RP:Shadows and Symbols
Part of the What You Leave Behind Arc
Summary: Celaeno consults with Leone and Lionel about what she can offer in the coming Shadow Plane expedition. Lionel is impressed, but concerned that the young necromancer may not be prepared for the strange fluidity and fathomless differences of the foreign realm. After giving Leone good reason to warn Krice against an early peek into the Plane, the Catalian departs, leaving the women to concoct a bold synergistic solution to their problem. It seems for all the near-certain difficulty to come, the team's preparation is coming along rather swimmingly.
Frostmaw: Cerulean Flowers
Leone strides into the cave holding the captivating flowers. The smith is dressed lightly today, in spite of the City of War's constant climate. Just her smithing leathers and a sturdy, waxed overcoat accompany her. She is lacking her heavy cloak displaying her rank. A towel is slung over her shoulder, and a bakset is clutched in one hand. The other holds a bottle of whiskey (because of course it does). A cigar is held between her teeth, the nub of a richly flavored, cherry-scented stogie that, for the moment, has been extinguished. It neither smokes nor smolders, and really only serves as something for the farrier to chew on. For all intents and purposes, it looks as if she's here for relaxtion, and not for business...or perhaps it's a two-fer.
Celaeno knew of the place before when wandering the colder part of Lithrydel in her constant quest for libraries. Finding herself lost along this route again, she enters the cave in her wolf-fur lined cloak, teeth chattering and the rest of her shivering hard enough to make her jittering, empty gauntlets clank. A few deep breaths as she wanders deeper, where the warmth permeates her bones--and about time too--she blinks upon spotting another already making their way in. They were...familiar. The meeting! “Ah, excuse me Miss!” She quickens her pace, trying to catch up with the priestess before she got much further. There was a matter to discuss after all.
Lionel shrugs into the twelfth of his thirteen matching scarlet silk shirts, grimacing at the empty space where there ought to be a fourteenth. He’s losing these shirts almost as fast as he can clean them. It’s the tiniest conceivable personal price to pay whilst the realm is burning, but there’s a significance in the color he so frequently wears now, a political statement in favor of witches which is quietly becoming a strange and delicate exclamation of enthusiasm for one witch in particular. And good silk is hard to come by these days. As he buttons up to his popped-up collar, the Catalian makes a sound of disgust that he should feel such privileged irritation when thousands are dying all around him. But then again, how many times have Lionel’s friends and makeshift family reminded him to live for himself, if even only a little? What was it that Esche had said in the days just prior to Kahran’s violent announcement? A storm is coming, unlike any other, and Lionel ought to find the time to smile even just once before it does? Well, it has; Lithrydel knows full-well that the storm has arrived. Maybe it’s too late for that smile, but he’s still going to try. “I’ll have another order placed,” Kara Thrace, one of Frostmaw’s -- and the Alliance Against Kahran’s -- top captains within his ranks, says with a jovial smirk from behind him. “You’ve gotta stop sneaking up on me, Kara,” Lionel grumbles on his way out the door of his quarters. “It’s that sword of yours, Cap. You rely on Hellfire too much. What if I was some wraith? You’d be dead.” Lionel is halfway down the hall when he shouts back, “if you were some wraith, you’d be the most aggressively annoying wraith of them all, and even your orcs would draw the line and bail.” He’s not certain but he thinks he can hear a huffy scoff echoing from far behind. His trip through the City of War today will cover more ground than it won’t, as final preparations are made for the expedition into the Shadow Plane and the townsfolk are hard at work to support the endeavor through freshly-toiled inventory. But midway through his work, he finds occasion to visit the mines. A progress report is due here after a recently-unearthed vein of glowing ore, and he may as well see the flowers while he’s at it. “You see me, Esche?” Lionel whispers to no one. “I’m living for myself here. For three minutes.” Perhaps he’ll be here for longer, however. He spots High Priestess Leone and that necromancer friend of Khitti’s Celaeno, just past a bushel. “Hey there.”
Leone rocks to a halt, nearly to the doorway that leads down into the pools below, when she hears Celaeno's greeting. The smith pivots, nearly phosphorescent green eyes thrown over her shoulder and past the towel to land upon the new necromancer. A smile breaks out, tawny lips curling upward while the skin around her eyes crinkles into fine crow's feet. "Ah! Hello again," she greets Celaeno before fully turning to face her, "You wanted to talk, didn't you? That's right. We can do so either up here, or down in the pools. Your choice." The invitation is laid with the gesticulation of the whiskey bottle in the direction of the hot springs....too late. Lionel appears and greets the pair, and the farrier tips her head in a nod of recognition and welcome. "Hey, I need to see you, actually. Well: Krice wanted us to come see you, but he's not here right now. Still, I can say what needs to be said," she informs the Catalian.
“Whichever suits you better. My only requirement is warmth.” The half elf’s slightly pointed ears perked at the chatter coming from further up the cave and she glanced over her shoulder to spy a certain Steward and a fraction of his entourage. She offers a bow of her head in greeting, her tongue still struggling to call the man, akin to a noble by her home country’s standards, by his actual name, sans any titles. It is then her eyes widen and she offers a similar bow toward Leone. “I am Celaeno, by the way. I do not believe we’ve had an opportunity at proper introductions.” She would sit back and watch with an attentively curious gaze at whatever business was between Lionel and Leone. And Krice, was that the silver haired man who had stuck by her at the meeting? Questions upon questions were kept to herself...for the moment.
Lionel narrows his gaze for a couple of seconds as he considers what Krice might have needed to say. It’s undoubtedly about the mission, he soon realizes, so his face softens accordingly. So long as he has an inkling of an idea into things, Lionel can portray himself as carefree like the wind. Left in the dark, there’s fear and agitation. He’s clearly glad to hear that Leone can convey Krice’s inquiries, though; he lets out a soft sigh and nods. It feels to him like Lionel is in half a hundred places at once, and there’s no guarantee he’ll see the silver-haired enigma again before the journey to the Nameless Desert begins. “I’m glad to hear it,” he says with ease. “Whatever Krice’s concerns, please convey them and we can figure it all out together. I trust your judgment as always.” It’s a bit stuffy for Lionel, this style of speech, but he’s still unable to shake an uncommon urge to sound more formal with a woman folks tend to call ‘the High Priestess’. In his own, ironic way, Lionel is experiencing that same sort of reaction to Leone that Celaeno seems to attribute to them both. “Hi, hi, Celaeno. Happy to see you, too. You had a great idea back at the meeting. I wanted you to know the team’s taking it under strong consideration.”
Leone smiles at Celaeno. The whiskey bottle is tucked into the opposite armpit, and extended toward the necromancer. "Leone Svalbjorn," she introduces fully, "High Priestess of Aramoth. It's nice to meet you, Celaeno." The farrier sighs, retracting her hand after the genialities are completed, and pastes those bright, lime-hued sights to Lionel. "He would like a pre-mission. Where we explore without the full force, even though I've discouraged the idea. But I think he needs to hear it from someone other than me. He believes that there's too many people, and that it will attract too much attention if we're trying to get in and out, that the number we're taking with us will complicate things," the smith's trademark grit-and-gloss timbre explains.
Celaeno bites her lip and her cheeks gain a slight red tint at the possible praise. He seemed a straightforward type, like Khitti. Odds were he meant what he said. “I understand the method itself is rather...unconventional, despite this land’s openmindedness toward dark arts, magic of all kinds really, which is appreciated. Three of the four curses I was considering aren’t necessarily deadly. Generally, if successful, either the victim would be silenced unable to use magic, have a vision of all the past people they hurt come at them all at once, or would find it quite impossible to concentrate due to an overflow of new ideas and thoughts. The only one that is physically damaging makes any wounds rot and incredibly difficult to heal. Now they will be tied to solid objects and I’m unsure how the side effects will change when amplified, so take that how you will. I...hope this more thorough explanation aids in consideration of the tactic.” She shakes Leone’s hand with a silver gauntlet covered in glowing runes, lighter than most armor with proper limbs in them. “I take it it was you I saw at that ceremony that happened relatively recently, then? It was much more eventful than any rituals I managed to witness where I’m from. And I only managed to see it because of a notoriously poor sense of direction. I’m afraid I will need to travel with someone on the way to the mission.”
Lionel purses his lips together to cancel out a sigh that would have been decidedly less pleasant than the last. Down the flower-filled hall, two miners can be faintly overheard arguing over best practices. It catches his mind for a moment until he forces himself to focus. It would be far easier to drift into some other noise than express his full concerns with Krice’s plan, but the man deserves an answer, and Lionel and Leone shall give him one. “Our ‘full force’ is only thirteen strong for this operation, though. We aren’t sending a legion. We’re sending ourselves. I can appreciate where Krice is coming from, of course. We’re stepping into waters few have dared tread and we’re doing so in a region of the Shadow Plane none of us have -ever- seen. But Facilier, the bastard who’s gone after Khitti time and again, holds a leash over vast swaths of the Plane now. And Kahran himself is out there, or else we wouldn’t be going in the first place. Maybe that just makes a pre-mission scouting ceremony sound all the more appealing, but the damned thing of it is, every second we’re over there we run high risk of being watched. The fauna of the Shadow Plane have eyes like nothing in Lithrydel. Sometimes literally, but always figuratively.”
Lionel draws a breath as he remembers the perils he’s previously experienced with the place. “Only trusted top advisors and closest cohorts can go and we can’t do this more than once. Not for a long while. It’s my strong opinion, Leone, that even if we aren’t spotted, our presence will be known -- felt, even -- to the darker denizens of that gods-forsaken place soon thereafter. They have a way of things, a magical way, that I can’t begin to describe. But my experience has told me the truth of it: whereas Kahran can come and go across the countryside unchecked, we’re making ripples that become waves with every step we take on his end of the spectrum. That’s a scary thing to say aloud, but I reckon it’s empirical.” Scary, empirical things seem to be the order of the hour for him, for as Lionel listens to Celaeno’s pitch, his eyes flicker between appreciation and mild cringe. For the most part he’s glad -- it’s important that any of the aforementioned ‘close cohorts’ have clearly-defined roles and understand the extent of their abilities. But a word of caution is advised. “I like it, Cel. Hopefully it proves effective. I’d take care when relying on solid objects, though. The Shadow Plane feels transient. It feels… wrong somehow, although that might just be my speciesist bias getting the better of me. Certainly I’ve found a real bond with my Tikihflee, after all. But something about that realm isn’t just otherworldly in the transient sense. It’s otherworldly by design. What you and I might deem solid could feel off-key to you once you’re there, so take care in what you do and we’ll be there and back again as best we can.”
Leone checks out about half way through Lionel's speaking to her. Her brain just drifts. It's not her fault - not really. Something he's said has triggered her mind, like a locking arm released from a clockwork wonder, allowing cogs and gears to spin to life. The teeming, limpid pools of green drift off to one side...and then quickly snap back to center. "Hm," the smith says, nodding in agreement with the Steward, "You've certainly given me more air to blow out his fire about this," the petite plover declares, "And given me an idea of something else". The smiths hand curls, leaving one finger out, and it drifts toward the necromancer, "Oh, and I do believe you and I would be perfect for this. Or, at least, I've clued into what you're thinking of doing, and now believe I have a way to help you, Celaeno."
Celaeno folds her hands together under her sleeves as she listens to Lionel’s warnings regarding the use of arrows as she was thinking. Her mouth presses into a line. “I’m afraid the only form of these curses I know is projectiles...I could attempt to enchant the ammunition as well, but that is traditional magic and might be weakened. My intent was perhaps to offer them to any archers. I suppose. Lady Gilwen and her group, perhaps? I hear that traditional elves are skilled archers…” Or was that only a stereotype? A hopeful glance is given Leone’s way, though, her eyebrows going up. “Oh? Do tell.”
Lionel looks between Celaeno and Leone inquisitively, but opts not to ask for particulars. When the wheels in Leone’s mind spin, he has found, it is often best to let them spin and ask where her proverbial carriage has taken her when she’s ready to be broached. He doesn’t consciously realize the connection, but that is in fact very much the way Lionel himself operates as well. “Splendid,” he agrees emphatically. Fires need blowing-out on both sides of this war, after all. And Krice’s is a very fairly lit fire. Nevertheless, they’d best snuff it, for everyone’s safety. The thought is a stern reminder that there are plenty other fires to snuff before the day is done, and a long line of fires thereafter. “I’d speak with Gilwen, aye,” he tells Celaeno. “From what I’ve heard about the Battle of the Southern Sage recently, her Aer’athrad haven’t lose their archers’ touch. Now if you’ll both excuse me, I’ve gotta keep on keepin’ on. I’ll see you soon.” A curt nod is better than a mediocre bow or curtsy, Lionel decides, so it’s a curt nod that he offers before heading back out from whence he came.
Leone steeples her fingers, and then juts her head toward the warmth of the bath house below. "So," the smith starts while mounting the stairs going down, "I think that with your abilities and mine, we can make shields for our parties. A small talisman that they can wear about themselves that will...hmm...give off an aura, so to speak, of the shadow plane. So that these plants and planar beings are far less likely to notice something. Sort of like scent-marking when you're out hunting," the farrier equates, though she has no idea if the necromancer has ever been hunting as such.
Celaeno blinks a moment, but she pauses, eyes going ceiling-ward as if in thought. Really, she was consulting with a certain spirit that possessed her that did know of hunting and properly understood the metaphor, but that was another story that would go unsaid. “So, making them seem native to the environment, and therefore, less likely to be noticed.” She follows down the stairs on instinct, despite not being dressed for the baths at the moment. “It might take me a bit more time than someone more advanced and I have a...condition that requires me to take healing potions between serious casting, but that sounds like a very useful idea.”
Leone stops mid-stair, her balance wavering between the two before she finally settles on a somewhere in-between leaning up and listing down the steps. "Hmm. Perhaps Khitti can help you? I will, of course, take the initiative here and construct my level of the enchantment first, so that you have something to build on. Well! And my level of the bridging enchantment, as well," the smith corrects quickly, "But this is a tertiary concern. I know that you have many other preparations to make, and this is so last-minute..." the sentence trails off, and the smith gives Celaeno a good-natured shrug. "If we don't have the time table to complete it, we just don't," she says finally.
“Prepare your part, and when you can pass it to me and I will prepare mine. I have been losing sleep as it is from studying. Might as well put that time to more productive use,” Celaeno says, her expression turning stubborn. She did love to push her limits. “If it was resurrection or something of that sort, then I would not hold much hope. But enchanting was my specialty before I started learning necromancy, so that works in our favor. Besides, it should do well to exercise my endurance, added preparation for the mission ahead of us.”
Leone gives Celaeno a nod of assurance. "Excellent. I'll have them to you by morning," the smith declares with all of the confidence in the world. The priestess gestures down the stairs even further, "You are welcome to join me, if you'd like, but I fully intend on getting very drunk and soaking until my joints no longer feel as if they're coming apart."
Celaeno glanced down at the whisky, her mouth pursing as her curiosity piques a moment. She had tried sweeter fare, more mead than hard liquor. What would that stuff taste like? But then her nose wrinkles as she recalls what she had come to the area for originally. "Perhaps another time, if you don't mind an endless list of questions." An apologetic smile is cast the priestess' way as she bows her head once more to leave. "Also please let me know where to meet your company before departing into the Nameless Desert, if you will. Here is hoping we both make it through intact enough to have that drink."