RP:Cryptic Interviews

From HollowWiki

Part of the The Cenrilian Connection Arc


The Crypts

Satoshi sits, still and silent between a pair of coffin-bearing platforms, her legs neatly folded beneath her and her gaze staring unseeing ahead. It is not the deep darkness of the crypts that prevents Satoshi from seeing, for the kit possesses superb night vision, but rather it is the after effects of a mishap the day prior. The worst of the side effects have worn off since regaining consciousness, although the magus still can't completely trust the strength of her limbs or the accuracy of her hearing, and certainly she cannot rely on her eyesight. As such, Satoshi has squirreled herself away in the quiet darkness of the crypts, a place few visit, leaving her unlikely to be accosted by politician or foe--especially with her husband prowling the castle above.


Celiann , like any necromancer worth their salt, wanted to investigate the bones and remains of the more revered corpses of Vailkrin. After all, they may hold some great magical potency or some kind of key ingredient for the ritual she had in mind. Upon slinking down into the crypt, the necromancer narrowed her gaze and tried to see more clearly. Her vision was awful, by all means, but in the dark? It wasn’t superb, sublime or excellent, but just good. Upon spying an open casket, the scholar grinned gleefully and crept towards it to try and peer inside. But alas, the corpse was missing. Probably having a little wander, she couldn’t blame it: she’d want to wander too. Crypts could offer so much. So the scholar falls still, trying to consider what she might do next… explore further or—wait, was that a noise? Was someone down here? A quick glance around, there was a shape in the dark there. A familiar shape. Lots of tails kind of shape. “S-Satoshi?”


Satoshi's head tips marginally as vulpine ears swivel toward the source of the voice. With hearing in presently in a state not unlike having cotton blockages, she can't quite recognize the speaker by sound. The stutter, however, can be only one person. "Mouselion." There's amusement lacing the word, returning a spark of melody that a voice that seems otherwise strained and out of sorts. "I'd ask what you're doing in a place like this but... you -are- a necromancer." It's answer enough. Although something in the way Satoshi forms the remark suggests Celiann not be too sticky-fingered in the protected crypt of Vailkrin's castle.


Celiann ’s hands had begun gently fumbling together as Satoshi spoke, obviously wondering what could possibly be amiss. In all the times she had seen Satoshi, she had never seen her quite so… still. It was slightly unnerving of all things. “Are y-y-you w-w-well?” the scholar shuffled towards her a little bit, sitting down in front of her; legs crossed like a child ready to listen.


Satoshi laughs, although the sound isn't quite as dulcet is her usual. She can sense the little librarian's proximity now despite only being able to make out a faint movement of gray blurs. "Well enough. Recovering, at the least." As she says this, the magus flips open the cover of her satchel. A short bout of blind rummaging and out comes a bundle of silk, a portion of which is pulled back to reveal an elegant glass flask worked through with golden wiring and sealed with the same metal. Its contents are so clear it's nearly invisible, and only the sloshing of the liquid as it's presented toward the necromancer reveals there is anything at all within. "We got the holy water, as requested. Mind the flask, though. This is not your run-of-the-mill, lightly blessed water. This is immensely potent, even the glass itself is blessed." Satoshi wrinkles her nose up in an expression of distaste and pain. It's easy to assume that the reaction and the flask are linked to Satoshi's current condition.


Celiann watched as Satoshi flipped open the satchel, curious as to what she might show to her. The necromancer, cautious by nature, allowed the hem of her sleeve to cover her hand before she accepted the vial, just in case the fluid was somehow on the container. “Y-You d-d-did well,” she praised, bringing it up to her eyeline so she might examine the fluid within it. “The r-r-ritual m-must be s-s-soon. W-We want this f-f-fresh,” she explained, in a murmur with her chin raised slightly, that kind of voice someone gets when they are busy examining something of interest. After a few moments, she lowered the vial and looked at Satoshi, “Th-This is wh-what h-h-hurt you?” she asked. Was that a hint of concern?


Satoshi spreads her hands in a disarming gesture. "Holy water and undead flesh do not blend well. The more powerful either is, the more it backfires as a result." Every aspect of the comment is misleading, worded to suffice as an answer without offering a genuine lie. It had not been holy water that incapacitated Satoshi, rather, it was divine metal needles bathed in oil of the Rythal Olive tree--a plant capable of sedating undead, and a wood Celiann may be familiar with, as her coffin had been carved from it. And sure, there are only three people that know what sort of 'undead' Satoshi actually is, most believing her to still be vampiric, but an eidolon is just as badly bitten by blessed items as other unholy beings.


Celiann shrugged her shoulder, “Wh-What else d-d-did you encounter?” Her interest is, in part, due to concern and due to her interest in theories and possible reworking schemes and devices. The scholar wants to know everything. “Are y-y-you ready f-f-for the ritual? D-Did you r-r-read m-my notes?”


Satoshi nods, face angled toward Celiann although her eyes aren't quite fixed on the right spot. "Quite ready. Don't fret, Mouselion. You'll be doing this alongside two of the Mage Guild's finest. Svilfon and I are especially good at what we do when it's merely improvised. We're considerably more capable when we've been granted time to prepare. Or~," a wolfish smirk crosses Satoshi's face then, words taking a teasing lilt, "are you doubting our abilities as Magister Glacies and Sublime Master?"


Celiann offered Satoshi a rather proud smile, head tilting just slightly as she realised that the Magister Glacies eyesight was not quite pinpoint accurate as always. “I d-d-doubt e-everyone,” she barely resisted adding ‘but me’. “M-My l-life is on the l-l-line,” she explained, “and c-c-considering I d-d-d-d-d,” the word will not come out, her eyes have shut in her effort to stutter the word out and it only leaves in a gasp, “dabble! in d-d-death, I kn-know I don’t w-want to properly die.” The scholar glanced at the vial once again before speaking again: “I n-need dragon or l-lycan blood. Maybe b-b-both. I im-imagine l-lycan blood w-w-will be a l-l-little less r-risky… but d-d-dragon is q-quite purifying.”


Satoshi arches a brow in an icy, regal expression. ...Which is not nearly as crippling as it might normally be, since she's peering slightly off to Celiann's left. "You will survive this, Mouselion. We do not fail. -Ever-. And when you do survive, I shall take you to meet one of the rarest forms of undead in existence, as a welcoming gift to House Azakhaer." A laugh follows, as if at a personal joke. "And don't worry. We have fresh dragon blood in ready supply. I hope you have no objections to matured Larketian Silver." The casual, amiable tone of the question makes it sound like Satoshi is offering Celiann a rare vintage, not the harvested blood of a sentient species.


Celiann smiled a little at that. It was oddly reassuring. “I w-will b-be in the s-s-strongest house! How s-s-strange. D-Don’t you already h-h-have a necromancer?” she asked. “Th-That’ll do. If I d-d-die, so h-h-help me, I w-w-will haunt you all. I know h-h-how to do that! You c-c-can even d-d-do that now, m-mind you, with the r-r-right herbs and s-spells. Meditation too. It c-c-can be fun.”


Satoshi shakes her head as her eyes close, the kit allowing her form to settle back against the platform behind her. "Non, we don't have a necromancer among us. Myself, a wizard, two terramancers, and an alchemist. Well, then there's Kasyr and the seamstress, of course. We're not entirely sure -what- she is. Yet. She's too untrained to be know her abilities, aside from them being... peculiar." At Celiann's remark about haunting, Satoshi cracks a grin that's impish to the core. "Oh, you will fit in just fine, Mouselion, just fine indeed." The wizard and magus have been in need of a new companion that can keep up with their magical antics, and despite Celiann's tendency to stutter, she possesses the pride, knowledge, and ingenuity to do so.


Celiann deposited the vial of holy water into her spell-component pouch, just for safekeeping. It’d be safe there and it wouldn’t irritate her undead and delicate flesh. “A p-p-powerful lot,” she murmured, brushing a lock of twisted hair behind her ear before gently touching the leg of her spectacles, a little habit she had picked up whilst thinking carefully. But soon she is smiling and she is forgetting; no longer too worried about the ritual that looms around the corner, the ritual which may steal whatever remnants of life she still holds onto. “I h-h-hope so. I w-w-wonder what p-p-p-p-p-p,” she is struggling once again with this word, “p-privileges! I might encounter w-within the house. Each h-house has many s-special books…”


Satoshi's grin widens. With the casual air of a cat after a feast of mice, the magus folds her arms behind her head, all the while fangs bared at Celiann in playful humor. "We have more than books. I possess a library, constructed ages ago by a being believed to be a tribal goddess, and added to with my own personal collection. And Frostmaw guards a trio of other libraries of unique natures. Between the four, you could read until the end of your days, and not see every page they have to offer." That's saying something, considering vampires are believed to be ageless.


Celiann shuffled a little bit in her seated position, sitting a bit more upright as if suddenly very interested in the conversation. The scholar needed to hear this, this talk of libraries and books that she’d yearn to read; to even touch or to smell. There was something unique and wondrous about smelling a book. “Ohhh… It s-s-sounds like s-somewhere I’d w-w-want to r-r-recover!” she smiled, content with the idea of recovering from the ritual surrounded by a pile of book. No, not just one pile, numerous piles. “S-Satoshi…?” she asked quietly, “H-Houses are l-like family. D-D-Do you… D-Do you think they w-will like me…?” she is obviously referring to the other House members.


Satoshi frowns without opening her eyes. "I take my family very seriously, however flippant or whimsical my remarks may seem. I would not have extended you an invitation, if I--and Kasyr--felt you were not able to mingle properly. So buck up, Mouselion, we do not tolerate hesitance or self-doubt in our ranks. Keep charging forward, challenging every puzzle, defeating every obstacle."


Celiann frowned in retort, “W-Well. I a-ask b-because G-Ginavi didn’t g-g-go so well!” The necromancer was obviously trying to suggest she wasn’t hesitating, but more a little wary of change or of coming into a new home, as it were. “So! M-Mages. You and…?”


Satoshi said to Celiann, "Me and what...?"


Celiann said to Satoshi, "You are a m-m-mage. There m-must be more, who or wh-wh-what do they do. Th-That was the q-q-question. You are sh-shaking m-my faith in your r-r-ritual capabilities, Satoshi."


Satoshi leans forward abruptly, a lyrical hiss on her lips. In response, the moisture in the air solidifies, jutting forward in the form of a crystalline spear of ice whose tip is poised inches from Celiann's face. "Missy, it is not a wise thing to doubt me. You will find I am not as compliant as I may appear, when my skills are questioned." As she speaks, her words are a melody despite their frigid tone, the ice responding by melding into the shape of a cobra. Tiny forked tongue extending at the necromancer, the serpent moves to slither toward her on elegant coils. It'd seem Satoshi's pride is easily prickled this evening, temper likely shortened by her weary state. "You should be the one studying, if you have to ask the identities of House Azakhear members. We don't make a habit of lurking in shadows, our names are easy enough to discover." Yes, this is a gab at the librarian's research skills. "Myself, a Magister Glacies. Svilfon, Wizard and Sublime Master. Dami and Kirien, terrmancers, present locations unknown. Markos, alchemist, likewise absent. Iintahquohae, seamstress, and something more. Kasyr, revenant swordsmaster."


Celiann does not move nor does she rile. If she is afraid of Satoshi’s performance or the icy cobra, she doesn’t make it known. Indeed, while her eyes fixate upon the cobra, the necromancer is listening quietly. In the silence between prideful statements, there is a sound of shuffling from within the crypt. But they are the only two there, surely? A classic groan of traditional undead, it is clear that Satoshi’s icy cobra has been met with Celiann’s more quiet call for the dead. If Satoshi’s eyesight was recovered enough, she might even spot Celiann’s fingers delicately and slowly moving in a beckoning motion, as if she were a puppet master gently pulling her puppets towards her. “It is c-c-called conversation,” the remark was said in a neutral manner, just a fact and nothing more, “jokes are s-social norm, but e-evidently, you did not study /that/.” The necromancer allows for a pause, smiling just slightly, “A c-cobra, really. I would have th-thought a r-rattle snake to be more t-t-to your taste,” the words are said more lightly, now more relaxed. The shuffle of undead having faded into nothingness. It was no real threat, that’s what that meant, it was just the two of them flexing their muscles and testing tempers.


Satoshi's response is to laugh, not at Celiann, but out of sheer amusement and mirth. The sound is echoed in hissing form from the cobra as it slithers back to its creator, winding around an extended arm as if it were a regal bracelet. Satoshi's moods are notorious for being fluid and unpredictable, one moment snarling, the next affectionate, without rhyme or reason. "Oh, Mouselion, I stand by what I said. You will fit in perfectly~. Although," here, the magus pauses in stroking the cobra's head with a claw, to cock her ears toward the necromancer, "a rattlesnake? Truly? But they're so... loud and rough. Cobras are much more sleek, elegant, silent. The vipers of kings."


Celiann raised her hand up just slightly before letting it fall back into her lap once again. In what limited light was within the crypt, there are a few new shadows in the room: the undead that were heeding Celiann’s quiet call to serve her and do her bidding, they have stopped near the conversing pair. Not that the necromancer believes she will need them, but she feels a sense of comfort from their nearby presence. The dead brought comfort to her. “R-Rattlesnakes g-g-give more w-warning, which y-you do in how you s-s-sit and look at p-people. They s-s-strike q-q-quickly, too. But cobras? T-Too elegant. And wh-when fighting one a-another, not v-v-very vicious. A c-cobra may b-be a popular choice, but th-there is m-more meat on it t-t-to attack. Those f-flaps? E-Easy to grip and tear into. It sh-shows off m-more and r-r-risks more.”


Satoshi exchanges a look with the cobra, the serpent having flaired its hood at Celiann's remark. "Understandable. Although, at the same time, a cobra's hood is often warning enough to prevent an enemy from attacking. Victory gained without a drop of venom wasted. It is a most useful means of combat. I am fond of the way their choose to fight, when it comes down to blows, as well. They are swift, delivering quick, light strikes, wearing down their foe with needling rather than brute strength." A method of fighting Satoshi prefers, being naturally smaller, lighter, and physically frailer than most opponents. "But I suppose the difference between cobra and rattlesnake is the same difference between a sword dancer and a brawler. They both can get the job done, it is merely a matter of taste."


Celiann was half tempted to try and rot the very ice composing the cobra, but she felt like that’d be quite a challenge and an insult to Satoshi. No need to provoke anything here. The scholar offered only a smile to begin with, eventually saying: “Everything d-d-dies in the e-end. It m-makes no d-d-difference. Things d-die, things r-r-resurrect. Everything c-c-can be c-c-controlled one way or a-another.”


Satoshi's ears give a peculiar wriggle as a knowing grin creeps across the magus' face. Something primeval and ethereal lurks just beneath the surface, threatening to breach the amiable mask in a show of fangs. With the flicker comes a deepening chill in the already dank crypts, frost crystallizing upon stone and earth alike as a gossamer haze of azure clings like a cloak to Satoshi. "Believe me, I know. Water exists in abundance in everything. I hear the singing of a man's blood. The drumroll of a beating heart. The whispers of limbs in motion. The tang of tears unshed. Even the dead still carry water that heeds my call." Despite eyes still closed, the magus' face turns to stare pointedly at one of Celiann's undead then. Her head tips elegantly to one side, as if she's considering a demonstration, only to refrain with a shake of her head, merely letting the creeping frost continue its crawl through the crypt. "You understand. You wield death magic, after all. Death and water are kin, for they exist in every being. Together, they forge a frightful essence."


Satoshi's look silently says, "Mess with my cobra, I break your pets too!"


Celiann ’s face does not and cannot remain an amiable or friendly mask when Satoshi speaks of both death and water; she knows a possible demonstration is on the cards and she does not wish to see it. These dead are bound to her, she cannot bear to see those bound to her endure pain when she has not prepared or planned for it. Besides, these are long and ancient dead; their bones have better use than a demonstration. And yet, her fears are casually put aside as Satoshi gives no display. Face quickly assuming a friendly mask once again. Satoshi is not the only Machiavellian sucker here. “P-People mock n-necromancy,” the words were almost bitter, “it h-has more p-p-p-power than they know.” The scholar waits a moment, before speaking, “The b-b-burn of h-holy or b-b-blessed water is a n-nuisance to our kind. And t-tensions r-run high with C-Cenril.” The scholar offered Satoshi a grin that held great malevolence – was that a hint of madness? – “But I h-h-have ideas. I… I b-believe I c-c-can manuf-f-acture the o-opposite of this. An… unholy w-w-water, we shall say. M-Maybe like an a-a-arrow or a d-dart. Something.”


Satoshi perks up with Celiann's musings, even opening her mouth to offer an excited response when her ears abruptly droop. Wordlessly she and the cobra glance toward the ceiling, head cocked as if listening. A reluctant sigh follows as the magus turns her face back toward Celiann. "Stick a bookmark on that page, Mouselion, for I'd love to resume this chapter at another point. Once a certain husband of mine isn't yammering away in need of my attention." With a groan, Satoshi climbs to her feet, a tad unsteady as she trudges toward the stairs. Along the way, she can be heard muttering darkly, "You should be coming to carry me up there, jerk. You only took an arrow in the -arm-, my injuries trump yours."