RP:Discoveries By Moonlight and Chance
Part of the The God of Undeath Arc
Part of the You Must Have Been Human Arc
Summary: A chance meeting in Cenril between those concerned for the wellbeing of the undead leads to a revelation.
A letter arrives by courier. Looking at the postmark, you can tell it has arrived several days later than it was intended. The seal is cracked and a delicate lavender scent drifts lazily from the creases, a gentle scent belying the urgent warning in the letter. In dark, arcing swoops, the letter reads:
Dear Valrae,
Haladavar is gone. Yet our other home is still imperiled. The afflicted in Cenril have not gotten better while we’ve neglected them, and if the information I’ve been provided with is accurate, they have in fact gotten worse. Cenril cannot degenerate into a stinking mass grave like Vailkrin. Whatever your thoughts on the place.
But that’s exactly what will happen unless we (or I) intervene. If your untimely vacation is almost finished, please meet me outside the quarantine zone so we can discuss how best to proceed regarding the “sick.” I will wait for you at 7pm, on the seventh of this month.
If you fail to appear, I’ll assume you’ve separated yourself from this issue and proceed with the simplest solution.
~Lanlan
Arril Street
Valrae was late. It wasn’t her fault though, Fynn had vomited on her sweater just as she’d been saying goodbye to him. And her sitter had to be called upon last minute, so she was also late, and all of this happened because the bleeding letter had been late. So, if Valrae was late it was Lanlan’s own fault and he could wait in the damned howling cold of Cenril for all she cared because that’s what he deserved. Especially for his tone. And the implication that she didn’t love Cenril as if it were another child she’d pushed from her own body for and which she nearly always neglected her actual, flesh and blood son. Or that somehow her city, her people, could also somehow be his city, and his people, and he had any say whatsoever in how the stinking curse from an actual god could be handled. As if he had any of his own answers. Imagine!
This fuming inner monolog hounded the clipped, rushed steps as the witch trudged through the streets toward the place that her guildmate had chosen. She’d tucked herself away in a long cream colored wool coat. The black heels she’d chosen strappy and thin and left her pink polished toes cold in the cursed, buffeting wind. Behind her mask and matching pink scarf, Valrae blinked at the yawning blue shadows and searched for Lanlan within them. “Hello?” She called out, suddenly uneasy.
Lanlan hesitated to reveal himself. If he stayed in the dark, he need not embark to the place where nobody wants to go. The only people over there are stuck there. No choice. But he moves ponderously toward Valrae and into the soft amber glow of torchlight. The jiggling flame dances gleefully with the chilly wind, and his shadow manically celebrates with them, unaware of where they will traverse. But he knows where he’s headed. So he is still. “If I wanted to set a trap for you, I wouldn’t tell you where to look for it,” he says, gleaning her unease. And sounding disappointed with it, Or maybe impatient.
He moves again, toward the wrought gate of the barricade. The deep dark of the night swims with his black button down and pants, and almost disappears him again. An occasional glance is mutually reassuring, though. As his intense red eyes can be seen as they’re seeing you. He stops here, at the line segregating the fortunate from the unlucky. On one side her people used to struggle and get sick and die. Behind Lanlan and Valrae were her people who used to try to forget that happens. Now it was the same. Lanlan tried to stay ignorant. Instead he failed, and showed up, standing here in life and staring there into death as it shuffled mindlessly. “Your children don’t play so much in the streets anymore,” he says, wondering if it means anything. It was a dark and silent night. And more so over there, where people used to suffer. Every home was locked and shuttered, trying to go unnoticed. No open doors for the aimless wandering soul that limps on the cobbles. It wobbles, barely standing and almost walking. And no torches burning either. Who would light them? “There should be more of them,” Lanlan says about it. “Shouldn’t there be more? Not less. Where are they.” The answer to that, Lanlan knew, was none of his business. Not his city. Not his people. Still it troubles him.
The lonely rambler teeters its head over to Lanlan and Valrae, its gaze darkly and divinely glowing purple. It was stirred by the potential of company, and now reaches out. A low enthusiastic and hopeful moan escapes its throat, surprising Lanlan with a disarming punchline apparently, and he chuckles, quite suddenly. “It wants its mommy.” Then he sighs and draws out his dirt filled bulb on a string. The necklace that matched Valrae’s and protected him from the perception of the undead. “You still have yours, I hope,” he says, mischievously remembering how they earned their talismans and almost suppressing a small smile. And he waves at the gate, the lock becoming undone, and it frees them to walk where nobody else wants to.
Kanna was a ghoul of curiosities. She just could not bring herself to dispose of the tuxedo wearing monster that had stumbled its way into Gualon back in the spring. Now that she was done with her other projects, she could look closer into this creature so similar to her. It is why on this chilled Cenrilian night that she has taken the ghoul, now no more than a skeleton with a thin layer of blackened tissue, on this field trip of sorts. The ghoul has been dressed appropriately in a clean tuxedo, a facial mask covering his entire face save for his eyes to prevent casualty, and thick leather gloves on his hands which have been tied together and attached to a leash that Kanna holds. The necrobotanist herself is dressed in a soft pink pea coat that flares out at the hips like a skirt, with black tights and similarly soft pink boots visible beneath. Tuxedo Mask walks ahead of Kanna, and she allows him to lead her through the town that would be familiar to any human remnants in his mind. The zombie gives a raspy grunt, tugging at the restraints in the direction of the quarantine area. “Hold the gates, please!” She calls ahead as she sees two figures swing open the gates to the area of Cenril no one seems to want to acknowledge. With grey skin sunken around the eyes and silvery hair, it is clear that Kanna herself is undead as well, though the smile and wave of her free hand makes it abundantly clear that she is not quite like the monsters beyond the gate.
Valrae wrinkled her nose underneath her mask at the sound of Lanlan’s voice, even as a touch of relief relaxed the shoulders she hadn’t realized she’d tensed. She scoffs at him quietly, “Of all the things I might fear in the shadows, you are not one.” The witch punctuates this with a roll of her dark eyes, attempting at some of her old bite even if her playful tone betrayed the fondness for him that had eroded the grudge she’d been nursing for several years.
Her heels click behind him as he heads toward the gate, this path so familiar to her now that the juxtaposition of this threshold is nearly lost upon her. Not that she no longer cared, or even that the fire that ate at her belly and ached for change had died, but if only for the complacency that came from familiarity and habit. She stood to his right, only sparing him a long, hooded glance through her lashes at his comment about her “children”. It was true enough, they were less active. Quarantined as they were, the supply of ready victims for food and further population had been cut off. The number of helpful citizens, and other witches in her own coven even, had dwindled as much as hope for them had in the slow passing months. Cold and fear hadn’t lessened it’s grip here, no matter how much the rest of Cenril tried to contain it. Valrae nods. “There were… I’ve been feeding them what I can.” She looks to Lan again quickly, “Chickens. Spoiled meat from the butchers that will spare it.” Her stomach turns to say it. Dealing with this unfortunate and necessary upkeep of such a strange population had come at a great personal cost for her, the staunchly vegan and an-it-harm-none witch, but she’d done it because she believed she could bring them back. “But it isn’t enough. Some of them are still… Redying? Dying for real. They fall and they don’t get back up. We’ve started a pot’s field… Most of the graves are unmarked.” She laughs, the sound light and ringing like a bell, something too bright and too happy for the darkness and decay that they stood before, at Lan’s comment for the shuffling undead that eyed them. Mostly because it wasn’t too far from the truth. Most of them knew where their next unsatisfying meal would come from. As the gate swings open, Valrae pulls her own talisman from underneath her coat. “I’d be long dead without it.” It was hidden behind her mask but the witch had her own small reminiscent smile.
Kanna’s voice calling out to them sent Valrae back on edge. She turned quickly on her heel, her hand sliding into the pocket of her coat to find the oak wand she’d kept there. The witch planted her feet and stood between the unplanned stranger with the small, rotting city of the undead at her back. “Friend of yours?” She accuses Lan, sparing him a glare. When her eyes find Kanna again the first thing she notices, even before the sunken bones of Tuxedo Mask, was the coat she wore. She hoped the woman revealed herself to be a friend, rather than a foe, so that she could ask where the coat had been purchased. Warily, Val calls a greeting. “Hello, is there something we can do for you?” Her eyes move to the restrained undead. “If you’re looking for another pet you won't find one here.”
“Not even a little bit afraid?” And his eyes and smile are wide with dangerous mischief for Valrae. “Then I have you right where I want you.” His eyebrows curl up like devil horns on his head to add comic menace to his vague “threat”. And that look she gave him when he antagonized her about her babies--that’s why he does it. This time however, it backfires. The accuracy. The accuracy of his cheap jest was bewildering. “You’ve been...feeding. Them.” Where was the line anymore. His eyes are open and dead. Still he’s come a long way in being a friend. “How noble.” He’s practicing mindfulness, watching the creeper amble ever slowly toward them while she laments how they die despite her best and strangest and oddly affectionate efforts. She laughs, but Lanlan isn’t sure if it’s funny anymore. “Their real mothers wouldn’t even bring them chickens,” he assumes. “But what vexes even more, what vexes me so utterly, is--” They’re interrupted.
He narrows his eyes dubiously and bends his neck back toward the gate, toward the one who called them. Who would dare disturb the night’s majesty (and his friend Valrae)? From his sleeve, a magical looking cane seems to grow from nothing, and only stops growing when the hooked handle lands in his hand. Valrae has the situation handled perfectly. She doesn’t need his help. But Lanlan lifts the butt of the cane so it's just connecting with the bar of the gate, just enough tension to hold a penny in place and adding extra emotional support. Importantly, this also shows off the hot-rod flames graphic that decorates the black walking stick. For speed.
He takes one appraising look at Kanna, and then at Valrae. Discretely he whispers without even moving his mouth. Keeping a complete and stern stone-face. “No, I’m not scary. It’s the small women in pink coats that frighten you.” He made his joke, and he looks triumphantly back at Kanna. Then he realizes: “Both of you are also on the wrong side of the fence.” This wasn’t the strangest thing. The strangest thing was something he was reluctant to remark on, truth be told, since his lung was perforated due to an innocent misunderstanding that peaked with him being removed from the mage’s guild the -first- time...he chooses his words more carefully now, sometimes. Suffering to breathe taught him the folly of wasted words. But the way that man in particular was dressed. “Are you two…” he points to Kanna and Mr. Mask with his cane. “...On a date?”
The high winds from the sea deafen the hushed conversation of the unusual pair ahead of Kanna, but it seems to matter little to the woman. As she approaches, she instructs the walking corpse to behave. Surprisingly, it does lower its arms and shift its attention away from the living pair, instead staring straight ahead. “Oh no, he was dressed like this when I found him. I figure leaving it on will help with what we’re looking for here. Care to keep a lonely heart company?” She peers up at Valrae; even with the both of them wearing heels, Valrae was still slightly taller than her. “Oh my gosh, is that real seagoat wool? I love that!” The ghoul smiles as she makes her way past them as if they’re not entering the territory of the dead.
The streets are still unlit further down into the quarantined part of the city. From behind shuttered windows, the sobs of the grieving and dying can faintly be heard. The ghoul on Kanna’s leash lets out a raspy sound as it shuffles ahead of the trio. Kanna now walks slightly ahead of Valrae and Lanlan, fully aware she is interrupting something. Then again, so were they. It was absolutely mad for the living to willingly come into here, and she was curious herself what it was they were up to. Kanna slows to a stop in time with her tuxedo’d companion as he stops in front of a bulletin board that has been littered with missing person posters and sketches of the lost and possibly dead. “Of course, if you two are on a date, I’ll completely understand… Oh?” Taking notice of the ghoul staring at the board, her eyes widen, the cheery persona dropping for a moment. Kanna stares up at the ghoul intently, as if searching for a reaction. “Did something in you recognize one of these...?”
“Somehow, I doubt that.” Valrae quips almost teasingly, in reply to Lan’s statement that he’d had her where he wanted her. It was true enough though, she’d long stopped assuming the worst of him or fearing what his next move to betray her might be. Only time would reveal if that was a mistake. Somehow, even though the witch had accused him of inviting a third party without warning her, she’d suspected he would be just as surprised at the pink coated company and her overdressed companion. She had to accuse him for form… And fun. The conversation about Valrae’s upkeep of the roaming undead and what might be vexing Lan had officially been cut short.
“An excellent pink coat,” She replies, giving Lanlan another long side eye as she pulls her mask down. It had smudged the pink gloss she’d painted her lips with. Before Valrae could ask him what he’d meant by telling them they were both on the wrong side of the fence, Kanna was speaking. “Maybe he came from the Hallow’s Eve party?” She asks, her brow furrowing with thought as she glances back at Lan. Before she could look back, the stranger was walking beyond the both of them and through the gates. Valrae turned quickly again to follow her. “Oh I-” The witch laughs for a second time. “I was just going to ask where you’d gotten yours. I love the color.” Her dark eyes find Lan again. She hopes she can read the “What is happening” question she’s trying to telegraph toward him. “Nice cane by the way.”
“It’s nice to meet you? I’m Valrae and this is my… Friend Lanlan,” The witch offers introductions as she follows the two ghouls. “I’ve been coordinating the quarantine efforts here.” Valrae pockets her wand around the time they slow in front of the bulletin board of the missing and dead that she’d tried her hardest to avoid in the past. An ache opened up in her chest and crowded her throat. Grief swelled around her but Kanna’s voice cut through it. “We’re not on a-” before Val could finish clarifying, Kanna was speaking to Tuxedo Mask again. “Excuse me, but what exactly are you doing here anyway?”
Lanlan could recognize Valrae was beginning to trust him. Or maybe not this. Maybe it was that she didn’t regard him as dangerous as much. Though he would appreciate it if she did, maybe, surprisingly not as much as he would appreciate nearly being considered a friend by someone else. And someone who actually knew him. Not only what he presented. But he couldn’t say that, not out loud or in an ethereal whisper. Shouldn’t even think it. So he would appreciate the wariness on Valrae’s part, even if it was mostly out of habit. Made things easier.
The pet zombie advancing toward him also provided a transition away from a feeling he couldn’t address, and he defensively raises the butt of his cane to the zombie. Until Kanna directs it. And it obeys? “Do they sweat,” Lanlan wonders aloud when Kanna mentions he was already dressed like this. Just in case, Lanlan slowly exhales as the zombie nears him, creating a positive pressure environment that should prevent anything noxious from getting him. Then he pulls a handkerchief up to his mouth. He catches the look from Valrae. Was it paranoid to think Kanna could be their enemy if she seemed so affable? Lanlan decided to address it in his way. “Yes why don’t we join you? We can be the Lonely Hearts Quartet. And you’ll have to be the band leader, since I think you’re the only one he’ll listen to.” It sounded almost like an accusation. But it was his way of noting that she might either be an asset…or dangerous.
But then Lanlan notices something else. Valrae wouldn’t confirm or deny whether or not her coat was real seagoat wool! That meant it wasn’t! How embarrassing! “She doesn’t want to boast,” says Lanlan to the rescue, “But yes, it is, and crafted by the legendary Iintahquohae herself! She’s actually really lucky to have it.” Now Valrae’s dignity can remain intact. But they’ve all stopped at the bulletin board now, so Lanlan does too. He of course doesn’t recognize anyone. At last Valrae boldly asks the main question. Too boldly for Lanlan. You can’t just ask questions like that! Now she could simply lie. He chalked it up to her human tendencies. Like mayflies, they have no time for patience.
So he steps away, mumbling. “We went on a date once. One of us ended up sounding like an ass by the end of it…” He chuckles to himself. Then one of his eyebrows trembles, tickling his forehead. “Hmm. There’s magic being done somewhere. Is that strange for this area?” He slides a small cylinder from his sleeve, a kaleidoscope, and holds it to his eye. “Too weak for me to notice, almost,” he says, covering for the fact that he’s winging it every time he uses this thing.
As the tuxedo’d creature stares at the bulletin board, Kanna gives a quick glance at the surroundings to see if there might be movement in the decrepit town. Keeping up with the light conversation, she notes, “Ahh, I’ve heard of her gowns stealing the spotlight at balls, I’d -love- to get a genuine piece from her sometime.” Totems to the gods hang over doorways and windows that have yet to be boarded up. ‘Sven have mercy on us’ ‘Daedria’s Funeral Dirge’ ‘No one is coming to save you.’ Messages of hope and despair are scrawled across walls not yet littered with missing posters, eviction notices, or unread letters, some in paint, some in questionable materials.
Satisfied that the town square was devoid enough of prying ears, Kanna answers Valrae’s question first. With a smile and a bow of the head, she says, “My name is Kanna Tsuji. I’m a practicing necromancer in Vailkrin, and one of the first victims of this curse.”
Flickering her eyes to the drow with a coy smile, Kanna adds, “Yes, he does listen to my commands, but not the other necromancers. I’m trying to understand why that is. This one made his way to Gualon before I found him--” Turning back to Valrae, she adds quickly, “No one is infected in Gualon, though. We know he’s from Cenril since it was the only part of his identification card still legible.” The ghoul makes a low groan, prompting Kanna to step back and to the left, as if to shield the non-necromancers, and move a hand to her pocket as if to withdraw a weapon. “Ah…ee…” The ghoul makes the noise again, raising its hands to a portrait of a missing child. The name underneath has been stained by the elements, but ‘Audrey’ is still visible. Kanna’s eyes go as wide as saucers as she looks behind her to see if the others see what she thinks she’s seeing.
Valrae was too stunned to argue with Lan’s lies that her coat had been crafted by Iintahquohae and was in fact real seagoat wool, something that mattered very little to her. Her mouth hung open for a moment in a small, surprised ‘o’ before it moved quickly into the curve of a smile. Unable to resist, the witch replies in her most saccharine tone, “Despite my braying, it was somehow still you playing the role of an ass. Shame the curse still hasn’t worn off, isn’t it?” But the conversation moves beyond this, and Val’s own brows wing at Lan’s comment that magic is being done nearby. “I don’t feel anything…” She murmurs quietly, a twinge of embarrassment painting rosily on her cheeks. But perhaps the most shocking statement came next from Kanna. “This curse? You were inflicted with *this* curse?” Valrae looks between her and Tuxedo Mask, too polite to point out the most notable differences between the two. But her mind worked quickly, firing off in a million different directions as it tried to piece together the new information that it had been given. How could this fit into solving Cenrils undead problem? When Tuxedo Mask begins to make a noise and Kanna places herself between them, Valrae’s hand slips back into her pocket and closes around her wand. It’s not until she pieces together what, or who, he’s pointing too that she realizes it was another unnecessary move. “Oh gods…” She thought, not for the first time, she might be sick. And it had nothing to do with the smell.
Lanlan is very happy to inform Kanna, while maintaining a bleak facade, that: “Actually, Iintahquohae is dead. This was one of her final works. Regretfully, she was lost to us during the outbreak, and executed in the chaos thereafter.” He sighs deeply, mournfully. “As a result all of her past works have become treasures. I wish I’d gotten more but I only have a few such things to remember her by, my dear friend.” But that’s enough of that, the seed’s been planted. As far as Lanlan knew, Inks was in Frostmaw. And would be for a long time. “You were one of the first? Then you were at the costume party that night. This is the second time we’re all together.” Immediately this invites suspicion of her. He takes a nearly imperceptible step away from her. “And who’s commands do you follow?” Because Lanlan knew they were all created by his putrid enemy, and why? To spread. Far and wide. “And why do you keep your mind while his,” he drags a handkerchief from his pocket to his mouth and leans in close to Tuxedo. “...is wasted.” Or is it? It seems to be looking longingly at one faded poster. “Why this one in particular.” The low hanging fruit was that to this monster, Audrey looked the tastiest. But there were other drawings, other children. “There’s an orphanage in Gualon,” he says. “Could some of the urchins have been spirited away?”
Kanna tilts her head curiously, relaxing her stance. “Yes, the same curse. Quintessa, another necromancer I know, said that my magical energies--” She is careful not to mention that so did the ghouls she created during her period of madness, “--had the same exact signature as the ones dormant in these.” Lanlan had a healthy level of skepticism, and she could respect that. The news about the famed seamstress who created gowns befitting the Queen of Larket herself passing away was tucked away for later. No doubt someone would pay well for this information. “I follow no one’s commands, darling. Not unless you want to rent me.” Was that a wink? Following Lanlan’s gaze to the ghoul, she nods. “I thought so too. It seems certain emotions can overcome the rabid hunger. I was like him for a while, but I stumbled upon a souvenir from my time with a man who saved my life when I was human. Realizing that I had let my mind descend for too long to return the favor when he needed it most, the grief and the motivation to live for the both of us was enough to wake me up.” There were so many moving pieces, the fact he had been in Gualon, the missing poster that he reacted to, the recollection of how it was that she regained her memories… “Memories!” Kanna exclaims suddenly. The other ghoul gingerly tugs at the poster with gloved hands, skeletal fingers peeking through the fabric as he does so. “He has a strong connection to this child. You were right, Mr. Drow, he may have latched onto the thought that she was a refugee over there. Khitti was right, they might all be brought back. Oh my gods, I have to tell them.” Looking to Valrae again, she seems as giddy as a child on Yuletide. “I have to report this to the Necromancer’s Guild, this might fall under Visceromancy!”
Valrae is shocked into silence for a second time and chokes out a small cough. There was a moment of dismay before the threads of doubt wrapped tightly around it, strangling it before it could cloud her eyes. “Lan…” She says his name once, a warning or a plea not even she knew. But was now really the time to argue with her guildmate? Besides, he’d gone on to fling accusations at Kanna now. All questions she’d been too polite to ask. She wrinkles her nose at them and the man asking them now. “Don’t call them urchins!” She finally snaps, swatting at him without any real effort. “Tessa? You know her?” Valrae looks from Kanna to Lanlan. A familiar name didn’t automatically qualify her as trustworthy, but it was a start. Valrae pull her hand from her pocket and wrestles with a strange, uncomfortable and unnamed emotion that rears when Kanna… Flirts with Lan. She wrinkles her nose again. “How did you…?” Kanna is already sharing her story. Val listens carefully and arrives at the same conclusion nearly the same moment their new ghoul friend gasps it aloud. “This is what we’ve been looking for!” Val reaches out to Lan again, giving him a quick squeeze on the arm. She’s not sure why she does it. “Wait, wait-” Kanna’s enthusiasm was infectious, Valrae finds herself mirroring. “I’ve been searching for some magic to bring them back. If you’re going to Tessa, or whoever, could we come with you?” She’d used the royal “we” without really consulting Lan. A pained look crosses her face. “These are my people. I’m ready to try anything to bring them back to us.”
Lanlan didn’t know what to do now that she mentioned Quintessa’s name. Did she hear that Kasyr was exiled? This is a strange assassin if so. Unless, judging by that wink and the strange proposition preceding it, she was sent to make him…uncomfortable. For a moment he’s tempted to be graceful out of spite! …But where would that lead. Instinctually, he looks over his shoulders to see if a certain Matron of the Underdark could somehow be watching. Above his head, an eye in the sky? She can scry. “That’s a great–thank you but. I’m already rented, so. I mean…” Luckily the conversation moves beyond this, though it only took half a century for it to do so. “But-but, you know Quintessa! And Khitti! Oh All of us, we’re…great friends? Right? Valrae?” Honestly they could be, at this point keeping track of who hated Lanlan and who didn’t was impossible. He would know when he sees them next. “And call me Lanlan, please.” Hearing “Mr. Drow” thrown at him turned his face sour. As if he’d forgotten. And what’s wrong with his use of the word urchin? He just grins as she swats him harmlessly, and only flinches a little. “Valrae, that’s what they’re called. Baby bears are cubs, geese are goslings, humans are urchins. It’s just…it’s the word isn’t it?” What else would you call them. Don’t call him a drow though, he left them behind. But he wouldn’t abandon his -new- people, no, he’s forcing them to adopt him in short order. “Of course we can!” Says Lanlan answering for Kanna. “We’re in this together now! We started it together at the party, after all. I think it’s, it must be destiny.” There’s a glint in his eye as he looks over the horizon, past the dingy houses plastered shut by decrepit bloodstained planks of wood. “Of course we can, right? Let me just get something first. And I’ll meet you back here?” He’ll be quick. Just Kasyr’s jar of filth. And some clothes…what’s trendy in Vailkrin this time of year? Probably feed the salamander Ina won’t do it unless she’s told…He’ll be back eventually.
Kanna, blissfully unaware of who was and was not on the ‘I Hate Lanlan’ bandwagon, perks at hearing that they are friends of her guildmates. “Ah… ee….” The ghoul says again, making a move to leave. Kanna puts a hand on his back, quelling him for the moment. Kanna lets out an awkward laugh at the urchin confusion. She was frequently called an urchin in another life, but maybe it wasn’t the most polite term. She looks up at him to gauge whether he’s serious or not, but is distracted by Valrae’s enthusiasm. “Of course! The others will be so excited to have company!” They wouldn’t. “I guess if you already know each other, there’s no need to send an advance notice.” There was a need. Kanna gives a nod to Lanlan to acknowledge his request to grab something before they leave for Vailkrin. “Of course! You guys have fun!” She says, turning back to examine the rest of the posters. How many of these persons were still alive, able to be brought back from madness like she was?
“Child, Lan. She’s just a child. Urchin is offensive.” The witch rolls her eyes at the drow and fights the answering smile from her own lips. Her eyes roll again when Lan mentions destiny. She was a witch, but she’d left fanciful ideas like destiny and fate go around the time Larket lit her up like a torch. If the universe had carved a path at her feet, surely she’d strayed from it the moment dark magic had been used to orchestrate her rebirth. And standing in the desolation of Cenril’s curse, it seemed almost cruel to imagine that so much suffering could have been made by design. “I’ll need to fetch a few things myself and let the sitter know. Should we meet back here at the gates?” When it seemed that was agreeable, Valrae said her goodbyes to Kanna and headed back off with Lanlan. “It will be good to see Khitti and Tessa again,” She comments as they walk into the night.