RP:Her Dark Materials

Part of the Restoration of Lithrydel Arc

This is a Healer's Guild RP.

Summary: Thamalys manages to interrupt a rather ominous ritual Celaeno is about to perform. Avian and Necromancer engage in a - very - tense dialog that soon escalates into tricky illusions and awful deceit. The Ageless Black itself is conducting the dance - and nothing good ever comes out of the treachery of an ancient Dragon. At the end, the pair is left with a lot to ponder - and Cenril with yet another blow of powerful magic sweeping through the town.

Cenril: Breathtaking Cliff

Celaeno took deep breaths as she knelt well away from the edge of that cliff. A basic containment circle had been drawn out on a white cloth in front of her, its reversed sigils copied from the design laid out in the Minor Book of the Dead laid out beside it. She had memorized certain passages in the thing but not enough that she didn’t still need it for reference. A starfish, bleached stiff by laying out in the dry sands for too long at in the middle of the circle, not a rune or character drawn upon it. One might collect such things if they had a mind to. In essence, though, it boiled down to a skeleton, a corpse in the half-elf’s sunken eyes, dark circles thick under them. Her robes were newer, more recently purchased, yet still the black color she preferred. A few vials of healing potion were laid out beside her little ritual. She could do this. She had practiced enough, even with the necrotic aura that would assault her organs the moment she started. If she could raise something small while resisting that taint, she could work to something larger, something more humanoid. A deep breath, then she begins to chant an elementary incantation, “Corporis animati.” Her gauntlets hover over the starfish, sunlight winking off the silver as she poured her energy into the hungry, waiting figure. Skin, muscle, sinew, bone. Filling the fish to the brim as her chest started to ache and blood dribbled from her nose and the corners of her mouth.

Thamalys soared from the chasm much like a forgotten creatures of old, climbing the murky air as if driven by a deathly force. Those huge wings of his, unfurled to carve a silvery shadow into the sky, swooped the wind in one fluid motion, bringing the flesh of the Blue onto the very edge of the cliff - heels first. The rest of the Avian would have followed, crouching on the rocky ground before, slowly, almost unwillingly, beginning to fold his wings soon after, those solid blue eyes nailed on the soil only. Clearly, the Spellblade was at that time planning to avoid anyone’s sight while re-entering the salty-smelly City: barefooted as per usual, he just sported some old, battered leathery pants, the rim of a quite mauled shirt - possibly black, but dirty enough to have left the benefit of the doubt - swaying across the tattooed chest of the Winged Beast. For once, though, the impossibly long dreadlocks, white as ivory, decorating the cranium of the Blue, were bound together by means of a complex lacing of dark strings - resulting in a monstrous comb perching from the bony face of the Healer. In his right hand, two hares - obviously dead. The last thing the Avian expected was that skinny shape apparently seeking shelter from whatsoever onlooker - and presently intent to do… what exactly? || Oh, do we have another one? Fascinating… || Would have noted in perfect silence the Ageless Black, while the Blue - blatantly ignoring his draconic counterpart - would have carefully moved a few steps toward circle and mage both. No way the Blue could have make sense of the feature of the half-elf for now. In addition, there was a tense stillness in the air, a shadowy aura the Winged Beast knew well - and liked very little. The uttering of the enchantment did no really help either, so that the pace of the Spellblade picked up while inquiring. “It would seem I am interrupting quite something, yes?” flatly states the Healer, in a voice colder than ice, still holding those two animals in his left hand.

Celaeno dimly sensed the shadow the spellblade cast over her and her project as he approached. The avians she had met, if those wings in the shape were any indication, she could count on one hand. Was it one of them? Still, stopping mid ritual wasn’t a choice, manners be damned. She keeps her inhales and exhales controlled as she continues to chant, and she only paused enough to lift a single finger in signal to wait a moment, if he cared to. Her power flowed into the dried up husk, the taint spreading over her lungs and her stomach. “Corpor-” A cough as the heaving took hold, her blood blotting the sea star. “Corporis animati.” Stubborn to the last as the last bit of power filled the dead container, those little limbs began to twitch, writhing little by little with dormant memories of what they once did in life. A bright smile erupts over the young mage’s face before she can’t hold the coughing fits back anymore and she grips her stomach with one arm, hiding her mouth in the crook of her other elbow. “M-merely...practicing.” She knew that voice, and could place the scene, who he had been with, and that lovely introduction to the library at Schezerade. But a name...She fumbled for one of those healing potions before the retching would start. “N-Nice to see you….again...Sir Tham-” That was all she managed before her body’s rebellion interrupted anew.

Thamalys had no choice but too wait for the Necromancer to be done with it - he could see that awful magic was taking quite a toll on the half-elf, but knowing a thing or two about enchantments himself, he did not dare to break the spell. Instead, he limited himself to mutter some not really meaningful swearwords in an undertone, while witnessing that thin body being pushed to the very limit. That was some dedication indeed - he could understand that - but to what end? The Blue did not have to wait long, the small starfish blazing into life anew - the Spellblade knew immediately the gravity of that feat, the reach of the half-elf, the inconceivable horror, to his eyes, that was being perpetrated just in front of his eyes. His first instinct would have been to set the whole of the cliff ablaze - damned be those Necromancer and their deathly games. But then, he nervously glanced over his left arm. Still weak, but now free from the Druid’s Curse - thanks to a certain Ice Genasi, and a young Necromancer as well. “By the Wind…” just went the Avian, slowly encircling the space where the spell took place to reach the vomiting figure of the Magician. Along his way, with a single twist of his right wrist, he summoned a cascade of liquid blue fire, which would have engulfed the once-more-time-alive echinoderm into a wall of flames - not on his watch. “ Practicing!” howled the Blue, with one hand offering a sturdy support for the half-elf to rely upon, at that stage positioned a single step from her left side, with the other one letting go of the two dead leporids and fetching one of the many vials hidden in his leathery cross body bag, securely strapped on his back. “Celaeno, that was your name, wasn’t it? Would have I knew what did you intend to use those old books for, I would have slaughtered you on the doorsteps of the Library myself! And for what? Look at you…” he noted, disgust dripping from every word, while trying to silently convince the Necromancer to wolf down the viscous, greenish content of said vial - not a poison that was, but an actually quite rare concoction reserved for fairly dramatic scenarios. If allowed, the Avian would have lifted the half-elf from the ground, only to force her to lay down still for a while. “You barely survived this… was it really worth it, I wonder…” sort of pondered the Blue aloud. A few steps away, the starfish would have been reduced to a tiny pile of smoking ashes.

Celaeno , unfortunately didn’t have much time to be disappointed in the untimely true-death of her little creation. Her first success! Despite the way the taint flared in retaliation to the feat, she couldn’t help the proud smile, teeth stained in red as they were. She reserved her answer, to his final question, a resounding yes. As she began to sway she was eager enough to take the avian’s steadying arm as she mutters a quick, “Th-Thank you.” Another coughing fit, no red-tinted bile coming out this time, though her complexion had sallowed significantly. “I...I have n-not abused a-any privileged information. N-nor have I h-harmed anything already living. I-I have no machina—” Another cough. Too complex a word. “No plans to d-do so.” The potion makes her freeze, the woman staring at it, seeing beyond the potion before another spasm racked her. “What...what is that?” The disgust in his voice made her look twice, seeming very much a frightened girl rather than some mighty practitioner of the dark arts. Perhaps she had been poisoned once before.

Thamalys shook his head in mild disbelief. He used to recall Necromancers were supposed to be wretched leftovers of the magical society, resentful dark creatures bound to evil down to their very last fibre. And yet, for the second time in a matter of weeks, the Blue had to face a quite differently reality. Once again, there was very little malice in there - just pride, and… skill, he would have had to admit that. “So… you are practicing this sort of magic out of mere curiosity? I would never understand you wingless people…” sighed the Avian, nonetheless strengthening his hold on the half-elf, still quite shaken. “In any case, drink up - this is mixture of elderflower, black sage and dryad’s blood. It will give you back your strength within a single heartbeat. In fact, chances are you would feel empowered to the utmost extent… for a few hours, at least. You could try with something bigger, perhaps…” wondered the Spellblade, hopefully at that stage uncorking the vial already, “… one of these hares, maybe? But - not - in the middle of the day, not where innocent eyes can see you! By the Wind, do you think the Guard would just let you walk away while casually practising Necromancy in broad daylight? At least your colleague had the decency to hid herself in a cavern…” pointed out sharply the Winged Beast, not yet letting go of the trembling magician.

Celaeno glanced between him and the vial, hesitating once again. Sweat broke out on her forehead, a combination of nerves and her present weakness. She took the vial from him when he uncorked it, if he didn’t insist on pouring it down her mouth himself. Either way, the potion would find itself down her throat. Despite a bad history, the new landed had rebuilt her broken trust in others bit by bit. Whether that regained naivete would be for good or ill remained to be seen. Pride of the youthful kind drove it, perhaps, but if the concoction did as he claimed, the lacerations upon her lungs, the oozing cuts upon her stomach lining, would seal and the woman’s complexion seeming to come back to its tawny shade all at once. Those dark circles might even lighten under her eyes as she felt her energy renewed. It’s then she would address him, recovered again. “I...You still have my thanks. My reasons are my own, but I assure you, they are not to harm any innocents.” She had a specific victim in mind, the furthest thing from what she described, but that would remain unsaid. “But is curiosity such a bad motive? Knowledge is only dangerous as what it is used for.” Her eyebrows furrow together as he speaks of her colleague, though. Certainly not the senior members of the guild… “Do you speak of Miss Genevieve or Raevyn? But I thought only Larket persecuted magical practitioners for practicing a craft…”

Thamalys canted his head to the side, making sure every last drop of the potion would have found its way down the throat of the half-elf. Indeed, the costly liquid would have given back the magician some colour - and an awful lot of strength. “Careful, now… you are feeling invincible now, but your body will need time to heal properly nonetheless… do not be fool by what your head is telling you - no potion can mend such damage so quickly…” said the Blue in a whisper, this time, eventually, letting go of the now very-well-standing-by-herself-alone Necromancer. Taking one step back from her, the Avian threw the empty vial into to the abyss - no sound at all followed. The Black would have laughed at the words of Silverhands - perhaps a part of him knew better than trusting the promises of somebody so keen to play with life and death. Notwithstanding, the merry mood of the Ageless One would have not impacted the thoughts of the Blue - not yet, not by much. “As for your question, I cannot answer…” he admitted the Avian, scratching his pale cheek with a bony finger, “… we seek knowledge for a reason, we learn for a scope. And none of the motivations leading anyone to learn this magic of yours make me comfortable.” A little hesitation, then, the moment the half-elf revealed the existence of a third one. || Three is company, aye? || chuckled the Black. Trying at any cost to keep the straightest face he could muster - not an impossible task - the Blue pressed on. “Genevieve. You two know each other? I… I am indebted to her and her skills. Her - craft - as you would say. It is true, Larket would have you hanged in a moment, but do not underestimate the Cenrilians. This place is built on the deeds of fat merchants and spoiled younglings - nobody wants to see dead creatures coming back to life.” A silly - or not? - thought made his way into the mind of the Spellblade then. “This craft. Can you work it backward? Could you - take - as opposed to - give - life? Would it cost you the same toll?” His turn to be curious, or thus it would have seemed. And yet, Avians always had a purpose to fulfil… each word a scope, each move a strategy.

Celaeno relishes the satisfaction of being truly awake and well rested, however temporary it was. She glances toward the ash left of her successful starfish, the triumphant grin returning as she tucks her gauntlets in the sleeves of her robe. For the first time since she had begun her studies, she felt that she had earned her title and rank. It put her one step closer to her goal… However unspoken it was. She cranes her head up to keep better eye contact with the avian, her chest warm and nerves renewed. Then the moment seemed to break some as she winces, rubbing her temple as if she had suddenly the most dire headache. Part of her motivations happened to be lecturing her in much the same way as Thamalys’ unseen presence gave his own dose of commentary. The third name would certainly have the avian uneasy if he knew who she connected to, yet that was not Celaeno’s business to say as she recovers from the migraine of a fussy spirit. “I...will take your words to heart then. I suppose this place cannot be entirely different from where I hail from, no matter how much more advanced it seems.” That did make the warm bubble falter some, but her gears turned, distracting her from the implications she might have to hide more. Oh how she was tired of hiding… She taps her chin, that silver finger rattling with the motion. “I’m sure that is very possible, leeching life from a living being to an undead one. In my particular case...my condition is not common from what I’ve seen. What you saw was something that was inflicted on me by another.” That less pleasant part of her motivation… “But I’m sure, like all magic, it would cost a toll. Everything about the arcane requires some level of balance in that way.”

Thamalys appeared quite confused. “Inflicted on you by another? What do you mean?” asked the Blue, eyes reduce to slits. Shortly after that enquiry, though, without necessarily waiting for an answer he sit on the dusty ground, crossing those impossibly long legs. “Very well, then. Out of curiosity, and for the sake of knowledge… try. With me. The dryad’s blood will not allow you falter - drain me. Fear not, my ink will tell you when to stop…” ominously pointed out the Avian, removing his shirt in a single, fluid motion, to lay down - apparently quite relaxed - eyes nailed into the sky above, breathing slowly. The icy-shaped tattoos rested almost still, slowly crawling on that pale skin like a whole nest of dark snakes. Even the Black stood silent, mightily bewildered by that rather exotic request. What was the Blue up to?

Celaeno held up one of her gauntlets and wiggled rune-carved fingers in reference. Not much clearer, to be sure, even after she offers an explanation: “The very same one who took these. It is a long story.” His abrupt request had her dumb struck, cheeks going red, not quite at the sight of his shirt being removed--though she did have a thorough stare at those tattoos, wondering if they were magically imbued like she suspected or he simply liked vines that much. No, it was the suddenness of such an experimental procedure. “I…” The half-elf halted, any adequate explanation caught in her throat. Out of all of the basics she had been studying, none referenced how exactly to drain the life out of a creature (just short of traditional methods involving poison, blades, or other less pleasant means). It seemed like there was a line presented in front of her, waiting for her to cross it. If pushing the hungry necrotic energy into a corpse revived it, drawing from her own life energy, it would most likely have the opposite effect on a living one… “I am grateful for your help, not unwilling to test this on you, so long as you are comfortable with it.” She narrowed her eyes, a small edge of suspicion in her voice. “I hope you understand if I do not immediately jump to it without knowing a bit of your purpose as well. You say it’s for knowledge’s sake...but what do you hope will happen? Is this a test or do you seek a particular outcome, or is it truly only curiosity like us non-winged folk?”

Thamalys raised a single eyebrow - the right one, if you must know… - in response to the odd reference to the long story quoted by the Necromancer. “Perhaps, one day, you will tell me more about it…” sort of sighed the Blue, shifting more or less comfortably on the ground to find the perfect spot. Meanwhile, SilverHands was questioning the Spellblade’s offer - something the Winged Beast did not fail to notice. || She’s like the other one… they have some boundaries, but they will shatter them all in the name of their bloody curiosity… || proclaimed in perfect silence the Healer, triggering a rancorous laughter of the Black. Crossing his legs as well as his hands, the latter beyond the mass of his dreadlocks, the Blue looked as peaceful and relaxed as one could have been, presently following with his eyes the flight of a few seagull shrieking up high in the sky. “A bit of everything you said, I guess - but fear not, there is no right or wrong, here. Just an opportunity. Now, go on, before we lose daylight - and do not hold back, I have quite some stashes of stamina to tap from, if needed… give it your best shot, Necromancer!” merrily encouraged the Spellblade, waiting for her to strike, hopefully as hard as possible - who knew? Crimson as freshly spilled blood, the sun was about to dive into the flickering horizon of the sea ahead of them - perfect.

|| Celaeno || “I can only promise my best attempt, not my all, given that I am still only a student and I am not willing to risk my life over an unplanned experiment. Should you wish to witness the power from a fully fledged master, I’d recommend contacting my masters in the guild. You have voiced that you understand the risks of such an endeavor and consent, nay demand to be a test subject anyways. Anything that happens will be brought about with this in mind. Do you understand, sir?” With that disclaimer out of the way, should he confirm he understood, she nonetheless proceeded with the attempt. In theory, she could focus the necrotic energy on him just fine, but she wouldn’t want it wandering out too far since she was new to controlling it well enough to cast. A security precaution was laid out instead, the young woman snapping her fingers and a small ball of flame appearing at the tip of her gauntlet’s pointer finger. She uses it as he would a pen, drawing out neat sigils in the air and circling them them around the avian upon the ground in a wide enough area so as not to singe his wings. The flames would super heat and make controlled burns on the stone upon which he sat. A quick and dirty containment circle, should it not go interrupted. And should his potion continue to act as he claimed, her chest went without pain, breathing steady and sure despite the irritated taint upon her lungs. If all of that did not go awry, she pushed the first of the dark energy into her quickly summoned circle, igniting it with a similar aura meant to keep further necrotic magic inside. She turns quickly to the incantation section of her little manual, biting her lip as she skimmed a reference that would only take a few minutes. It spelled out no answers for reverse engineering the advanced technique. Perhaps the reverse of the basic one she had been using? But that wouldn’t work as a focus for a body that was already animated, and she wanted to siphon his energy and weaken him, not completely deanimate him as the reverse would imply. So long as her organs stayed in tact from the potion’s effects… She closed her eyes and focused the hungry energy toward the spellblade. “Vita navitas relinquo,” she tried, and should the spell go as planned, Thamalys would gradually feel his life force leaking out from his pores bit by bit, like sweating on a hot day, at least at first...

Thamalys nodded his agreement, apparently without second thoughts at all: “understood - proceed…” would have just uttered with a small sigh. Too bad the Blue was not in a position to witness the flaming summoning of the Necromancer - that would have been a nice conversation starter for another day, most likely. Or not, time would have told. The potion did not betray nor the flash nor the stamina of SilverHands, who would have probably felt as if a whole number of unexplored possibilities in terms of magical skills would have just materialised out of thin air. Eventually, the first tendrils of the enchantment would have connected with the Spellblade. The latter felt quite blissed, at first, a soft feeling not dissimilar from what one would typically experience during a bloodletting. The ink at the very core of the Healer’s strength would have immediately rushed to counteract the drainage - if only the Avian would have allowed it. Instead, not without an effort, the Blue steeled himself to let wave upon wave of vital energy abandon his body, a good fraction of said strength possibly harnessed by the Necromancer directly. Were the two looking at a perfect one-to-one yield, or perhaps some of that energy escaped the magic of Silverhands? The Spellblade could not tell. In fact, by then the Blue was starting to feel dangerously sleepy - as expected. || You could have warned me, Silly… || protested the Ageless Black, for once quite enthusiastic about the ongoing experimentation. || You sure she can cope with me? || chuckled soon after the ancient creature, already forcing the Avian to close his eyes. Suddenly, and most likely well before Celaeno would have anticipated her magic to be of any danger for the Avian, the latter exhaled a long breath and stood perfectly still, pale as dead. In fact, he was not breathing at all, the ink on his skin absolutely immobile, his eyes shut. Most creatures in Lythridel would have pronounced him dead. Most, but a Necromancer? The Avian was gone, hidden in some remote corner of his own mind, but a much more powerful aura swept the whole place soon after. Flames would have flickered, the circle itself would have been under quite some strain indeed. Red irides laid below those eyelids, ready to witness the reaction of the magician to that sudden accident that threatened to ruin the Cenrilian quiet oh-so badly.

Celaeno hadn’t thought to siphon off the strength from the avian to herself--professional courtesy would be her excuse, but not thinking to apply the experiment to such a purpose would be the truth of the matter. Spontantanaety was not one of the girl’s strong suits, nor was intuition. Typically this experiment should have been thought out first, meticulously planned with all factors accounted for. As it was, the majority of his energy went to waste, some flowing into the new necromancer, but most dissipating into the open air as her dark magic ran amok through his system. As his living aura gradually dissipated, she bit her lip, debating whether to cut off the magic prematurely. How much longer would his potion’s effects last? How would the vines inked on him indicate when he neared the point of danger and she should cease? All the uncertainties crept with her doubts as the hungry spell lapped away at his essence. He was starting to droop… She gritted her teeth and sucked the magic back in, cutting off her chanting and throwing her concentration into disarray. But it was too late as he remained perfectly still, pale. Yet...he didn’t pop up on her senses? Not even remotely as a corpse that called out to her freshly harnessed power? Despite the dryad’s blood mix, she panted some with the concentration it took. She could continue, yet she feared for the end of her stamina and what consequences that might bring. “Mister Thamalys?” The half-elf takes an uncertain step forward. Had this been her first kill? The first price of her pursuit of these new powers? Yet… The flames scratching at her containment circle pushed. It wasn’t necrotic magic exactly, but of a similar twisted vein, one that reminded her far too much of others that she had encountered. She steps back, closer toward the cliff’s edge. With her aided vigor, she snapped, producing a small streak of arcane fire and started tracing more conventional spell work in the air at a far more rapid pace than she had set up the ritual, runes to be exact. She would never forget her origins as an enchanter, after all, and one by one those memorized combinations similar to those scrawled all over her left gauntlet surround the containment circle, reinforcing the barrier with another layer meant to prevent any physical beings and materials from escaping, its strength matching the limits of her magical stamina at that point in time, however long that might last. Just in time as an audible crack reverberated from the original field. “Fiddlesticks...Either this had bizarre ramifications or you neglected to tell me something very important. I’m suspecting the latter…What’s going on?” Would it be as easy as asking? Part of her didn’t think so, and wished more than anything she could swim with that wide ocean beyond the edge she crept toward.

Thamalys, or better, Korkhoran The Black in full, at that point in time, would have shattered the first layer of magical restraints with the same ease an ogre would have smashed a glass into a wall. The air would have flickered and burned, the enchanted hemisphere encircling the body of the Blue turning solid for a moment, only to break soon after into huge slates of flaming dark stone, thrashing into the very ground like a mass of gigantic knives. Slowly, the Avian arose on his feet, crimson eyes greedily devouring the scene. “I am afraid he won’t be able to address your enquiry, Miss…” a voice deeper than the night begun, a disturbing grin surfacing on the bony face of the Winged Beast. Enjoying every single step, the Ageless Dragon manoeuvred the body of the Spellblade toward the Necromancer - only to encounter some more resistance in the form of yet another magic. “Oh…” chuckled the ancient creature, clearly very much pleased. “Very well, then, I shall question you behind your runes, Little One - perhaps that would make you more comfortable?” a horrible laughter would have followed, while the Half-Elf would have felt the weight of the whole sky on her shoulders, an enormous push toward the ground that would have only stopped whether and when she should have indeed get seated on the Cenrilean soil somehow. “Now then, where were we? Ah yes… how far will she go - asked me that silly bird. We shall see, we shall see… say, what if I told you could harvest some of - my - magic, something as old as Lythridel, something beautifully lethal, something that will make you stronger that most?” continued the Black, twisting the arm of the Blue while whispering something only him truly heard. And yet, the Necromancer would have then been invested by visions so grand and perfect, promises of utter power, the opening of possibilities no magician could have even dreamed on. “You just have to push yourself a bit further… just a little more…” assured the Black, an actual tendril of pure shadow blossoming from the right hand of the Blue and promptly piercing the runes as if they were made of nothing, slowly but steadily marching through the air toward the Half-elf. “What say you, Celaeno? I read vengeance in your heart, and a desire for things to end. - I - am the one who can write the end of anyone’s story, for you… - just go ahead and drain this stupid bird a tad further, yes?” Dragons. Old creatures, quick with words and promises. But this One was older than Lythridel, and his speech would have rang with absolute truth to many…

“Then you address it, sir,” the young half-elf says through gritted teeth. She had experiences with another alter ego before, with an insidious reputation. Oh if the Black had only known this particular girl’s childhood fascination with his reptilian kind, he might have opened his argument with something a tad more revealing to sway her, yet how could he have known? The first barrier shattered like limp paper for all it was a basic spell meant for elementary restraint. Her physical barrier trembled even as he bumped it, making the woman wince, despite all the extra energy Thamalys-proper’s potion had given her. The throbbing headache she suddenly had, tied to the dark aura pulsing around her wrist did not help her situation. Suddenly her spirit was at war within her own body with an all too well meaning presence of her own, but that was neither here nor there just yet. Her knees trembled and crumbled under the weight of his unseen force. Those silver palms hardly caught her, their vambraces bending wrong and digging into her forearms. More soreness to add to the mix. Those slightly pointed ears perked at his musing as she listened. A bargain, was it? Tempting prospects fill her mind, of fulfilling that very vengeance of another who dealt with devils and lopped off her hands, of overcoming her peers within the Necromancer’s guild and the lot of them kneeling in awe, punishing a vile menace who threatened one she held dear… To say she didn’t consider it would be a bald-faced lie. However, alongside that lust for power lurked another force: pride. It reared its head far stronger in those of her relatively few years, especially by comparison. That all of those achievements would be credited to another’s power rather than her own, that deep down she would know herself to be a sham… “You must assume me to be an imbecile to think I would be naive enough to take all of these assurances at face value without so much as an introduction.” To blindly accept such things from one who raised her was one thing, but a total stranger, no matter how much his promises drew her to a more figurative cliff’s edge... She glanced to her gauntlets as a reminder of what that kind of trust had gotten her last time. With that she would attempt to stand if that pressure let up, arrogant as it might seem. And despite that she spoke with a measured tone, every word carried a strange edge to it. “With all due respect, whatever that may be, you’ll have to try a mite harder than that.”

Thamalys’ mind was still squarely confined within the shadowy realms of the Black, presently in full control of the Avian’s flesh - and magic alike, albeit his very presence would have been more than enough to taint even the ink running across the skin of the Blue. The body of which would have been perfectly still, while the Ageless Beast pondered the words of the Necromancer. “A picky customer is what are we dealing with, no doubt… good!” he acknowledged the Dragon, those crimson eyes nailed on the Half-elf. “You see, Little One, you think yourself concerned with the grandeur of life and death, but what I could gift you with is bigger than all that. The strength of the Black Blood stands not in sheer power…” begun the Ancient, while that blackish tendril originating from the Blue’s hand would have sticked onto the invisible surface dictated by the runes of the Necromancer, swiftly percolating throughout the whole of the enchanted network, effortlessly encompassing the whole of it in less than a split second. A moment after, and with a horrid thud that protection would have been reduced to ashes. Then, and only then, what once was the Spellblade would have dashed toward the Necromancer, brandishing a long scimitar apparently made of pure shadows into his right hand, too quick for anybody or anything in Lythridel to be stopped. Whatever the reaction of the Necromancer, said blade would have swung with awful precision into the glimmering air, connecting or not with the flesh of the Half-elf… suddenly, it mattered no more. An impossible high-pitched sound descended onto that Cenrilian place, something so sharp and unworldly even the birds up high in the sky would have turned away from - time would have seemed to pause for a moment and the whole sky went dark. In the space of a mere instant, though, the darkness vanished, leaving… the Blue. Only, still as dead, in th very middle of the circle, laying on his back, as if… as if he never actually moved. Eyes shut, no blackish tendrils protruding from his hand, both the runes and the circle crafter by the Necromancer perfectly intact. Eventually, a voice would have spoken - but the lips of the Spellblade did not move accordingly. “As I was saying…” chuckled the Black from some deep pit of hellish conscience buried within the Healer, a voice that the Necromancer only was bound to hear, “… life and death are for the weak. I could give you the tools to bend minds, to tailor reality as you know it… what is the simple pleasure of make your foes suffer if compared with the ability of convincing them of everything you desire? Almost anything has boundaries… not myself, though, not the Black Blood, and, if only you would care to push yourself a bit more to drain this silly bird for me… not even you. My name is Korkhoran, the Ageless Black - and with my name, boundless possibilities unravel. I would - not - ask you again, little one… would you go ahead and kill this pitiful winged being? Or do you want me to try a bit harder, perhaps?” hard to discerner the last sentence, though, as a primordial laughter would have filled the thoughts of the Necromancer, possibly already quite confused. An illusion, then? The broken circle, the red eyes, the black tendril… just a byproduct of the Black’s skill? A red sunset was approaching, staining the horizon with a shade of scarlet. How apt…

|| Celaeno || “Wary is the word I’d use. You have been entirely blunt about your nature, as if that honesty is supposed to sway me.” Celaeno had studied mental defenses some, enough that she had some shields around her mind engraved on the underside of her gauntlets at all times, but they were far too basic to prevent that visual assault or keep out the ancient presence’s voice projecting into her head. The attack came in the blink of an eye, at one moment staring up at the Avian as her shields crumbled and the pain of such lanced through her--however believed it was rather than genuine--the next with a shadowy blade slicing across her chest! Then...gone, the vision shattered, her heart hammering a league a second. By this point fear had mixed with insult, crowding the temptation all the further away. Had this been another vision brought on by her last encounter with a malevolent presence? Was the avian tainted in some way or her studies actually driving her mad bit by bit? Not for the first time in her short career as a Necromancer, she longed for the safety of those libraries with their mazes of shelves and knowledge neatly printed rather than taking effect right before her eyes. The offer came again, a very real thread of voice coursing through her mind along already crowded psychic channels. Oh no… She sensed the incoming migraine only a moment before it hit her, head pulsing as a voice very much like her own, but rougher with the vocabulary of a sailor and the blunt morality of a knight flooded that connection, perhaps seeking to drive the foreign presence out. “Get outta her head, so help me I’ll hunt you down m’self and kick your tainted Black arse from here to the high heavens!” As well as other, more colorful variations of this threat bombarded Korkhoran from the spirit sharing Celaeno’s body, she could hardly make out the booming voice's words between all that commotion. Had he any sense of such dead entities, he would definitely sense that they shared a similar essence, like a single soul split into two, much as identical twins seemed to have. Meanwhile, the dark aura from around Celaeno’s wrist of her own making pulsed harder, threatening to break as the suppression charm was pushed to its limits. She had to do something...otherwise she might find herself a prisoner in her own body. She uses the last of the dryad blood to fuel her next bright idea, pressing her own hand to her chest and focusing the spell she’d just tried on Thamalys inward on that excess of life essence that fueled her. Stringing the connection between what she had already established in his near lifeless form that had her power lingering over it still and her own body didn’t take much of an intellectual leap. It was all she could think of, however, to banish that damned thing back into what she imagined to be its prison: wake the host back up so he could be contained. In essence, necromancy was belated healing, after all. The side effects, though...well that remain to be seen how dire those might be, as might the wrath of such an evident rejection.

Thamalys’ thoughts utterly failed to acknowledge the drama unravelling between the Dragon and the Half-elf. In fact, at that stage it would have seemed that yet another player somehow managed to enter into the equation. That occurrence, the Black did not anticipate indeed. “Why, what do we have here…” hissed the Ageless Creature, his twisted mind still latched onto that of the Necromancer. Hidden behind the immobile features of the Avian, the Dragon would have loved to bring some more suffering into whoever participated in Celaeno’s thoughts… were if not for the magic of the latter, this time reversing the energy flow back to the Blue. A sharp spike, certainly not enough to bother the Black to any extent, but apparently enough to write the end of that shadowy charade - the Dragon had what he wanted. In fact, what he was instructed to retrieve, albeit the actual methodologies may have been slightly bent by the wicked humour of the Black. “There you have it, Silly… she would not do it after all. In fact, she’s healing you even - mostly to save herself, granted… and, you should know she has some dirty secrets as well…” muttered the Dragon, while, much as in middle of a proper symphony, the mind of the Winged Beast suddenly came back. And yet, the body of Healer stood perfectly still. The ink did start crawling on that chalky skin, making good use of the gift of the Necromancer - a faint aura of liquid blue fire oozed from the entirety of the Avian. However, the Spellblade was mightily confused, caught in the middle of a telepathic four-way. “What did you do?” inquired the Blue to the Black, the latter just laughing hard in response. “It was to be expected, I suppose… by the Wind, begone now!” went the Winged Beast, the last words actually uttered while opening his eyes, thus shattering the mental link between the Black and the Necromancer. Still paler than usual, the Blue managed to get seated, panting loudly. He would not have attempted to alter the magic of the Half-elf. He just stayed there for a little while, enjoying the feeling of actual air in and out of his lungs - letting the Black tacking control was never a painless experience. Eventually, he would have turned his head toward the Necromancer, a cascade of ivory dreadlocks following across his left shoulder. “So. It would appear you - do - have limits in terms of how far would you go in order to satisfy your curiosity… is that right?” inquired the Blue, eyes fixed on the young magician possibly not that far away still. “Korkhoran enjoys lying more than anything - but pain, perhaps - but he cannot truly lie to me, though. Ah. Incidentally. Apologies for the rather sudden takeover from his side - I had to be decently sure about you. Also, if you ever mention the existence of the Black to anyone else at all, I shall make sure to have your skin on my wall.” he added casually, finally finding the strength to stand. By then, the healing power of the magic ink would have counteracted largely the loss inflicted by the Necromacer’s spell. The link was not severed yet, though - that, was for the Half-elf to deal with. In the meantime, the Blue reached into the leathery satchel thrown across his shoulders, producing soon after a not-so-small booklet, the front cover black, the back cover white. “For you…” simply stated the Spellblade, offering the thing to the magician, possibly still on the other side of the magical circle. “This is an extremely rare book - in fact, not so many can even manage to open it without dying in the process. You’ll figure it out, though…” continued the Blue, one step taking toward Celaeno. “It is a treaty, written by a Dragon, about the thin line separating life and death. Some would say, this is especially useful for people like you… but you would be surprised to know how many times I invoked that knowledge as a healer. It is a thin line indeed… anyway. Keep it - for a while. I’ll find you when I deem you had enough. I would not know… but perhaps, the Black will…” concluded with a rather wicked smile. Was the magician willing to take that rather creepy book?

Celaeno may have been sucking her own life energy out, effectively draining the dryad’s blood to restore the avian as much as she could, but she managed to pick up the nuances of the foreign invader’s musings. She was sorely tempted to cut off the stream right there, were she not waiting for a response from the trickster’s handler. Despite the avian’s supposed ignorance as to particulars, the resigned attitude did little to quell her affront. She cut off the flow of her own precious energy right as the Blue chimed in, before it ran out too much and she was right back to hacking up a lung like with the starfish. “Your apologies are rubbish,” the half-elf said before a mild cough interrupted her. She turned her head aside into the crook of her elbow, somehow keeping her glare in place throughout the sickly display. Was it another farce of a test? The spiteful part of her wanted to bite back, comment how he so resembled his counterpart at that moment, but a rare piece of literature was staring her in the face. While she may have limits with performing her magic, her reading habits tended to have a much broader span. So, for the moment, she took the high road--the spirit sharing her body might have been fuming enough for her to press her cool palm to her forehead to try and mitigate some of the migraine. The charm under her gauntlet still pulsed with its dark aura, though not as intensely as before. Nonetheless, she took the pamphlet, flipping it to examine the different colored sides, should some hidden effect not immediately activate (her shoulders tensed suspecting as much, unsure of the avian’s character after his recent methods). It was a thin line indeed. He might be surprised how many medical texts she’d poured over to reach where she was then. Had she aspirations, she might very well make a decent physician. “To what end? Compensation or another game?” Sarcasm may have laced her words, and whether he answered or not, she didn’t seem eager to hand the prize back.

Thamalys seemed rather unfazed by the righteous annoyance transpiring from the Half-Elf voice. “Perhaps…” simply acknowledged the Healer in return, nodding slowly enough, “… but, as a start, I do not apologise very often, and even less frequently I opt to separate myself from pages I do care about. However, and since you ask: compensation, and nothing more. I seem to recall a certain fondness of yours with respect to the ancient literature of the magicians of old.” And with that, the Winged Beast turned on his heels, one gigantic, swirling motion that nonetheless had to stop mid-way. “Ah, one thing…” noted the Blue, a bony finger high up into the air. “There is enough in those pages for you to cross any limit you might have imposed yourself up to know. Pace yourself, Necromancer… if not, I will know. Well, myself and many others. Till soon…” ominously concluded the Spellblade, not even bothering to climb the air but simply ambling away, casually entering the Cenrilian alleys as if nothing unusual would have happened. The reality was, yet another shadowy piece would have seemed to join the already quite dark scenery framing the City… more, the Guild needed more!