RP:Loss and Gain

Part of the The God of Undeath Arc

Summary: After commissioning Iintahquohae for a set of inconspicuous items intended as gifts, Valrae and the seamstress meet on Selen Island to complete them with a ritual that will enchant them against magical scrying. In the process however, the amber crystal skull is destroyed.

View of the Summit

Valrae || After sending Iintahquohae her letter, Valrae had made preparations to gather carefully selected members of her coven to meet on Selen Island for a very private ritual. She’d also sent a following letter, a shorter one inviting the seamstress to the island with all of the traveling papers she would need to be carried there comfortably by coach and private sailing. The witch had chosen one of the higher points of the island, preferring the lofty view and the crash of the waterfall as the backdrop to this spell. There were candles lit, they sat in white wax pools on hard stone and floated on the air as the sun sank lower in the sky and cast the small area in golden light and long shadow. The sky was painted in oranges and pinks that gave way to dusky deep blues dotted with starlight. The moons rose high, the blue-green light of Vaalane heavily full and bright. The briney scent of the sea reached even here, mingling with the earthier smells of a wild and tangled jungle that pushed at the edges of the clearing. Incents curled around them, spiced smoke or sage, lavender and anise that lingered in the sacred space. The circle of black salt had already been cast, a stone altar rising up at the center in which all four of Valrae’s crystal skulls sat. They gleamed wickedly in the waning light, the empty eye sockets seemingly searching hungrily in the growing shadow as the carefully fashioned teeth grinned as if they knew some terrible secret.

Valrae stood before the altar with one arm raised, six of her most trusted witches circled around her much the same. She wore her long hair down, the cascading waves of sunlight dancing in the wild ocean wind. Her ceremonial shift dress was white as fresh fallen snow, leaving the bandaged wounds that had stubbornly been refusing to heal revealed. The worst of it was on her right shoulder, the arm she typically used to lead in her casting useless and hung close to her body in a sling. She wore no jewelry, save the opal and gold diadem that marked her as high priestess on her brow, and a thin armlet of gold on her left bicep. Magic was already thick all around them, sitting heavy on the humid air as it swirled out from the fluorite pillars that surrounded them. The skulls hummed, answering to the power the witches called down, but none as loud as the emerald that was so intertwined with Valrae.

Iintahquohae vacillates between feeling eager to see Valrae and an odd, unusual anxiety. Before even setting foot on the ship that'd ferry her over to Selen Island, she made a point of leaving behind anything that might potentially pose a threat. That's where the anxiety stems from, she soon realizes, while folding her arms over a wooden beam on the ship's deck. Being a vampire had never been something she worried about as an affront to others, but things have changed a little, and understandably so. Unfortunately the seamstress can't tug her fangs from her mouth but she has a safeguard for that as well. Shoved in the pocket of her leggings are a few corked vials of lavender-scented perfume, one of which she removes and uses to douse a handkerchief with. Sure, it might make the seamstress and jeweler reek of that mellowing flower, but it'd be strong enough (she thinks) to mask the scent of blood if some might be shed near her. It's an overabundance of precaution, but Inks wasn't taking any risks. Even with Sacred's cursed and near-insatiable presence gone, she didn't want to involuntarily lunge at Valrae like she had once before. The thought has her cringing. That entire event in Xalious was something she needed to make up for. Before she can get swept up in those thoughts however, Iintahquohae cranes her head skyward to watch as the sun disappears beyond the horizon, and just inhale a breath of sea-scented air. She hasn't seen anything but Vailkrin's sky and paperwork in what felt like weeks, and despite her vampiric status, she missed the warmth and light of the sun.

Iintahquohae ;; She's grateful for the little taste of it again, and just being outside in general, that once she's let off the deck and onto land there's a part of the seamstress that longs to dawdle and smell the roses, so to speak. Unfortunately Inks can't go for an aimless walk yet. She won't let Valrae down, so she shoulders the pack of trinkets she's constructed along with her, each secured in their own individual boxes to prevent damage and begins the trek up toward one of the cliffs once she's discerned the right way to go, judging by scent. The scene she finds herself wandering into gives her pause. The concentration of magic present is dense. This felt like an intrusion, so much so that despite seeing Valrae in the company of members of her coven, she doesn't holler a cheery greeting or rush over. The grey fox tail she wished she didn't have betrayed how happy she was to see the witch, swaying enough that Inks almost wanted to retreat into the cover of trees until it settled down. How do people with tails and ears control these things. Embarrassment was a rarity for her to feel, but she squares her shoulders and steps further into view. “Val...?” While the seamstress knew of witchcraft, she's never witnessed any kind of rituals performed. If it weren't for the circumstances, she had a multitude of questions to ask, and that small pile of questions quickly grew into a mountain as her eyes wandered. She blinks, shakes her head, then focuses her attention solely on Valrae then. Her grin comes dangerously close to collapsing into a frown at the sight of her wounds, but she forces some semblance of composure. “I...” She removes the bag from her shoulder and holds it aloft by its strap. “- I got everything finished."

Valrae drops her arm, turning toward Iintahquohae with a bright smile. Her eyes were wide and glassy, almost doll like from the effects of the pain dulling potions the healers had been keeping her on. The other witches continue calling down magic as Val steps away, the sandy earth warm beneath her bare feet as she closes the space between herself and the seamstress. “Inks!” She calls cheerily, opening her uninjured arm for a quick hug. “How are you?” She steps back again to give her space and give her a long, quiet look of appraisal. “No one gave you any trouble then?” She’d been very clear in her instructions to her guard that they would keep her safe and untroubled. After Quintessa’s attack, the tensions between Cenril and Vailkrin, and really an undead of any kind, had become nearly palpable. It was as frustrating to the witch as it was troubling, as she’d have liked to keep relations with them friendly, but there was only so much that could be done from her position, no matter how lofty. There were councils and lawmakers, the guard themselves, and all manner of bureaucratic red tape that had wrapped her hands up in a pretty and suffocating bow. Still, she would not have an honored guest be treated poorly. Her golden brow unfollows when Inks mentions the items she’d commissioned, and her lips perk into a sheepish smile. “I hope it wasn’t too much trouble.” She says, leading her toward the ritual space. One of the witches, who introduced herself as Lyra, passes her through a curtain of smudging smoke. “If you could place them on the altar?” Valrae asks her. “I’m going to enchant them, if you’d like to be a part…?”

Iintahquohae sighs some held breath with relief at Valrae's greeting. She looks...okay? The witch's eyes are worrying, but she's approaching and offering a hug so it must not be too bad, right? In any case, before being pulled into that one-armed hug, she lowers her bag down to the ground and takes a deep breath before returning that quick embrace. The inhale was a subtle magic she's so grateful to be able to do again, 'borrowing' heat from the summer air to assist in giving her cold skin warmth so the witch might not feel like she embraced a corpse. It'd be obvious even if Valrae didn't know she was a vampire that her warmer body temperature is artificial, leaning hard toward unnatural, but all the seamstress can do is hope that it's pleasant. “I'm-” How is she? Shouldn't Inks be asking that first, especially given the circumstances? Even after something so terrible happening, Valrae could be so kind. That speaks volumes, and she can't help smiling. ...And asking how the witch is doing anyway before answering herself. “H-how are you? Is there anything else I can do apart from these? And I'm alright..Missed being outside though.” Missed Cenril, her folks, Val of course. Her head shakes at the notion of trouble, and she struggles to contain a laugh. The exhale snuffs out her magicked body heat as well, and she can gradually feel herself growing physically cold again. “I think I got on their nerves. I figured I'd have one search me to be extra sure I'm not a threat.” Perhaps that scene she caused before boarding the ship helped Valrae out in some way, since it showed off the guard's diligence. She hopes so. “It wasn't trouble at all. I know things are tense,” and understandably so. Inks was difficult to offend and took most things in stride. But as she's led through a cloud of smudging smoke, bag in hand but quickly handed off to Lyra, there's that avid fascination the seamstress possessed for things she didn't quite understand. The difference between arcane magic and witchcraft is lost on her, truth be told. She hasn't taken a look at the craft, but all of this was fascinating and she didn't know where her eyes should settle. Those skulls, perhaps? She's eager to lend a hand, wherever Val and her coven find a place for her to fit in. “I'd love to just watch, but if you think I can help any other way, by all means.” She could take directions well, she thinks.

Valrae didn’t mind the coolness of Iintahquohae’s touch, even if it was a bit unfamiliar, and it was refreshing against Cenril’s heat. Even with the sun down, the humidity clung to the air and held in the summer’s warmth. “I’m alright, all things considered.” Valrae answers honestly, “My wounds are being a little stubborn but I have healers, potions. I’ll recover.” She gives the seamstress a wicked, playful grin. “I’d like to think I gave as good as I received.” Her tone was light and playful but edged with a seriousness that hadn’t appeared before. “Cenril missed you too,” She adds, laughing. Lrya takes the items offered and places them each in the center of the small circle of the crystal skulls carefully. They seemed to absorb the light of the candles that were placed around them and floated above them, devouring the warm glow not unlike the way the fed off of the magic that permeated the heavy air. It was unsettling to see, but Valrae had become used to the strange, ancient dark power. “Oh, Iintahquohae,” The witch breathes her name, awe struck by the lovely things she’d crafted. “These couldn’t be more perfect,” She says, her finger tracing the closest one. It was a peacock moth, delicately crafted for what she hoped for Lanlan. “Your magic is so inspiring.” She says, her tone wistful as she looks over her shoulder to smile at Inks again. Then she is stepping back, nodding. “You can watch, you can join. The strongest magic is the magic made willingly. I’ll start the ritual now, if you’d like to lend your energy it will always be welcome in the circle. I think that having the touch of the artist who created them will only make them more potent.” She raises her good arm again and as she does the wind rises with her, moving with her to dance in her hair. The witch casts one finally look over her shoulder, saying softly, “This will only take a moment. Then we can catch up.” Then she was singularly focused on her task at hand. The wind was riotous around them, swirling outside of the circle with enough strength that it all but howled. The magic in the air sprung forth with a thunder clap and for a moment the center of the circle was bathed in white, blinding light. Shadows writhed in the night, called to the power that Valrae commanded but beat back by the circle of salt and light. The skulls levitated, rising up from their place on the altar as they sang. The sound was frightening, a throaty hum and the heartbeat of a ritual drum from nowhere and everywhere all at once. The golden amber skull’s jaws cracked open, the sound akin to shattering glass and nails being drug across boards. Valrae held tight to the magic, sweat beading against her brow as the spell was torn from her lips. It slipped from her, only for a moment, but with a shuddering breath the amber skull shattered, the jagged crystal bursting out around the witches as it erupted. The magic turned in on itself, slamming down around them with a nearly audible sound of a door closing. The light drew back, snuffing the candles with it as it went. When it was finished, the items that Iintahquohae had crafted shone in the moonlight as if they carried their own light.

Iintahquohae wished in that moment that she was some sort of healer so she could help further, but the most she could ever do is shoddily stitch up a wound. “Oh yeah? I bet you did,” she produces another smile then. Valrae didn't seem like the sort of person that would go down in a fight without swinging, and that thought has some of her worries fade away. But even still, she couldn't help feeling concerned. The witch's reaction to her handiwork is music to her ears. She knew her work was good, but there was always that lingering inner voice that pushed her to do better, create better – and the praise fed into that. If she could imitate Valrae's barn owl and preen, Inks might do just that. “Thank you,” she replies, grateful for those kind words. They meant more than she could ever possibly convey in words, especially since she could weave her magic freely again. With that in mind, and the offer to join their circle to assist in enchanting the items she crafted, it's far too tantalizing to refuse and merely sit back and watch. As Valrae turns her attention to her ritual, one that as it begins has the seamstress looking skyward in awe at the sheer power on display, she joins the other witches in their circle. She'll go through the motions, follow their lead, but it's clear that she's in awe. The sudden bright light has her lifting a forearm to shield her eyes, but she's quick to lower it, squinting as one of the crystal skulls floating in the air shatters in a multitude of pieces that she imagined couldn't possibly be put back together. But perhaps that was the intention...She isn't sure, but Valrae and her coven weren't reacting negatively to that explosion. Her flinching from the amber skull breaking and the cacophony of sound may look out of place, but she's enthralled all the same, stunned to silence. Each piece that she crafted possessed something new now that Iintahquohae is certain she didn't imbue them with. They looked different, somehow. Enhanced. Perfected, she'd say, if she weren't speechless. What magic could she possibly add to this? Uncertain, her eyes fall on Valrae, prepared to follow her lead.

Valrae || As the magic begins to leak from the air, it seems to linger over the altar. Valrae moves then, an otherworldly grace she did not normally possess marking her movement as the power wrapped around her like a cloak. Her eyes were bright in the night, glowing as deeply emerald as the skull that now whispered darkly nearby as aether swirled in their depths. She holds her unruined arm out to Iintahquohae, waiting patiently for her to accept her hand before she would lead them both to the altar. “Whatever blessings you can offer,” She says softly, her voice soft and confident as she places her own hand down on the moth. “They’ll be stronger for it.” The other witches had moved away, working quickly to clean the ritual space of candles, wax, salt. Only the fluorite would remain, the magic they held keeping any prying eyes away from the work they created now. When they slipped into the night, Valrae’s shoulders relaxed a fraction. “I-” She pauses, watching the seamstress with a seriousness that she typically reserved for reading, work, and business. “I hope Kasyr has been as open as he can with the state of things… Caluss,” Saying the name pained her, the witch made no efforts to hide this as the emotion crossed her features like a cloud over the moon. “Well, we have to guard our secrets. I wanted to make something that would do just that. Something they could carry with them that would be enchanted against prying eyes, magical or otherwise.” She pulls her hand away from the moth again. “Whatever we can do to keep them safe while we learn how to end this thing…” There was something small and broken stirring in her chest. “Though, I fear with the state of things now, we have more to worry about than the God of Undeath.” When she looked toward Inks again, her eyes were wide and filled with sorrow. “And I can’t help but feel if that is my own fault.”

Iintahquohae ;; What could Iintahquohae offer here? She accepts Valrae's offered hand, careful with it in her grip even if it's uninjured. She looked unearthly – like magic made sentient, tangible, and Inks is entranced by that vision alone. It's enough to distract her from Valrae's request initially, but she blinks, refocuses. Mentally, she skims over the list of people these pieces were going to. Protection. Something she once went to great lengths to have herself, which resulted in her siring. There's a moment of uncertainty, as she looks from Valrae, to their joined hands, then the moth that the witch's hand rests upon. Perhaps her blessing would transfer from their linked hands to each piece like a conduit of sorts? In that instance as far as the seamstress was concerned, her magic was free for Valrae to utilize. “I'd bless each piece with protection then.” Were words enough? With her free hand, unless Valrae stops her, she reaches to touch each item to impart that feeling to them. Safety, protection, and despite her lack of knowledge when it came to scrying, she thinks the word 'anti-scrying' all the same, as if that may be beneficial. Afterward, she lets that hand fall limp to her side and turns to Valrae then with a slight nod, a frown accompanying it. The frown transitions to a glower at the sound of that name. “He has...Since our fight I've stayed at the castle with him to help out and he mentioned being watched.” The thought makes her skin crawl. Despite being a relatively open book, there's something about unwanted prying eyes at any given time that disgusts her. So that's what Valrae did to these. It's a delayed reaction, but her gaze shifts from Val to the items she crafted with wonder. “You're something else, you know that?” There's that ever-present swell of pride again, though it's different in a way. Her first set of collaborative pieces, and they're incredibly useful due to Valrae's magic. But that pride diminishes a little when she returns her attention back on the woman. “No, no - “ It's still a peculiar adjustment for her, keeping her semi-stoic mask down. Sacred's looming influence over her was gone too, and private moments like this felt less tedious and more normal. More human, she'd say out loud if it were appropriate, but now reassuring Valrae was far more important. “You haven't gone out of your way to be deceitful, directly threat magic by harming the holy trees, or,” she shudders at the unhealed injuries of hers that the seamstress can see, and recalls the words printed in the newspaper. “...tried to murder someone. Several, for all I know.” She kept out of the changeling's business for a multitude of reasons, primary of which being that Quintessa just wasn't on her list of priorities. Grieving over Odhranos was. So was her work, her family, her friends – Val particularly, in this case. “You haven't done anything wrong. You – You're...just.” That summarizes the witch to her in a word. Two might be better. “Kind and just. You don't just have yourself to look out for either, I imagine...” She had her coven and all that entailed, Cenril, probably the Mage's Guild and any other groups she happened to be affiliated with that Inks wasn't aware of. “If there's anything else I can do, I'm happy to help.”

Valrae watches as Iintahquohae offers up her own magic, the smile that tilts the corners of her lips serene as the magic dances on the air. It was delicate and lovely, like the fluttering of a moth's wings, and the subtle power she offered up was profound in that moment. She wondered quietly if the seamstress knew her own abilities, but thought better of herself to ask within the perfection of the moment. The waterfall tumbled down the side of the mountain steadily, joining the quiet music of a jungle alive at night, and fireflies blinked in and out of the darkness of night. Haloed in the image of the moon’s light and the reflective, ever churning sea, Valrae very much thought Iintahquohae looked like how Selene herself might, come down to grace the island with her presence. But they’d moved on to speak of darker, less lovely things, and the witch lets the quiet awe of the moment fade away with the last of the magic settling around them. There was guilt trapped in her eyes, green as the darkest shadows of the forest, and she couldn’t shake it despite Ink’s kind words. She attempted a halfhearted smile, knowing the other woman would see through it as clearly as glass. “You’re kind to say that,” She begins, reaching up to gently touch the bandage on her shoulder. It had began to bleed again, as it always would despite the best efforts to stitch it by her healers. “But… I had neglected the defenses of the manor. I don’t know why… I just didn’t think to focus on them. If I had, maybe all of this could have been avoided. Now, my name is the papers again. I’m been made out as a victim again.” There was anger there too, underneath the weight of her guilt. “I don’t feel like a bloody victim. I held my own. I might not have won but I held my own, damnit.” She shakes her head. “But it’s enough. I want to repair the relations between Cenril and Vailkrin, not damage them further. I appreciate you, more than words or gold could say. For this,” She waves a hand over the items, “But for the friendship too. If there is anything I can do, if you ever need to call on me…”

Iintahquohae wonders if the aftermath of all rituals were like this. Calm. Right. Even if the majority of the witchcraft occurring around her flew right over her head. Perhaps it might be something worth picking Val's brain over, but in a softer setting. And with those items enchanted, a much safer setting.The scent of blood is surprisingly less intrusive than Inks anticipated, likely because of the scents already filling the air. Her hand still went to a pants pocket for that perfume-stained handkerchief just as a precaution, prepared to press it up against her nose just in case. She frowns. This was a feeling Iintahquohae understood. Being underestimated, pigeon-holed, but not to the extent Val was. And after what she just witnessed her do, the thought that -anybody- might think she didn't put up a fight is utterly ridiculous. That upset her, enough that she could easily see herself seeking out whoever participated in writing those papers to punish them for hurting her friend – or even further than that...But she quits that thought while she's ahead. Kasyr had his bout with Quintessa. It wasn't her fight to have or insert herself into, even.”You're a survivor, Valrae.” She struggled with talking about her personal life sometimes, but thought maybe just a little bit would be fine to divulge for now. “My mother used to sing this song to me – I won't sing it, promise. I can't sing – But... part of it says, 'we control our storms because we are the weather'. You're...Did you see what you just did?” She motions toward the altar and ritual space. “You aren't a victim. You're a whirlwind, Val,” she murmurs. A compliment she gave to Odhranos once, and one that was once used by another to describe herself. She liked the descriptor too much to not use it to describe others that filled her with that sense of absolute wonder. “If you'll permit me, why don't I stay in Cenril for a bit? Maybe I can help. My home is here, but I have ties to Vailkrin.” She isn't quite sure just what she could bring to the table apart from her focus in the City of Undead, which was trying to make repairs to trade for folks who lived – er, existed, there. “But more than that, I can just hang around for company.” She smiles then, and offers her arm for Valrae to take if she wished to head back. “I can pressure Mama to make us something too if you want. Her lemon bars are the best.”

Valrae laughs, the sound light as a bell. It echoed around them for a moment, and she’s smiling again. “A survivor,” She repeats, “That I will wear with pride.” And then she’s blushing, the heat of it rising to pain her cheeks rosy pink as Iintahquohae compliments her. “I don’t know about that but… I’ll hold that compliment close all the same.” She reaches out again, this time to gently brush her finger tips against the other woman's arm. A gesture of fondness and affection. She couldn’t help herself, really, Valrae was a physical person and used these small ways to express when her words failed. “It sounds like a lovely song,” She adds, gently teasing with, “I can’t sing either. Maybe we both will one day, though people might think we’re fighting alley cats.” She would have rolled her shoulders in a shrug if the motion wouldn’t pain her. “But it could be fun all the same.” The witch begins packing away all the clever little trinkets that the seamstress had crafted, taking great care to move them delicately as she repackages them to place inside of her giant peach colored purse. She pauses when Inks asks if she could stay, surprise coloring her features. “Oh! I’d love that, but you never have to ask. This is your home, just as much as it is mine. And I’ll give anyone who thinks or says otherwise several reasons as to why they’re not only wrong but can shut the- Something crashed in the jungle and obscured whatever colorful word she used next, “up.” The fierceness that drew her brow down dissipates quickly though, like mist in morning sunlight, and she’s smiling again. “I’d love to meet your momma though, and it’s no secret I have a weakness for sweets.” She’s thoughtful for a moment as she leads them down the mountainside. “I think your particular wisdom is something that my council would find invaluable right now…” A heavy beat of comfortable silence yawns around them, peaceful in the way that close friends can be in a pause with conversation. “I’d like to make you a formal offer, if you’ll consider it, to join as an ambassador between Cenril and Vailkrin…” She smiles softly again, “But we’ll have plenty of time to talk more about work later. Perhaps on the ship ride back to Cenril proper you could tell me more about what it’s been like at the Capitol. I worry about Kasyr, sometimes…” And Valrae would chatter and listen, in her affable way as they headed back toward home.