RP:A Lesson in Carnology
Background
Leifong - in his own ... special... way - helps Jolie to forget her recent troubles in Rynvale.
The Hanging Corpse Tavern
Jolie was dressed in leathers - not her own, and she might be mistaken for the victim of violent crime, with the rips and rends in those garments. Weary, she slid to a seat at the bar, her gaze distant, her mind a numb swirl of unspoken but clearly demonstrated farewells. Fate had turned her wheels, and Jolie was, she hated to admit, just one more bit of grist. Time for serious drinking. Yes, that was a good agenda to have.
Leifong is there at the woman's heels as always, or rather, most of the time. She'd slipped him for a time while other of his concerns had taken precedent. The priest materializes into existence quietly behind the bar, hands moving to procure two glasses and bottle of top shelf whiskey, already half drained, three guesses as to who by. With a light clink the glasses are placed side by side on the counter, and then filled with a good measure of the dark caramel liquor, one pushed to Jolie, the other taken by the man who need not drink it at all. "Such a... tragic... turn of events." the priest comments in a most amicable tone, despite his internal thoughts on the matter. "Must be feeling quite... blue." And though his tone is a great imitation of sincere concern, one should know that emotions of that sort are truly beyond him. "Care to talk about it?" again he lures, baiting for information on a story of which he already knew the ending. Such a heartless bastard he was, such sustenance did he draw from her pain, like salt from her tears.
Jolie shrugged, and eyed the glasses. She hated drinking from a glass. Hated more drinking from a glass she hadn't poured herself, from already open bottle. So she nodded thanks and answered, while Steadman gave the priest a solitary-eyed glare for usurping his place. "Nah." Her smile was wan, but present. "I'm just stubborn. Don't give up on things easily." Leifong was probably having to make do with misery-lite here, as she wasn't weeping or wobbling her lower lip. Just.. staring at the bottles behind that bar. "Hard to let go of memories. Good ones. But all things pass.." Here her smile widened. "Well. I don't need to remind you of that." It wasn't a happy expression though. "Just makes things.. complicated. Difficult to negotiate. I'll get by it." She was assuring herself - Leifong wouldn't care if she did or did not get by it - and didn't mind showing him the particular truth of her nostalgia, and the worry over its consequences.
Leifong returns Steadman’s glare wholeheartedly, as though daring him to do something about it, which was in all likelihood a good possibility, given the way that the disgruntled barkeep was meeting his gaze. "You are most definitely stubborn. More so than most I've met." this statement is washed down with a bit of the whiskey which was altogether wasted on him, given that it served only to pickle insides. "But some might call that a strength, you know." and then a little inclination of his glass served to show that he expected her to drink with him this time, before he would down another gulp. "Such a sorry state for you to find yourself in though. All that tenacity, power, knowledge... and it's squandered. Wasted on those who care not but to drain you. It's a folly of mortals, you know. One that you should be beyond by now."
Jolie’s shoulder lifted and dropped, a half shrug in reply to his comment regarding strength. There was surviving, and not surviving. She supposed she hadn’t done too bad a job of the former, seeing as she was still here and all. The necromancer took up the glass but did not drink from it, preferring to tilt it about and watch the light of the candelabrum glinting in the amber fluid’s slow swirl. “Nothing’s a waste. Not really. It’s only a matter of perspective,” she said, not looking up into his cold, dead eyes. “Time sorts everything out, and makes nothing matter in the end. We’re all so very tiny, so terribly unimportant. It’s funny.” But she wasn’t laughing. “As for me, I have had my little puff of glory and may as yet have another, who knows? It’s nothing I seek. I’m too busy for it.” There was a more genuine humour to her next words, “If glory wants me, it knows where I am.”
Leifong scoffs. "I figured that one would work through their angst by the time they hit... how old are you? Three thousand? Four thousand?" and then he finishes the last of his drink, dropping it to the table with a clink before he makes to take the one Jolie was not drinking right out of her hand, and finish that one as well. "Stop sulking already. It makes me sick. And your one eyed mate here too." the priest continues, gesturing to steadmen who puts on a firm expression of "don't drag me into this."
Jolie blinked gently, staring now at her empty hand. “I’m not sulking. If I was sulking, I’d know it. And so would you.” The keep, who was clearly not resisting being dragged into this very hard, nodded to Leifong, since the Darkness wasn’t looking his way, having witnessed the necromancer’s sulking on more than one occasion. “If I had to stick a label on it,” she went on, perusing the shelves for a bottle of something in particular, “It’d be… reflective. Yes, I’m reflecting. On.. things.” She made a grabby hand for the item she wanted. Steadman was a portrait of droll chagrin, as he fetched and opened it for, a clear bottle tainted a pale green by the liquid within. “Unless you can think of something better to do, I intend to sit here and reflect myself into a smushy puddle.” She frowned, and at last faced him fully. “You can’t get drunk any more, can you? I wonder if there’s something that might have a similar effect on the dead.”.
Jolie added, after a good long gulp of further introspection, "And I'm three hundred and twenty six. Years old.”
Leifong shrugs then, allowing the conversation to be rerouted, despite the good number of less than polite things he still wanted to say. "Three hundred and twenty six? Really? And after all this time, you still manage to act like a prepubescent school girl." well, I guess that rerouting the conversation didn't help to ward off the rude comments. "But I guess that's just your nature." The priest sighs, halfway between throwing his arms up in defeat and reaching across the counter to smack the woman who was probably in great need of a good smacking. "Oh, if I had your gifts." he thinks aloud, a fuzzy warmth welling up in that twisted little heart of his. "I wouldn't be chasing around the continent after you, that's for certain. Besides, what do you care for the fate of mongrels? You're not one of them you know, not on the inside. You... lack a certain something. Now the white one... such a marvelous beast she is." A smirk had cemented it's way onto his features now, his words poison, his stare the business end of a dagger. "Perhaps you need showing. Is that it then? Must I remind you of the truths you blind yourself too, oh 'great one'?"
One thing she either did or did not like about Leifong – Jolie’s inner jury was still out on that one – was his capacity for making her blink. “You’ve met my other sister, then?” There was only one creature anyone would refer to as ‘the white’ in comparison to herself. “Senka.” She allowed a fond smile. “She is a bit wonderful.” Wonderful, in that ravening beast kind of way that tended to make the necromancer smile. “I saw her, just yesterday. Really must make her wander back down here, soon. I miss her.” And had to speak to her rather urgently on matters regarding that wolf pack, he’d mentioned. At the thought of which, she frowned, a flicker of irritation. “I don’t care.” Which was a blatant lie, she knew it, he knew it, and she knew he knew it. Pausing to introspect with the aid of that absinthe bottle once more, Jolie went on, “I’m done with that bloody place. It’s… I make him miserable. And really, he’s quite miserable enough, as it is. And has his pack of… pack, now. To cure him of it. And I …need showing... what, did you say?”
Leifong would let her lies slide, they were too obvious to need commenting on. No, he was far more interested in progressing the conversation to where he wanted it to go. "Telling is not showing, is it?" the priest replies most darkly as he rounds the bar and proceeds toward the center of the room. "And even if it were, I'd hate to spoil it for you. Care to see? My latest.... project."
Jolie was glad for the distraction, really. But she’d keep contemplating her absinthe-soaked inner thoughts while she swivelled on her seat to track his progress into that central position, “Sure.” Some kind of necromantic magic show? she wondered, her lips curving at the corners at the thought of Leifong pulling a skeletal rabbit out of a hat. “I’d love to see. Do show me it.”
Leifong bends down and sniffs the floor in a most peculiar manner, moves several feet to the left and then does so again before moving a couple inches back to the right. He then does this forward and backward, as though finding the perfect spot, but for what would only become apparent by watching. Once he finally halts in the 'perfect' location, the priest bends low once more and places a single hand, his left which was missing a finger, flat on the floor. Slow, rhythmic chanting ensues in a language that even Jolie would be hard pressed to identify, and as the chant goes on, the light within Hanging Corpse Tavern begins to wane. But rather than simply dissipate, it seems to be drawn toward the priest, as though he were soaking it all into himself, and within several moments Leifong is the brightest thing in the room, positively glowing. How ironic, given who he was. Then the chant changes in tone, growing extremely low, guttural, and the harmonic resonance can be felt deep within one's gut, as though your insides themselves were dancing along to the beat of Leifong's figurative drum. The change in tonality ushers in a change of the light he now carries within him, it courses through his body and into the floor, spiraling out into a web of interlocking symbols, only a few of which would be recognizable to Jolie. Necromancy was a far different thing than Leifong's true area of expertise, though the two overlapped in places, and it was this power on which he primarily drew for what was to come. "A bit of help, if you would. I require a hand." he says in his normal, deadened tone, though as he speaks, the chant continues unhalted, as though it were spoken by a voice not his own.
Jolie studied all of this very carefully, and upon the priest's question frowned. "Do you mean.. a little help? Or an actual hand, because I've got…" she turned back toward the bar where one of Colton Black's latest ‘souvenirs’ was pickled in brine beneath the counter.
Leifong replies absentmindedly, his concentration firmly on what he was doing more than the woman behind him. "An actual hand, the one firmly attached to your wrist. A severed one will not do."
Jolie hoped he didn't have eyes in the back of his head, as she slid off that stool. It would be a few seconds before he'd hear her heels ticking over the stone. "Can I.. " she glanced to the sigils' light display. Depending on his answer, she'd join him, and confidently offer him her hand. "No cutting it off. Promise me." Or she'd stand at the rim of it a while first, whichever.
Leifong makes a little motion with his head to confirm that she could enter the circle, which continued to grow larger as he made mysterious little motions with the hand which was not still plastered firmly to the floor, as though pulling on invisible little strings. "No cutting, no cutting." He says briefly, full attention being required. After a moment his little pluckings at the air cease, and he reaches out to grab the offered hand and guide it to the floor, where he wanted it to touch the seal, right at a crossing of three major lines that burned just a little brighter than the others, and with careful examination, could be seen as the major pieces from which all the other symbols branched. "Right there, good."
Jolie allowed that hold on her hand, ruined leathers creaking as she squatted low enough that her palm could reach the floor when she stooped. Her opposite hand was closed in a fist. Perhaps she was a little tense - and who would not be, just a little? - while those symbols glowed, illuminating her features in an eerie light.
Leifong spends another several moments in intense concentration, eyes studying the patterns carefully and comparing them against his memory of the correct configuration. "Don't do that."
Jolie stopped it. Her gaze did not change focus, nor did she move, or give any other indication of being interested in anything other than what Leifong was attempting to show her. Which was okay, she was done anyhow.
Leifong begins chanting again, this time a different stanza, an ode to his dark lord, and if Jolie had any knowledge of such things she might recognize it as a plea to accept his offering. But before she would be able to truly process this, or react to it, that wicked little dagger would suddenly slide into Leifong's hand, seemingly from nowhere, and with a speed that she might be surprised to see him capable of, the priest would bring it, point first, down on her hand with enough power to tear through the flesh and pin that appendage to the floor. Yet despite the swiftness and brutality of this action, the priest's precision was mechanical, and unless Jolie was faster than he gave her credit for, and had begun to move her hand, the blade would miss her bone. The second that her blood would make contact with the seal, a sort of chain reaction would begin, the whole thing turning a deep crimson red, the exact shade of the blood which would be coming from Jolie's hand. Yet rather than dim, the light would grow brighter, and explode like a pillar into the sky.
Jolie did not know how that blade had pierced solid blackstone. Maybe it was buried in a paving crack; regardless, the fingers of her opposite, unpinned hand would fly open and a small, red item was cast toward the priest. One of the deliveries, from Jobbie, an alchemical naptha bomb, its activation pin pulled, its red liquid spraying to cover the priest in fluid. While she tugged viciously at the handle of that impaling knife, she said, “One move… and you are dead man soup.” The ignition spell was easy. Much easier than it had been to make the expensive weapon, which had earned Jobbie several new scabs and another reason to hike his prices. The knife grated free and she levelled it at him while the light penetrated her stone ceiling, as magic light is wont to do, perhaps.
Leifong was not paying much attention at all, for this was the most tricky part of all, connecting the bridge to the right outlet took a great deal of skill, and this whole process was draining. But it would be well worth it, in the end. Unless Jolie activated that acrid liquid which had splashed all over him, and then they would both be rather f- "Do you mind..." he manages to push past his lips in the midst of all this commotion, not completely sure what it was he'd been doused with, and not really caring that a knife was now being waved in his face. His mind was firmly elsewhere, connecting tiny little strands in the fabric of reality en masse, and it was no easy feat. "I think... there we g-" but that was the last word Jolie would be able to hear, for it was at that very moment, as the last link in his 'bridge' was completed, that space and time within the circle of that spell would bend in on itself, collapse, digest them, and vomit them into existence somewhere else. The feeling was awful, as though a very cold, very wet hand had just torn a hole into your gut and grabbed hold of everything inside before yanking it brutally in some indeterminate direction. For whether you were falling, rising, spinning, staying still, was all very hard to decide. But that hand was most definitely pulling, and hard, and it was twisting as well, like it meant to convert your stomach into a home for birds. All was black, but that blackness would seem tangible, as though you were swimming in it, breathing it, and then a sudden claustrophobia would set in, like a great stone slab sitting on your chest, forcing all the air out. Yet the worst, was the way time seemed to bend, so that what was truly less than a second stretched on for an eternity, and with no point of reference by which to gauge it, for all one could know, it truly was.
Somewhere, In the Space In-Between
Jolie had a horrible, horrible sense that these sensations, and then the lack of them, and then the ensuing darkness, was all too terribly familiar, and it was sadly with that same knife-in-hand hand that she’d flail for a grip on reality, the blade arcing madly. “Leifong!” she cried, without words, as the world vanished and the Void swallowed her. She wanted to go home. She wanted her drink. She wanted, very badly, to turn the priest into undead soup but had forgotten the right word for the spell or perhaps it simply did not work in here.. if here was even a ‘here’ anymore.
Leifong either could not, or would not, answer her. At least not then, but it was no matter, for in the next moment reality would come slamming back into them both with all the force of a runaway freight train smashing into your face. That's actually a rather good description of the feeling too, for as light and sound and space and time suddenly come back into existence, a headsplitting pain, like the worst hangover you can imagine multiplied on itself by a million will ensue as a confused and slightly broken brain will try to cope with that fact. Quite suddenly, with Jolie's last recallable memory being of the priest crouched next to her, she would find herself in the exact same position, but in an entirely new environment. Below her was stone, but not the vitrified blackstone of the Hanging Corpse, a very grey, very cold, very rough stone that had no discernible joints. As she likely reeled from the experience, Leifong would be rising to his feet next to her, not immune to the intense sense of vertigo himself, but acclimated to it, having made the same leap several times from various locations. "If I told you what had just happened, you would not be able to understand it. Simply accept it as passed, and continue forward." The woman's vision would likely still be swimming as the dim light of this place would feel like staring into the sun after her immersion in such total sensory deprivation, but she might be able to make out the outline of the priest's dark robe swimming passed her as he stepped down from the raised platform they were not on and into the room proper. The platform was a perfect mirror image of the spread that had been made of light on the Corpse's floor, only it was carved most perfectly in stone, and little beads of light continually traversed the inlay patterns. "Come on now, stop slouching! I believe that you might be able to appreciate this." Assuming that the woman was slowly coming to her senses and looking about, the only thing of note in her immediate vicinity is the pedestal on which she sat, and a short little hallway made of the same stone material, which led directly to... a wall? Only, it wasn't quite a wall, it was... something else. "Hurry up then." Leifong would chide, standing before the 'wall', which was hard to lay eyes on for more than several moments at a time. Jolie would likely find that her best bet at avoiding more pain in her head was to catch it from the corner of her eye, rather than stare it down outright.
Somewhere, In The Dark Fortress
“Ow…” Yeah, Jolie figured that out pretty quickly, matter of fact. About the time she realised that they surely were –not- in Vailkrin anymore. “Where…?” She was, in accord with his advice, avoiding the question of ‘how’ altogether and was simply asking for some sort of nominal anchor to help her poor throbbing brain to get a grip on some.. thing. Other than that damnable throbbing. With a less painful, sidelong peek at the wall.. thing.. ahead, she added, “Give me a…” And took that moment, without voicing the question in full, or waiting for the reply, and it probably wasn’t actually a moment anyway and… “Ow.” She managed not to fall over on the way, or fall on the priest himself when she reached his side. “Gods.. hurts…What.. where… is this?”
Leifong does his best to- and for the most part pulls off -stand tall and act as though nothing spectacular had just happened. "Can't you feel it? Does it not call out to you?" and for a moment he seems mildly concerned, circling the woman with a dissecting gaze, as though trying to see if she'd suffered some form of... permanent damage. "We are in the belly of the beast... so you might say. The fortress." and as he informs her of this, he makes to grab hold of an ear, and peer into the canal, the light in the room suddenly intensifying to make this job easier as he attempts to crane her neck over and get a good view into her head. "Try and answer as plainly as you can. What is your name? What is my name? How old are you? Does it hurt when I do this?" at that last one he makes to thump the bit of her neck where spine connects to brain with a flick of his long digits. "What is the last thing you remember? Say ahh." and if she did so he would place the palm of his hand which was not busy directing her neck this way and that flat on her chest to both feel her heartbeat and see if her lungs were bleeding on the inside. That happened sometimes, he'd found. "and for the love of... eww, what's this stuff on me? Did you do that?" at that instant he would completely forget about the woman's wellbeing and make a disgusted face at the large volume of acrid liquid that she'd tossed on him right before reality broke open and issued in a raucous cacophony of inexplicable events.
Jolie made a series of slappy-motions in the air with that one hand that was not still holding that damned knife, which caused a shower of blood droplets to fly from the wound on it, and made it hurt like all blazes, in an attempt to fend off the priest’s overly-concerned inspection of her mental health. “Get….off… me… you… loon!” she gasped, and could have slapped herself – perhaps she was, after all, the type who needed it – for not recognising that strange prickle on her neck, the way it felt as though something or someone could and was right now peering into the very marrow of bone and soul both, and finding it all a little bit wanting. “Why? Why here?” she was glancing wildly about, with that knife pointed dangerously, its blade tilted, her steps taking her one foot at a time in this direction, back, and then the next. She snarled, “If you weren’t dead already, by the gods, I’d…”
Leifong was finding all this rather amusing, at least now that he was sure his companion had not become mad or... defective... in transit. "What word?" he inquires innocently, and in a way, Leifong's 'innocence' was far more terrifying than the full bulk of his rage. "The one that will -destroy- me?" and as he speaks the word destroy, his arms lift to either side, like that one guy who got nailed to a t shaped piece of wood. Seemingly, and well, actually, in response to this the room grows blindingly bright, especially to one who was still getting their bearings, and in that light would his robes disintegrate, each thread unraveling itself before being erased from existence, for the matter they were comprised of was nothing more than shadow. As the light once more dims, Leifong can be seen for once, and quite possibly the only time, as exactly what he is. The shriveled, pitiful, husk of a man. His form is little more than a skeleton wrapped in a too tight, grey-blue, scarred and tattoo ridden tapestry of dead skin, each one of his bones plain as day beneath it. The woman could probably wrap one hand completely around the area where a normal man's gut would be, for it was now barely thicker than his spine itself, all of the organs which had previously dwelt there were either withered away, or removed by his own hand. His hips sit at an imperfect angle to the ground, and the legs attached to them are not... human. The knees are digitigrade, but not naturally, as though the normal joints had been snapped and reformed that way, half through surgery and half through the most unnatural of magics. And his face, that face which was only ever barely visible under the hem of his hood, it was more a mask than anything else, the one piece of his body which had been preserved well enough to even resemble human, and it was a mockery of life when viewed as part of the immensely perverted whole. "I do not think so, not while we are within these walls." As Leifong speaks, a slowly rotting flap of skin can be seen opening and closing in the crook of his neck, just above the clavicle, which serves the purpose of allowing him to speak in a circulatory manner, without inflating or deflating the lungs, which were no longer there. Yet before further study can be made, the priest drops his hands, and as he does so shadows swirl out of the aether, and condense themselves around his flesh, gaining a certain tangibility, weaving themselves together to form an identical version of the cloak he'd worn moments ago, and as this odd process draws to a halt, the light within the room flickers slightly before returning to a level which was more comfortable on the eyes. "If you want a question answered, the best way is simply to ask nicely. Wouldn't you agree? We are here, because it is beautiful. That, and it allows me certain... luxuries. Here, I'll show you." and by this point the priest is speaking as though nothing strange had just happened, turning to face that 'wall' and as he reaches out to touch it, the thing ripples in anticipatory response.
Jolie stared at Leifong. For a really long time. Her face was set in a concretised kind of half-disbelief, half-irate expression, eyes narrow and brows tight, her body tense as piano wires. She stared at his vanished clothes, and the atrocity of flesh their vanishing revealed. Her eyeballs swivelled in their sockets minutely to take in his skull, the thin wrap of skin over it. Jolie stared, and stared. When she was done staring, she would do her level best to make sure the knife she threw at him, handle first, would conk him viciously on that shrink-wrapped head of his, while she snapped, "Are. You. Insane." If the knife's handle did not connect in a satisfying way, she'd try to kick him. "Do you have any idea how much alchemical naptha costs? How much it's going to cost ME to replace it?" She was trying, she really was. To kick him. "The trip to Buckley's delayed another whole WEEK because you made me use that, and you don't even have the DECENCY to...." She was going to say 'die'. "....AND another thing..."
Did he really just push her toward that wall? Did he? There again, she might've tripped, while trying to kick him.
Leifong didn't even try to duck or sidestep or in any way avoid the knife she threw at him. But as the blade left her hand, the bit of the hallway that he was standing in suddenly slid violently several feet to the side with a great grinding noise of stone on stone, the knife sailing past him on it's trajectory which would have been perfectly aimed for his head otherwise, and passing through that hallway’s malleable stone to disappear forever. The suddenness of this change in reality would most likely bring back a bit of that vertigo, which she'd likely largely recovered from, but she was so stubborn that perhaps her sheer anger and force of will would allow her to ignore it just to ease her goal of causing the priest some pain."Insane? Me? Never. You were the one who decided to douse me in the stuff for no good reason." with each step that the sin eater took toward him in her sudden rush, the bit of floor that her weight was placed on would jolt violently, first to the left, then to the right, the left again, and perhaps it was this jarring motion that would send her tripping straight for the thing trying to pass itself off as a wall.
"No!" Leifong suddenly remarks in surprise as both hands snap out to grab her by whatever hold he could find, in this case the back of that blood-stained leather jerkin, and her hair. It wasn't intentional, just... trying to avoid tragedy. With all his might he pulls back, anchoring his body against her forward momentum and fighting with all he can muster to keep the woman from falling through that 'curtain'. If he succeeded in this, he would quickly put himself between her and the 'wall' stating in all seriousness "You don't want to be falling through there. I'm fairly certain you wouldn't be coming back out." If he failed in pulling her back though... well... she'd be as good as dead, though a fate like that... let's just re-state that there are far worse things than death.
Jolie said, “ …Unhand me.” She’d heard that phrase, somewhere, recently, and it must’ve appealed to her. When she was at least soundly on her feet again, free of his horrid grasp or not, she continued. “And you –stuck- a knife in me.” The offended limb was thrust out, to show him the gash of a wound that was still dripping a steady drizzle of blood, though her body was already knitting clots over severed veins. “What did you really…” She blinked. Turned to the wall. Glanced to the floor. To the wall again, to Leifong, shock of the stabbing and the spin through the Space In-Between wearing off a bit now, and things thus occurring to her more easily. “How did you do that? That thing, with the knife. And the floor. Nobody controls this place except for you-know-who. And what is…” she jerked a thumb at the wall. “That, exactly? Besides .. ‘beautiful’?”
Leifong didn't find the whole thing entertaining anymore now that the woman had come so close to erasing herself from existence. He might hold no particular love for the woman, and he might enjoy soaking up her pain, but he still needed her. It wouldn't do to have her go and 'die' on him now.
"I'd have done it myself, but.." he holds up his hand for effect "There's barely a drop of blood left in me at all, and it's no longer fresh, or warm. One can't just use ordinary blood for something of that magnitude, you know. It requires a sacrifice of... worth." with a less than pleased look on his face the priest continues, frustrated that this was not proceeding with the same level of splendor and wonderment that he'd intended. That's the frailty of genius, it yearns for recognition. When he'd planned this in his head, there had been far more praising of his power and prowess, far fewer knives being thrown at him and instances of the woman he was meant to guard nearly destroying herself. "Well, if -he- is truly the only one capable of manipulating this place, then perhaps he enjoys making you look foolish as much as I do." and Kurgan probably did enjoy making her look foolish, but as of yet, that twisted soul had not identifiably interfered with the functioning of this place, nor Leifong's slowly growing control and dominion over it. "As for that...." it would be obvious what 'that' was, surely. "It's a... safety precaution. A locked door, if you will. And as is the way with such things, it takes a key to open."
With a look which clearly meant to communicate something along the lines of 'shut up before you ruin it further' the priest twists about until he is facing that perception twisting 'wall' and reaches out with both hands, carefully running his fingertips along the surface near the middle and as he touches it, the thing is suddenly neither solid nor liquid, but something in between, rippling and bending as it simultaneously remains completely solid. After a moment, it would seem as though Leifong finds the exact place he is looking for, and as he plunges his hands into the surface of that thing, it gives way, revealing a sliver of flickering fire light, which behaves much differently than the light in this hallway, which exists with no discernible source. That tiny sliver becomes a slightly larger tear, and as Leifong pulls the two edges apart, a room on the other side becomes clearly visible, and Leifong tells Jolie to "Go on through, be careful you don't touch the edges." as he holds the elastic seeming wall of... whatever it was apart for her.
Jolie offered the priest one last, long look that could have spoken any number of things that threatened to spill over her acerbic tongue, but the space he’d drawn open beckoned to her, in some odd way. “Alright,” she said, more quietly, though hesitated on the brink of it a moment. She was still quite unsure of whether Leifong was trying to murder her in some unnecessarily elaborate way, and her naturally paranoid outlook had the back of her neck feeling crawly, and all the little hairs on her flesh prickling. All she knew about the current state of the Pool and its fortress shell was that Kurgan had won control of it all, in piecing together a few of his shattered and sundered components, and had no idea whatsoever what that meant, for him or anyone else. Really, walking into that room would be an act of stupidity above and beyond anything she’d done so far. Worse than questioning the inner trouser size of a petulant godling. Worse than throwing a tantrum over half-truths rather than calmly seeking truths … Ridding herself of that train of thought was why she stopped hesitating and took a mind-numbing, thought-dispelling risk, and with it a bold step forward.
Leifong stretches the 'wall' wide, taking great care not to let the woman accidentally brush up against any part of it, and once she is through, he follows, letting the wall snap back together with soundless undulations. "This is where the magic happens." he says quietly as he quickly steps around her and leads her into the room proper, whether that pun was intended or not, she can decide for herself.
The first thing Jolie would note, before her eyes could even begin to process everything around her in this new environment, are a series of pained, disillusioned wails and heavy breathing, interspersed with an occasional bout of maniacal laughter, but as for the pathetic things making those sounds, we'll get to that in several sentences. The room itself is made up of stone, much the same color, texture, and consistency as the hallway prior, but rather than being a single thing, the stone is separated into massive blocks, leaving cracks large enough to slip a thin blade between laid out on the floor, walls and ceiling in the classical grid pattern. Spaced evenly along the walls are a series of brackets, each containing torches which crackle away merrily, wholly oblivious as such inanimate objects are to the sheer horror of what their light shone on.
The room is large, rectangular in shape with high vaulted ceilings and several smaller alcoves dug into the sides at irregular intervals. Spaced at less irregular intervals on the floor are six iron grates, with small channels running between them to help channel liquid of whatever kind into them. Sitting inside each of those alcoves are large metal tables, solid from the floor up with little drawers fashioned into them, each with grooves cut into the surface which run down the sides and into those channels on the floor. Yet it is what lies on those tables, which would truly draw the eye, and here we return to the not so mysterious source of those gut wrenching noises. Laid out upon each table is a person, of varying races and ethnic groups, though primarily human, each in differing stages of one horrible experiment or another. All of the 'subjects' are secured to their own personal tables with iron bands that seem to sprout directly from the surface, with no visible seams or weld points, five in total, one for each limb and a fifth for the neck.
The producer of that pathetic wailing is a man of average height and build strapped to a table in an alcove along the west wall. He has been shaved, cleaned, and stripped of all clothing or personal artifacts just as all the other 'subjects'. Yet what differentiates this man from the others, is that the skin of his torso has been carefully cut open in text-book 'y' fashion, and peeled back, held aloft and apart by a series of very clean looking hooks which descend from the ceiling. His ribs have been delicately, at least, as delicately as possible, sawed apart from the clavicle down, and pulled open, they too kept aloft by hooks. Looking inside of his exposed chest cavity and gut region, Jolie would be able to see all of his organs, perfectly intact, working exactly as they should, and it would seem that this is the purpose for his awful state of being, to study the inner workings more closely.
On another table, in the alcove next over, is a woman who has been prepared in the same manner; stripped, shaved, and cleaned. Yet rather than the skin of her torso being splayed wide, the top of her skull from brow line upward has been very precisely cut through and removed, exposing her brain to view of the room. A series of little metal poking instruments connected to the table with hinges and tightening bolts at various places along their shafts to allow a free range of mobility, stick into that grey, spongy mass, and it is from her that the random fits of crazed laughter are emitted.
On the opposite wall are two more alcoves and accompanying tables, each with it's own occupant. The first of which is a lithe, unconscious, wood-elf, his proud features laid to waste in such a blatantly horrible manner that even a woman as hardened to such things as Jolie might gag. His flesh has been carefully and expertly cut away in a most meticulous fashion, leaving a patchwork of visible bone, essential organs, veins, arteries, and nerves all expose to air. Through his mouth which is held firmly open by locking metal bars implanted into his jaw, run a series of numerous tubes, intended to carry nutrients and fluids into his system which is miraculously still operating, despite all of his skin, his fatty tissue, and most of his muscle having been removed. Another series of tubes carrying blood from a metal tank suspended above him lead into needles which are stuck at precise junctures of veins. And other needle tipped tubes run out of his arteries, which lead back into that same, faintly gurgling tank, which is enchanted to oxygenate the now depleted blood before circulating it back into his veins. On the table next to the poor man, who no longer even has a discernible facial structure, is another, although firmly deceased, wood elf. A female, though even more of her flesh has been stripped away, making that fact only apparent by studying her skeletal structure. Her skull too has been cut open, but in this case the brain has been removed, and sits in a jar on a shelf which rests not far away on the same wall, along with, and all in separate jars, her eyes, heart, liver, spleen, kidneys, appendix, intestines, and virtually every thing else of consequence which could be pulled from a living body. All neatly stored and labeled in the Priest's untidy handwriting, with the accompanying dates of removal. On the south wall lies only one alcove, it's occupant a vampire, who for the moment seems completely whole and unscathed. Yet woe for the poor beast, who is currently gagged, his eyes wide with fear as he notes the return of Leifong, for his regenerative properties are the area of study, and he has endured far worse than any of the others, only heal back up, and have another round of experimentation begin.
The last table which sits in another alcove on the north wall, holds something of an oddity. A little man, or at least, he had once been before being abducted, for all of his limbs have been sawed off and cast away. In their place, are artificially attached ones from various other races. One leg, that of a wolf, the other, of a bear, his arms those of a troll, which hang out far beyond the edges of the table he rests on. This poor hobbit is the only one of Leifong's 'subjects' to be seated upright, the wrists of those massive arms held aloft by more iron wrings, mounted on chains hanging from the ceiling, identical to all the others. It would seem the reason for this are the mismatched wings sprouting out from the sad little halfling's shoulder blades. One, taken from an Avian, the other, torn from a draconian, both drooping pathetically behind him. This last experiment is quite obviously a failure, for none of the limbs even twitch, indicating quite clearly, that they are not functioning as they are meant. His eyes too stare out in unimaginable terror, and were one to catch a good enough glimpse inside his mouth, they would be able to see brutal scorch marks toward the back of his throat from where his vocal chords were literally burned away, and that his tongue has been removed, along with all of his teeth.
If Jolie could manage to tear her eyes away from the perverse experiments, she would note another, far more plain table at the center of the room littered with dusty books, rolls of scribbled on parchment, and the bald, severed head of a green eyed man, which has been reanimated. It is Leifong's... assistant. Mostly it listens, helps him work through problems, and has been enchanted with the ability to remember everything it is told, down to the word. Yet it does not speak now, having also been enchanted to speak only when spoken to. Also present in the room are numerous shelves lined with even more books on all manner of subjects, and three little carts on wheels, upon which are aligned a great many tools and instruments, some familiar; scalpel, forceps, bone saw. Others are almost alien in nature, obviously of custom construction, with purposes that most would only be able to guess at, though... Jolie might be able to recognize a few.
After the initial disorientation had worn off – she’d never experienced it quite to this degree before, not even in this place – the necromancer padded quietly around that space, inspecting one display of a gruesome and highly disturbed mind at play after another, a cryptically thoughtful look upon her features which was now and then turned toward Leifong. Her lips parted, then, as though she might want to say something, but a frown would replace words and her mouth would close, and on she’d go, observing, now and then poking at things – or persons, as they were – gingerly, or taking up one of those curious, many-bladed or strangely jointed instruments and making a soft hmm’ing sound before setting it down. On and on she walked about, around, in-between the various experiments and shelves and tables. Finally, she stopped her pacing and folded her arms across her chest – that one hand still caked in blood and throbbing – and said, in a markedly droll tone, “You’ve been busy, then.”
Leifong seems as proud as could be to finally show off his most secret of projects, and slowly follows Jolie around the room as she inspects his work. "Indeed. This is third generation, in fact. Though subjects do not often last very long." As they move through this place which is, in practice, a torture chamber, all the eyes which are still able to do so peer out at them in utter terror and hatred. Even more so at the woman who seemed so uncaring as to their fates than to the man who'd brought about their unspeakable conditions. "And I've been learning quite a bit. Both useful things and... well. Watch this." With great sweeping steps the priest 'glides' over to the restrained woman with her skull opened up to the air, and with the most ginger of touches, pushes a bit of her brain. Instantly she kicks about as much as she can in her restraints, though the one about her neck is tightest of all and prevents her head from moving even a centimeter. Shrieks of pleasured laughter, bouts of tears, roars of bestial rage. All of these things Leifong triggers in turn, simply by prodding at different areas with a long finger.
Jolie watched this with a marked and intense interest. “It’s.. like magic,” she said. “But what’s the spell? Is it alchemy? A talismanic trigger?” Her curiosity, she had to admit, was soundly piqued. Peridot and full of wonder, her gaze turned upon the priest. “Imagine what you could achieve, were you to discover a mechanical or alchemical way to…” Her lips made a little ‘o’, her next words barely audible over another bout of howling giggles from the brain-prodded woman. “…flesh golems. Non-magical. Fascinating line of research, just beginning in it myself, rare branch, specialty stuff, crossover… this is why I so adore Jobbie, you see…” and so on, in a bunch of half-sentences that only betrayed her excitement more.
Leifong watches the woman reveling in what he himself had been for days, that sense of discovery, of pushing the boundaries, of new possibilities, new knowledge. All of it right there at their fingertips. "There is no spell, no alchemy." the priest answers slowly, explaining what he himself had discovered only days prior, and since killed more than a few people in testing out. "They are just made this way, -we- are made this way. See, all this-" he continues, grabbing the woman's arm and wiggling a bit of her skin in between his fingers "Is controlled with this." and then he prods at the woman's brain again. Instantly her body spasms, and her eyes roll back in her head until he takes his finger away. "And it's not just physical things it controls either. With a bit of manipulation, you can control emotion as well. Make them happy, sad, angry, confused. With my last subject, I removed a bit, and under interrogation the man could not remember who he was, or how he'd gotten here. You see the possibilities... yes?" As he speaks the last little bit he then crosses to the other side of the room, where the poor, stripped down elf sat unconscious. "And this one. I've learned so much from him. So much indeed. That beast over there is fairly useless." Leifong points to the vampire "And that one still isn't.... well, he's defective." Leifong points to the halfling then, scorn obvious in his tone, as if the hobbit was keeping his enchantments from working on purpose. "But these" here Leifong sweeps his arms about at all the others "These have been so useful."
This was… fantastic. For two reasons. One: it was fantastic. Two: she hadn’t thought once about that bloody island and its occupants since she stepped through that peculiar doorway and into this room. “You don’t say…” her eyes swivelled in their sockets, as though the woman was trying to catch a glimpse of her own brain. “Like a machine. A machine made of meat. Leifong.. think of the applications for this knowledge. We could.. you know. Make people do things. And sell the knowledge to healers. We…” She coughed. “I mean.. you, Leifong. Could form a new branch of knowledge entirely. You could call it… Carnology. The study of the flesh.” She glanced to the vampire, “And he’s useless because …well, probably because he’s dead already, or hungry, we.. erm, they get slow when hungry, cold, like lizards only because of blood not the sun..” and peered at the brain. “Er… may I?”
Leifong shakes his head just a bit as he responds "One can not truly understand death, if they do not understand life as well. Vakmatharas is balance, purely and truly. This... 'carnology'... it's merely a stepping stone on the path to far deeper knowledge." slowly he steps back into the center of the room, approaching his work table and the severed head upon it. "What was that passage? The one about the road to infinite knowledge?" For a moment Jolie might think he was speaking to her, that is, until the head springs to 'life' and begins to speak in a raspy half-gurgled tone. "The path to infinite wisdom, sir." the skull corrects before continuing. "Each area of knowledge in the study of matters arcane is much like a well. These wells are deep, some vastly so, but each one has a firm and definite bottom. The further down you traverse into one, the more familiar it becomes, and it is that familiarity which eventually allows mastery. Yet at the same moment, the deeper you go in one, the more difficult it becomes to swim back to the surface and enter another. However, despite how alien one well may seem compared to another, they all hold similarities. Thusly, if one were to reach the bottom of one well, the trip to the bottom of another would become much more simple. It may take many lifetimes, perhaps even an eternity, but the path to infinite wisdom becomes visible only when one has delved into the murkiest depths of every pool of knowledge- The Great Wizard Jenkins, year 1307" "Thank you very much, your recitation was resplendent as usual." Leifong says to the rotting head with its engorged eyeballs, far more politely than one will have ever heard him speak to another person. His creation apparently held exactly all of the traits he liked in people. "There, you see." he continues to Jolie, the severed head once more completely silent and unmoving. "Jenkins is quite right. Or at least, close to it. It is only by learning everything about anything that we can truly know anything about everything." Up till now the priest had almost forgotten that Jolie was there, but returning his eyes to her, Leifong could see her burning, childlike desire to fondle his test brain. "Oh, alright. But If you contaminate, damage, or otherwise impair it, you'll be providing me with another subject."
Jolie gaped at this next show of skill, and whispered, "Necroscopy.. without the magic. Truly, a wonderful discovery." She made a small squeaky noise when he condescended to allow her to poke his brain, and hovered over the semi-dissected head, wiggling the fingers of her uninjured hand, until, peering intently into that grisly chalice, she raised her delicate forefinger and dove it into some region of the frontal lobe.
Leifong is already trying to shout out "No, not like th-" before the woman would be able to conduct her inexperienced butchery. But too late, rather than the gentlest of touches, Jolie is digging her finger around in that poor woman's brain like it's her own nose. "Stop it, jus-" but she continues, the delicate tissue giving way like play-doh as it's swirled about. In instant response the woman shrieks in pain, and the man on the table next to hers look on in horror, too afraid to say anything lest he be noticed and turned upon. "Why are you doing this!?" She cries, "Please just tell me! Let me go, I won't say anything to anyone, I swear. My god, what have we done!? What have we... How does that thing over there work?" She's now looking at the blood tank above the unconscious elf, as though transfixed, seeming to have forgotten all about what she was saying only a moment ago. Then, just as quickly, her eyes dart to the severed head on the table. "And frank, how's frank still talking? Is that frank? It looks li-" and then she shrieks in pain again, more violently this time. "Please, will yo-" another shriek of pain as Jolie's finger wiggles a bit more. "Make your creepy wife get her finger out of my head! You whore! Bitch! I'll kill you! I'll kill you!" and then the woman's body starts thrashing around, not uncontrollably, but consciously, as she tries everything she can to somehow get free and do most unpleasant things to Jolie.
Jolie stepped back from the spasming, raging victim with a look of utter horror on her face. "I am NOT," she stated, with the epitome of emphasis, staring glary-eyed at the horribly misused woman, "His –anything-- kind of wife. Are you out of your goddamn…" she blinked, glanced to Leifong. "Does it have an off switch? And who's Frank?"
Jolie then made a face as she stared the end of her finger, which was covered in dull pink globs. "Is towelette too much to ask?"
Leifong is trying not to show just how frustrated he is as he stomps over. "Do you have any idea how hard it is to get this thing-" at those last two words he thumps Jolie lightly on the head with two of his knuckles "Open without killing the person!?" This whole time the woman keeps chattering on "No, I know, i'm sorry. You're not pretty enough for him. I bet he wouldn't have you anyway. He likes real women, like me. Don't you? Oh frank, frank! Where are you frank? Why won't you speak anymore, you were speaking just a minute ago. Have you ever thought of wearing anything other than black? It's so... sullen, and dark. Maybe a nice blue, or some pink. You'd look good in pink." And then she's thrashing about again, trying to get at Jolie for a second time. "Homewrecker! Harlot! You took my frank away from me with that -cesspit- between your legs! How could you!? He has children you know, he has a -wife!-" and as this continues, Leifong stoops low to examine the damage, whether it was salvageable. "Yes, quite too much to ask." He responds to the last of Jolie's questions, concentration deeply focused on the brain until suddenly he realizes what the Jolie might be prone to do. "So help me, if you rub that goop on my robes you'll be the next one on this table!" and the woman keeps going "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, you're probably a perfectly nice woman. We could have been friends you know... we could have been best friends." anger gives way to tears, which then suddenly vanish to be replaced with anger yet again. "But no! You had to go and open your legs! Ruin the fair for all of us! We just wanted to see the jousting, get some of the kettle corn. Then you come along with your -face- and your -eyes- and your stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid!"
"Well...." Leifong continues after another moment as part of the woman's now mushy brain seeps from her skull and onto the table with a splat. "You broke it." and from within his robes, Leifong pulls his dagger, and stabs the woman in the face, over and over again, taking out his anger and frustration in the most appropriate way he knew how. "You -broke- my -toy-" he yells as the dual sided dagger makes short work of the woman's face, and then he stabs it in her heart, leaving it there. "You broke my toy, and I want another one."
Leifong revels in the newly created silence.
Jolie wore a rather pained expression, her brainmatter-smirched forefinger still held aloft – stalled in its robeward trajectory by Leifong’s brilliant bit of precognitive deduction as to her intent. But first she pointed it at the test subject, waggling it disapprovingly. “How rude.. “ she turned that expression upon the carnologist, then, speaking loudly over the worst of that ongoing, involuntary diatribe, “Does this –always- happen? And what about that off switch? I said – what—about – that---….” his petulant tantrum followed into subsequent silence, broken by the necromancer, saying quietly, “Oh.” The finger wiped discreetly on the underside of the nearest bench, before she added, staring at the quivering knife-hilt, “Sorry.” And, “Of course.”
Leifong grumbles audibly as he straightens back up, blood spray covering his robes to give him that look. That one that could make even Jolie, the most stubborn, arrogant, and wilful person he'd ever met, a little bit afraid of him. "You're not allowed to touch any more of my test subjects until I say otherwise, understand?" With a quiet grace the robed figure moves back to the middle of the room, not looking at the woman's face which was now quite perfectly destroyed. Both her eyes were wide open, one of them torn asunder by the blade of his knife. Several of her teeth have been knocked clean out of her jaw, and her gums now exposed by a ripped lip are bleeding violently, her mouth slowly filling up with blood which begins to spill over onto the table. Eventually, it would follow the grooves in the table's surface down to the spillways in the floor, to be guided into one of those iron grates and go wherever those lead. Leifong returns to his work table, searching around for a particular roll of parchment which he unspools and weights down on either end with two little bits of stone before pulling out a quill, dipping the tip in some ink, and proceeding to make notes in the now dead woman's 'case file', detailing the effects of damage to that area of the brain, and her new status as 'deceased'. That concluded, he allows the ink a minute to dry as he speaks further to the woman. "Perhaps you can actually help me with something, now that you've hindered. That's what I brought you here for, after all. That one, over there-" He points at the halfling who has been watching in utter disgust this whole time. "What's wrong with it? Why can't I get the limbs to work? They're all connected properly, as far as I can tell. And I followed the base enchantments in my source text to a tee." The priest then blows on the ink, making sure that it's completely dried out, before rolling the parchment back up and moving over to a shelf on the wall where other such scrolls reside, and stowing it there.
Jolie wasn’t.. so much afraid? As a little bit dismayed. Okay, and just in that moment, perhaps a tiny, tiny bit… afraid. “I –said- I was sorry,” she grumbled, eyes on the useless corpse he’d mangled in his chagrin, and used the hobbit as a handy change of topic. Strolling that way, she peered at the misshapen creature, its troll arms, mismatched wings. Her forefinger was raised and almost pressed against her lips before she remembered where it’d been, gave a grimace and tapped it on the halfling’s forehead instead. “The problem with –this- one,” she stated after a few moments’ pondering, “Is that he’s still alive. Those limbs.. in my own work, I have found grafting from one species to another almost impossible, though ‘like sticks to like’, as I say.” She beckoned Leifong over. “What I mean is.. a human and a hobbit? Those parts –might- take and not go rancid or fall off? But dragon parts are so much harder, say, in a living subject. Now, if he were simply more… dead, I could reanimate the parts and cause them to bind as a functioning unit. It’s how I made Maladroit.. you recall my familiar? … his new flesh. Though the parts I used for that are .. less common.” She stopped speaking and turned from her study of the chimaeric victim. “It’s tricky. Never reanimated one alive and already stitched together, but I could attempt it.. and you know? I wonder how this.. knowledge of the flesh could improve my practises, in that field.”
Leifong listens intently as he finishes stowing the scroll and strolls back across the room to stand beside Jolie. "But the text...." he questions, a bit more to himself than to the other "The example used is of a man who'd lost his arm through some accident or another. The practitioner was able to attach a new one, though in that case it was a composite piece, and enchant it to function normally. Here, let me show you." from his work table Leifong pulls a fairly weathered tome, the pages all in a state of half degradation, the title on the cover worn away entirely. With his near skeletal digits the priest flips quickly through the book to a page he has dog-eared in the top corner and passes it over. The page in question is distinctly difficult to decipher, hand written in an untidy script that overlaps itself every once in a while from the authors inability to keep his lines straight. But the illustrations are immaculate, showing a very detailed model of just how the new limb should be attached, and the particular seal to be used in the enchantment. Looking at the various limbs of Leifong's test subject will reveal a perfect replica of that seal burned into their flesh.
“Hmm. Mhm. Hm. I see.” The necromancer frowned, looking at the hobbit, then to the book and back, several times. “I have seen this in practise, not terribly common among the healy-feely types but not unheard of at all. But note, the new limb is not of another species of creature.. I am not saying it’s impossible, just that there’s a far easier route than…. Oh. Oh, dear me...” Smelling vaguely of brains of not, her hand was raised to cover a chuckle, the necromancer’s eyes fixed on the illustrations. She kept it there a while, her shoulders shaking, eyes gleaming almost wetly, before clearing her throat and saying, in a very serious tone indeed, as she pointed to one of the illustrations. “And…? What’s not helping at all? See this… here…” she jabbed at a section of text. “You’re not so much invoking the Tenebrarum Maleficius non Entropos? As you are.. appealing for… a cure for infertility. In .. camels. Which… “ she hastened to add, her shoulders shaking again, “Has many useful applications. But here…” and she just lost it, then, unable to say more and clutching at his robes so she wouldn’t –actually- fall over laughing.
Leifong 's jaw nearly drops, and he snatches the book away from Jolie, tearing it apart with his eyes which move back and forth from the page to the glyphs surrounding the seal he'd reproduced on his subject. "No, that's not... I thought the signifier was..." a pointed fingernail on his right hand runs over the glyphs in question on the troll arm of his dummy as his eyes trace out the pattern in the book, his expression growing ever more sullen with each passing moment.
Jolie said, "Now, now. No need to get so despondent. Every spell caster experiences these little ... humps..on the path to magical success. No need to -desert- the project entirely. " Hilarity, for Jolie at least, was clearly an ongoing concern here.
Leifong grumbles, but ignores the woman's further jab at this failed attempt. "No, no, I won't be deserting it." He pointedly pronounces the word 'deserting' without any inflection. "But this subject won't do any longer. These glyphs are permanent, and it won't do to bother trying again with a contaminated medium." and in a most detached fashion, the priest wraps his hand around the little creatures mouth and nose simultaneously as a viscous sort of dark material seeps from his palm, clogging the airways. The little man begins to sputter and thrash, but he can't manage to pull breath through the thick fog of magic, and slowly the life drains from him. "That's two now which will need replacing. Perhaps I'll take a trip into Cenril. The locals of Kelay have been telling stories of me, you know. The 'snatcher'. Won't do to draw more attention there as of yet."
Jolie’s laughter died, even as did as that unfortunate hobbit. “Cenril?” The word was half-snapped, her eyes narrow. Had he picked that city for any particular reason? “I can get you a subject or three, save you the trouble,” she said, hastily, blithely, “After all, I do owe you one.” Change of topic, smooth as you please, “Are you.. you know. Going to use that?” She gestured toward the chimaera-hobbit’s dead or close enough to dead body. “Because I could… I mean, if you don’t want it…?”
Leifong had not picked the port city for any reason in particular. More like several reasons, but none of them were likely to be what Jolie was apparently thinking. "You may take it if you wish, the thing is no longer of use to me." he responds distractedly, still dissecting what she'd just said. If her intent was to roll over the subject, and give the impression that there was nothing strange going on, she'd have been better off keeping her mouth shut entirely, for her tone and her quick change of topic was as good as an outright admission of something... fishy. And I don't mean the smell. He raises an eyebrow under his hood, though the action is kept invisible, and rather than allow the change to take place, he draws it out. "Yes.. Cenril. Seems a logical choice given the circumstances. The citizens of Vailkrin tend to be wary of such nefarious things, besides that quite a few are unsuitable for my needs. Xalious is far too sparsely populated. Kelay needs time for the rumors to mutate and grow into myth so that I am not identified. Larket is under armed guard. Rynvale is much too far and is in a similar state as Larket. Pilfering from the underdark is unwise, even for myself. And enchantment... adds it's own flaws." He didn't want to admit that the blanket enchantments on the fairy kingdom interfered with his powers in a negative way, much as this place affected them positively. "That leaves Cenril as the most logical place, wouldn't you agree? Or is there.... some reason I would be better off leaving it be?"
“No… no. No reason. None. At all.” Jolie offered the priest an affirmative smile. “But do leave it all to me, I’m sure you’re quite a busy…person. And I have a tiny bit of business there, perhaps, coming up, nothing important, or anything.. “ she blinked. “Speaking of Vailkrin. Do you think we might head back now? I’ve an appointment with an architect and .. some other things to see to.”
Leifong chooses not to say anything further on the subject, but his mind was more firmly made up than ever. The first bit of free time he had would be put toward a trip to Cenril. Well, after he took care of something else. Internally he was grinning, but on the outside he maintains total passivity, responding in the most calm of tones. "Yes, yes, of course. And now you get to see the best part of all this, well... for me at least." without a backward glance he walks toward a spot of unremarkable wall, and this will most likely be when Jolie realizes that any trace of the way they'd entered through had vanished upon moving through it, and if Leifong were not here to let her out, she would likely spend the rest of her existence trapped inside. "Follow me." he says idly as he slowly walks back and forth along the wall, even he having trouble finding the exact point where this place stopped and the fortress began. Upon finding the little 'catch' in the fabric of reality, the priest wastes no time in plunging into it, first a finger, then his whole hand, widening the tiny little tear all the while. Eventually he spreads it wide enough to accommodate his other hand, and then he pulls the whole thing apart, holding it wide for Jolie to pass through yet again.
Jolie didn’t follow right away. She had that dead hobbit-thing to unstrap, somehow, with an injured hand, and drag toward the arcane door. If she was aware of what potential peril she was in, regarding possible entrapment, she wouldn’t make it obvious in the look of sheer irritation bestowed upon the priest. Bracing herself for another foray into the Space In-Between and all its disorienting and disconcerting effects, she closed her eyes, too a deep breath and lugged the tragic corpse through that grey gap by one of its mismatched legs.