpse fall and would study it a moment, musing on the priest’s question. “There’s a lot of variables. Many factors in play,” she said at last, her lantern-green gaze settling back on Leifong. “The skill of the spellcaster. Bigger spell, better trail. But then he’d know how not to leave one, if he was worth his salt, or would have such cloaking magics that’d have the same effect. Light magic, too, leaves gossamer trails easily broken. Time also plays a factor. Though the imprint of dark magic is strong, it also fades quickly. But a careless necromancer, or an unskilled one using magic beyond his means would likely not be too difficult to track down.” Jolie strolled back to the sarcophagus she’d used as a seat and sat down again. “Leifong… you’re very astute. Quite skilled. Ambitious. I like you.” She amended quickly, “I mean, you don’t revolt me quite as much as you used to. And therefore I am pondering something.”

Leifong was listening, he loved flattery as much as the next, but something was picking at his mind... like a bruise on the brain, throbbing, begging him to question it, and he can't help but interrupt her compliments halfway through, before she can get to the part about pondering something. "But what if they -want- to be found. I mean... these puppets are not what I’d have sent to kill... someone of your 'status'. I dispatched them easily enough, without dirtying my hands. Even alone and unsuspecting as you were, they likely would not have succeeded in their goal. And something else... anyone with enough intel to know where you would be, and stalk you here, would have known that you are never truly alone. I have not exactly kept a very low profile."

Jolie flapped a hand. “Paranoia.. were you not listening? I am –never- unsuspecting.” She offered him an expression that was almost apologetic. “It’s not that I don’t need or appreciate your vigilance, or that it does not come in very handy in my odd moment of.. preoccupation. But I’m hardly a helpless damsel. Especially not now…” she shut her mouth, quickly. “I do have the means to protect myself, in a pinch.. are you implying that this…” she gestured toward the carcass, “… was some sort of test? If they wanted to be found, they’d have left a blazing trail, no?”

Leifong shakes his head. "I don't know about test. Or at least if it was, it was not a very good one...." and then he ponders again, silence stretching through large circular room. "It seems more like a warning, or... a greeting of sorts. I don't fully understand." it was certainly something he would have to think on, but for the moment he lets it go, instead turning back to the prior conversation topic. "What is it that's on your mind then?"

Jolie wasn’t overly concerned about a warning, seeing it had been a rather poor one. The idea of a greeting, however, intrigued her and seemed far more likely. If it wasn’t just an inept attempt, which she had not ruled out. Still, it was option she had not thought of. Which is why she found Leifong… “Astute. Anyhow. What I was going to suggest to you… I’ve been having conversation with Tiphareth, the second in command of the mage’s guild. I intend to ask him, quite soon, about having necromancy better and more formally represented among that group. There’s massive advantages to such an arrangement, nevermind the political ties that may come with it.” There was pause, for breath and brief regret that she’d not thought to bring a bottle of something; the dust was making her hoarse. “If I am to step up in that regard, I need people under me.” She eyed him, with a half-grin, “In the sense of necromancers of certain skill, but with things yet to learn to achieve mastery. The position would carry certain responsibilities.. But also a great opportunity to learn. This is what I have been pondering: I’d like you to be my apprentice, of a sort.”

Leifong does not answer quickly, there were many things to consider after all. Learning what he could from the sin-eater was one thing, but becoming her apprentice was quite another. He'd not had a formal master in quite some time, and though he did not nearly consider himself a master of the art, he was no novice either. And while her knowledge was vast, he knew that Jolie was not a true master either... though compared to the normal caliber of necromancy in these lands, she might well be the closest thing. His pride and curiosity were locked in a fierce internal battle, one wishing to berate the woman for her arrogance in the desire to claim such a title, the other wondering whether she might truly be deserving of it. "And you believe yourself the best suited to take up such a mantle?" he asks, speaking as respectfully as he could. It would not due to insult the woman, given that he could not deny she was more knowledgeable and experienced in the art than he himself.

Jolie shrugged. “Probably not. There’s always a bigger fish, that’s the way of the world, isn’t it? But right now, I’m the only one who knows the master Reanimation spells, and has actually practised them. I also have other ancient and mostly forgotten skills that intend to take to the guild as .. “ she almost said ‘bait’ out of habit, “… incentive to listen to my request. And you must understand,” that grin again, “This is not about making me Lady Wigglecorpse, Queen of the Dead. It’s about cementing political ties. Schmoozing. And possibly gathering more scraps of… information I need, myself. Which, as my… apprentice isn’t the term I’m looking for? General, is a better one, but not quite correct. I do hope you get the idea, all of it still in planning stages. But as my… thingy… you would come into this knowledge, in turn.” She did not add what a burden it was, what a weight it put upon the soul, and how fobbing it off on another might relieve her of some it. Some motives were just – not that appropriate for sharing.

Leifong takes all of this in, his pride having been thrown a bone at both Jolie's admission that her power was not absolute, and the word 'general', even if it was 'not quite correct'. Curiosity was now in the lead, his thirst for power and knowledge insatiable, and anything which could expedite his journey to both at the same time was a valuable resource. But he was also not naive, and the fact that Jolie was not being completely honest, or at least completely forward, with him... it cast doubts. He almost questioned her on it, most likely would have but... this is Leifong we are talking about. A man who has spent most of his life in the servitude of a largely silent god. One who said little, even to his emissary, and expected absolute perfection and unshakable faith in return. No, the priest would hold his piece, and simply watch, listen, unravel the mystery for himself. "I will do as you ask." he says finally, yet another invisible chain being added to the non corporeal bondage which kept him close at the sin-eater's heels. "Apprentice... General... Something in between. What you call me does not matter, I will accept your leadership in this venture."

Jolie huffed a happy sigh. “Marvellous. Now, all I need do is convince the mage guild to take us on in that capacity. But having a … thingy… who is adept.. Adept? Adept’s a good word. Having an Adept to take my place would make it all seem more organised. And for that, Leifong, I thank you.” She patted her vest, as if to make sure that book was still in place, and rose, strolling back toward the corpse. “Good work there, too. If it’s alright with you, I’d like you take the role of Haruspex, for now, focus on Visceromancy, see how you go. It’ll be the crowning achievement of your.. Adeptness. Or will be, when I teach you how squeeze knowledge from a corpse and take it as your own.”

Leifong nods, watching the woman closely as she approaches the corpse who's blood his arms were drenched in. "As you wish. I shall.... study." he affirms, the trace outlines of a smirk gracing his features as he contemplates practice of the art.