RP:The Ageless Black

From HollowWiki

Summary: Brennia responds to a summons by Thamalys and ends up having to bargain with an elf. A date for a key ultimately for nothing.

The Imperial Library

A pair of large stone doors swing open to reveal the interior of a marble-floored tower, lined with shelves that house what has to be tens of thousands of books straight to the roof. Tall ladders made of steel with gold overlay are placed at random intervals, attached to the shelves by a track with wheels built in so one is able to manoeuvre them with simply a push to explore the leather-bound books more closely. The room is illuminated by windows carved out of the stone that makes up the library’s walls, in a pattern that takes all of the sunlight that beams through and uses it to its full potential on the inside of the impressive building. A barely noticeable trapdoor is located in the very centre of the ceiling, with a miniscule keyhole in its middle. To one with a quick eye, they would see the door for what it was, and know it leads to the restricted sections of the massive library. If one were to gain access to it, the trap door would pull downward to reveal a set of marble stairs that lead to the Imperial Library’s hidden and most protected books.



Thamalys was where he said he would have been - with the only caveat he sneaked through the gates of the Library long hours before the midnight, that is the dire hour when the rendezvous was supposed to take place. The huge - if slender - shapes of the Blue were presently winded up tightly into the darkness, the only indication of anything more than yet another shelf of leathery books in that corner of the mighty room being a flickering sphere of blue fire, floating into the gloomy air with a glimmering, soft hue. Said light threw many a shadow along the corridor, most of which running across the colossal, silky mantle covering much of the Avian. He was on his - bare - feet, resting most of his weight against the endless rows of ancient tomes behind him. The mantle boasted most likely some shade of deep blue, but in that sort of light, it was rather difficult to tell. Crystal clear were instead the countless stars embroidered in silver into the fabric, which extended as far as possible but not far enough to even start to hide those monumental wings, clad in metallic silver and neatly furled around the towering presence of the Gossamer Halberd, squarely laced across his back. Somehow, the Spellblade managed to conceal a great deal of his ivory white dreadlocks, apparently gathered into a massive ponytail cascading across his shoulders. What appeared to be a mask made of some sort of black smoke covered the whole of his face, rippling and fluttering like the surface of a wintry lake in the chilling wind. Perfectly still he lingered, waiting for the Headmistress in utter silence, absolutely alone and deeply soaked indeed into a balanced blend of anticipation and fear.


Brennia saunters in on the balls of her soft leather booted feet being as quiet as a mouse. She has her wings bent around her like an expensive onyx shaded cloak and a black hood mostly covering a masked visage. She doesn’t have any inkling why this Avain is being so secretive and she usually would have arrived in her normal attire for Schezerade is long abandoned of avian people and the Republic as since disbanded for lack of luster. It was the ‘countess’ he added to her name in his letter for the island she is from which recognizes that is hidden in the world of Hollow and isn’t widely known through Lithrydel. Island Vere is a place she’s left behind, but fear of being hunted down by one of its people has always plagued her. Needless to say she's kept that type of information privileged to her closest friends and lovers. Under her own cloaked self she was clutching close to her hidden Obsidian Sai Daggers which are expertly sheathed in between the space of her wings and back. She sees the figure and her sultry alto timbre hisses out a sort of test in speaking only in her native tongue, Vereitian (French sounding), to ask ‘who are you’ but sounding like, “qui es-tu.” Her footing not solid, bent at the knee and ready to leap back at any moment if this gentleman does know certain of her past and is here to exact some sort of revenge in the name of Island Vere. The holes in the mask only allowing her stunning and large blue eyes to focus on the man awaiting his first move.


Thamalys spent such a long time perched on that shelves that his battered mind gradually ventured into a sort of kaleidoscope of memories, most of them recent enough, some darker ones surfacing from his painful past. Eyes stubbornly nailed onto a rather unremarkable tome, which according to the spine dealt with some frankly quite boring chronicles of the Xalious mountains, the Blue did not really perceived the Countess drawing nigh - just her voice, albeit in a converse he could not really label in any way. Taken aback by the sudden query - as that must have been, given the tone - he lost a good fraction of his focus, the sphere of light consequently disappearing with a sizzling protest into thin air. “Lady Brennia?” he inquired to the pitch-black darkness in his lowest pitch, a hint of genuine surprise dripping plainly enough from those two words alone. The Spellblade thought - hoped - he knew the answer to that particular question, and nonetheless he found himself with his right hand already caressing the metallic geometry of his halberd. What if his message got intercepted? What if half of the Scherezade’s Shim were already closing on him? The mere thought was enough to build into the spine of the Avian a long, ice-cold shiver. He would have taken a solid step back, but the feathery mass of his wings was already pressing against the very corner of the bookshelves. In fact, that very movement managed to dislodge quite a few of the bulky tomes, which happily connected with the marble close by with a dreadful collection of loud thuds - so much for secretiveness. A short, if effective series of swear words followed soon after in the softest of the whispers, some poise eventually finding. “I… I am not sure I can be deemed familiar with that particular speech, milady… some bardic vernacular I should be familiar with, maybe?” he genially continued, paying no attention to the books on the floor - yet - but instead waving his left hand across his face, the dark fog concealing his lineaments silently vanishing into nothing while a faint gush of blue would have brought a dim light through the corridor, condensing in yet another sphere of fire standing right between the two Avians - if he was to face some old enemy, he would have done so by looking straight into their eyes…


Brennia didn’t need to look to know he was holding fast to a weapon and her hands slowly slips the daggers from their place, but still behind her back, silently. The dropping of the books does not phase her for she assumed it might be a distraction tactic, but those royal blue eyes never moved from the stranger’s face. She took a cautious step closer to the avain and nearly inaudibly she sent out a single steady note. In doing so her bardic magic was able to sort of feel or see his soul and sense any sort of familiarity with the man and so far it’s none. When he doesn’t seem to know the language she internally relaxes, slightly. “I am Brennia.” Replacing one of the daggers she pulls the hood off to reveal long silky black as black hair and then tossed her mask aside. Fully able to see her face and the intricate tattoo pattern kissed on her forehead and temples as if she were some goddess. The striking oceanic blue eyes large and stern, at the moment pop against supple caramel skin while plump shapely lips part to ask in her more normal sultry alto timbre, “How may I assist you?” Her left hand stayed behind her back holding the dagger hidden under her wings while the right arm is covered in form fitting black material where he may spot the intricate pattern peaking upon the top of her hands. A sharpened ruby painted nail tugs at the string holding her black hooded cape and in turn releases massive marvelous onyx shaded wings. Even in such dim light, he may catch hues of forest greens and navy blues reflecting off of them. More of her outfit consists of black boots and black velvet leggings all hugging to her curvaceous frame and a dark brow quirks up at him as she feels the need to mention, “The Avian Republic has all but disbanded for at this time in Scherezade, Avians are few and far in between.” Figuring maybe it will give this stranger a chance to relax a little in her presence, which is easy with in natural allure, but he seemed a little out of sorts in a place where only he can fit in... For Schezerade is finely tailored to their kind.


Thamalys’ hand let go of the halberd the instant the Headmistress revealed herself, a long-awaited sigh of relief escaping those grey, thin lips only to be followed by quite a few moments of utter silence. He knew that aristocratic face - and he remembered that voice most clearly, the memory of Artia’s ball serving him well in this context, and yet he found himself torn by doubt and uncertainty, while on the verge of clarifying the need for such a secretive meeting. Thoughts racing like mad dogs on a hare, the Spellblade shoved away the flaming sphere to the side with a single, fluid movement of his wrist, solid blue eyes darting toward the bookshelves to make sure to not set the whole place ablaze - a regard definitely well justified by his track record of indoor firestorms. “Milady. Thank you for coming, especially given the rather clandestine circumstances…” he begun in a slightly more measured tone, presently leaning over to collect the fallen books. “Yes, the Republic may not rule with the same mastery, and yet… I cannot risk to be recognised. Ah, you probably think of me as some sort of criminal… why, you are probably not that far away from the truth, I fear…” he continued, a trembling pile of books already squarely set in his hands. “No, let me explain, please… alas, where to begin?” he asked mostly to himself, setting said stack of paper and leather onto a shelf, only to causally start to reposition the volumes where they were - more or less, that is. “Well, I suppose that the reason why I appealed to you could be the best option after all… I need to access the restricted section of this library, Milady. There are… well, many a thing in there, but amongst them, there are some… documents, yes, I would really like to set my eyes onto. I can assure you, I plan no mischief at all, and there is no evil in my intent - if you can believe me, that is. I know for a fact that the only one in possess of the key is the Keeper, Alathos the Oldest. He… would certainly recognise me for what I was, so that I have no hope by myself. You, on the other hand…” he hinted with a clear note of hope in that low voice of his, “… you are Lady Brennia, Headmistress of the Bard Academy… surely the codger will not deny you the key…” he concluded, his last words fading away into the darkness, eyes deliberately avoiding those of the Countess in an act that smelled fear and suspicion, each and every single fibre of his being tensed to the point that the rims of his wings twitched slightly, an ominous shade of silver throwing into the murky mix.


Brennia stayed still and silent in listening to the man prattle on while her expression never changes. After a long silent moment as if she were enjoying it, the silence, for the moment and her hand never leaves that dagger. Her free hand raised up without hesitation and placed her soft warm hand over his heart, uncaring of the unusual act, but she was getting a heartbeat reading and for the moment he passes that second test. Her caramel hand retracts, “Smyth ‘College’ of Bardic Arts.” She gently corrects him, “were we don’t just do simple tricks and move on about our day. The ways of the bard are to be honed and meditated on, it takes decorum and dedication…” Slowly blinking she stopped herself for she usually doesn’t get offended so fast, but what can she say? She's on edge tonight. “If I am going to help you with this and your intentions are true to what you preach then tell me what you are looking for and to what end.” I supposed she could have posed that more as a question than a demand, but it was the middle of the night and there are papers and lessons to grade. She still wanted to protect Scherezade itself since her home and livelihood reside within the floating city. Attempting to make eye contact with the stranger for that’s the only way to tell if someone was being dishonest with you.


Thamalys had to wage war against all manners of outrage and fury, when the Headmistress dared to enquire about his very heart. Physical contact, especially if perpetrated without notice, he dreaded indeed, and yet he found he was managing to dam that mighty river of flames threatening to ruin the whole of their conversation - for the sake of the greater good. Thus he stiffened, lips curving into a snarl, eyes widening in an expression halfway between surprise and indignation, not even with a single finger opposing the dire move of the Countess. “College. Noted, my lady…” he muttered instead, head canting slightly as to acknowledge the gentle rebuke. Her last words, he sort of expected, nathless some more silence he required before putting together his battered thoughts into an answer decent enough. “I suppose you have the full right to know… fair enough.” he capitulated, eventually ending his quest as an impromptu librarian to meet her eyes. Sapphire against saxe, what a tie indeed. “The memories of my time in the Flying City… I have largely lost, milady. From time to time some small chunks would surface, though… and they are not pleasant. I will save you the details, all but for one: out of pure arrogance, and most likely just in order to advance within the ranks of the Tzurs in search of glory and wealth alike, I devised an expedition aimed at eradicating an evil creature that along the centuries has mauled too many of our kin…” he begun in a sad voice, the Ageless Black swiftly topping things with one of his most unwelcome, silent remarks: || Correct… many a century, in fact… and still not entirely bored with playing around with you silly birds, am I? || chuckled the Beast, promptly shushed by the ongoing tale once more. “A Dragon, my lady, a Black One that many failed to tame, lurking… somewhere, I cannot force myself to remember… || How sad… || anyway. I gathered a number of warriors and mages alike, leading them against the Beast… and…” he will falter, voice almost breaking down the weight of shame and regret. “… and I fear none of them ever returned to Sherezade, including someone that I feel was important to me… alas, I really do not recall! I myself, I spent ages kept away from the sun, that much I do remember… and healers have offered me to try and bring my memory back, now… but I fear too much what I could find, I dread… madness.” || Most likely, yes… || acknowledged the Black. “This is why I need to find those archives, milady. I have to find out who was with me, and where did we venture exactly. Somebody… somebody will have to pay for that, and I stand in dire need of answers. Does that answer your query? I… I do not know whether I will find the courage to add anything more, as of now… this conversation came with much pain…” he concluded, a bony hand wiping some cold sweat from his brow, the whole of him panting as if physically exhausted.


Brennia finally sheathed the obsidian Sai dagger that is behind her back and she took a safe step back from the man. She understands the struggle of having an entity about you to which you cannot control and needing to find answers. Her posture of perfection suggest royalty, but something distant underlying in it. Gently agreeing with him, “minds can be fragile unless you handle them the right way.” She was relaxing a little more now after him leveling with her and that melodic sultry tone of hers would almost feel like a verbal embrace. Placing both of her hands into the curve of her waist and glancing down in thought causes her silky black hair to cascade about her visage. A tuck of hair behind elongated pointed and pierced ear before she inquired, “sir Thamelies,” she starts with the mispronouncing of his name, “have you ever considered hypnotism?” Not that she's going to try without permission, but “I’ve heard of song or music used to place willing participants under for a limited amount of time during numerous sessions in order to gain a peace of mind or remembering truths… Just a gentle suggestion.” Brennia raised her liberty blue eyes to meet his once more as she gets back to the matter at hand, “where is this man and where can I find him?” Although she does not seem very charming at the moment she's been known to charm a snake out of it’s skin given the right circumstances. Yes, she's a stunning woman, but that only gets you so far in life.


| Alathos || “I am right here, Headmistress Smyth. I always were - but I am definitely no Man, as I hope you would acknowledge…” answered with some amusement a third voice sharp as a blade, belonging to the tiny, slender features of an Elf - why, a High Elf in fact ! - literally taking shape from the pages of a huge book sitting wide open on a shelf nearby. “So…” giggled the Oldest, no more than five feet robed with the most incredible collection of expensive clothing one could possibly imagine: his boots were finest, nut brown leather, splendid purple velvet trousers, an immaculate shirt embroidered with golden spirals and a double breasted blazer, dark green with solid gold buttoning. A pair of horn-rimmed glasses perched upon a massive hawk nose, squarely nested into a most aristocratic face, marvellously pale, while a long, very long tress of white hair, neatly combed, rested on his shoulders. “Such is your arrogance, then, that you will just assume one can simply sneak through the gates and roam the Library unchecked?” he stood two strides away from Brennia, but he was addressing the Spellblade, a whole arms outstretching toward him while making his accusation. “All these years… and you have not changed at all, Thamalys. Oh, of course I remember you… I remember everything and everyone - and particularly egotistic Avians are no exception. Now…” he casually added in a most merry pitch, “… you two will try, and give me a single reason why I should not to call the guards at once… planning to break into the restricted section, no less! Ah, the Fallen Captain returning with the aid of none other than our beloved Headmistress… the City will be delighted, I am sure!” he laughed loud, apparently just genuinely amused, his voice echoing freely through the corridors.


Thamalys opened his mouth as to cry aloud something, in the end just silently watching in absolute dread the Keeper materialising in front of them - even the Ageless Black recoiled in awe. Should he have known the High-Elf was capable of such a thing? Was that yet another detail buried in his broken recollections? He could not tell. Also, that was beside the point, at that stage. “Alathos… by the Wind, is this really you? I… I remember your face…” he noted, he himself surprised by his own wording. He truly did remember, some more shards from the past surfacing - not without pain. Then, the mention of the Headmistress brought him back to the pressing mess to be untangled. “No!” he cried, a whole step tracking to position himself between the Half-Elf and the Black Winged. “She does not have anything to do with this, -I- asked for her help, -I- brought her in here… she not a part of my past, o’ Oldest One. Leave her alone… please?”. Now, that was unheard of: the Blue very, very rarely pleaded to anybody for anything, and the Keeper, for once, was rather taken aback indeed by that particular evidence. As such, the High-Elf shifted his attention onto the voluptuous figure of the Headmistress, blatantly assessing, plainly curving an eyebrow in a gesture that dripped anything but manners.


Brennia calmly watched the two for a moment and this stranger pleading for her was cute in her own eyes as she's reminded how many think her helpless to defend herself. Whenever her charms don't work there is plan B and plan C to fall back on, but she hopes it never has to come to plan C. No need to jump to daggers, yet, for no one is saying ‘Countess’, so here she starts in her sultry melodic alto timbre, “Alathos, Oldest one.” His name came out slowly and twisted up on her tongue to which sounds of taboo, but perversion to such lengths that one would want to listen to her say it over and over again. She sidesteps Thamalys to give the high elf a full view in her six foot two dangerously curved frame. Other than her stature, her hypnotic wings and intricate tattoo pattern (which causes most men to wonder, ‘does that really cover -all- of her’) it would be her brilliant bright smile that steals the show. The plump lips expose perfect pearly white teeth and poke dimples in those caramel cheeks; stronger men have fallen for it. She exudes no arrogance and ultimately seems to be an entirely different person than when she walked in- cloaked and secret. Marvelous onyx wings preening before the elf as he studies her and purposefully allowing her wings to do so was a blatant flirt among the Avain kind, maybe Thamalys will remember that as well. Faking a blush when the man took the sight of her in for he must be careful not to get whiplash on those curves, but her alluring voice swam in the distance between them allowing her Bardic chords to throw her voice, sounding like it was coming from all around them, “Merry meet to you. I'm meeting all kinds of interesting beings today.” Placing a fist over her heart before a gracious curtsy/bow to the elf for flattery always wins with their kind. “Apologies for such a late intrusion, but you see, Oldest One, I'm sure you've heard tales of my open heart and kind fortune to help those in need. I couldn't ignore how I felt when this broken man came into Schezerade and you know how ‘sensitive’ I am to souls, no?” Making sure to accent certain words to appeal to the man before her since he seems so interested in her looks and playing to the innocent good intended nature of the situation rather than the negative would hopefully turn this thing around. Even though she was laying it on thick it wasn't easily detected. It seems growing up with royalty she had to learn how to persuade the help and guards.


Alathos was old - oh, so impossibly old. He saw all sort of marvels, before purposefully deciding, centuries ago, to lose himself into the countless pages of the Library, soaking is very soul into that timeless knowledge. Being the Keeper meant many a thing, but one in particular did matter in the unravelling of the ongoing confrontation - boredom, that is. Time is a nasty beast to deal with, and after quite a few millennia, one tends to regard any deviation from the daily routine as a much welcomed occurrence - and especially more so when said deviation is a quite charming, definitely provocative example of the finest Avian breed the Old One had - ever - seen. Shamelessly, his golden eyes kept staring, ever so slightly moving to follow profiles and lines of tattoos, skin, and quite possibly even more. That, and the Bardic craft of the Headmistress, made the High-Elf basically oblivious to the Spellblade, whom rather gladly just stepped aside, letting the Countess to take the lead. A wise choice, a snap of lips even following Alathos’ assessment of the well endowed merchandise. He proceeded to clear his throat. “Well… of course, of course, your kindness is widely acknowledged across the whole City… and I guess that I could forgive this little mischief of yours after all… that is, if I can hope to interest Milady in a glass of wine in the next few days, yes?” A blatant instance of blackmailing that was, the old fogey solid gone already into the bewildering patterns of her tattoos - but still the Keeper he remained. “However…” he reprised with a much more frosty tone, eyes shifting toward the willowy shapes of the Blue nearby, “this haughty butcher you have before your eyes, milady, I will - never - allow into the restricted section. True, he had keys before… you remember not, Thamalys-Tzur ae Feinkthan? That is your name, silly… beside, there is nothing to look for. Those you persuaded to follow you into that hopeless quest… they are all dead, you fool, your brother Lathmalys included. Korkorhan himself impaled them one by one for everyone to witness… so that, you see, there is nothing for you in there, is it?” cruelly teased the High-Elf, only partially realising the extent of the blow he was bringing upon the mind of the Spellblade.

Thamalys was about to intervene, the lust in the eyes of the Keeper being definitely too much for him to withstand. But then, Alathos’ words struck him so deeply he lost his balance, falling to his knees. “My name…” he would have begun, stuttering, eyes widened, hands trembling, almost as if trying to seize some invisible piece of furniture, or the hand of Brennia, hard to tell, to get some support he never truly found. A blur of impossibly painful images surged into his mind, the pervasive voice of the Black himself crying aloud, soiling those newfound memories with an old fear, bringing the Blue on the verge of madness once more. The Spellblade had both hands on the stony floor, now, his wings knocking out several tomes, falling to the floor unchecked and uncared for. “Lathmalys… cursed be the Wind, I…” he tried to went on, to put one word after the other one, but the commotion within his thoughts was to great to bear. Large chunks of his past were finally making their way back to his psyche - but not in a gentle way such as the one suggested by the Headmistress. No, racing they were, much as a whole drove of horses at full gallop, thrashing everything along the way. “Dead… no… that is a lie!” he suddenly yelled, leaping to his feet while at the same time taking the strongest grip on the High-Elf throat. The whole of his right arm was ablaze now, firey stripes of blue flames devouring his precious robe, threatening to reach the flesh of the Keeper soon enough. He felt nothing, he heard nothing, he only saw in front of him the sodding jaws of the Black wide open into the most evil laughter. He would have ended that sound, no matter what, at the cost of burning down the whole Library at once.


Brennia, again, faked a blush while placing her weight to one side and tucking some that lustrous black hair behind her ear again. Letting out a soft adorable and raspy giggle she responded to the elfs offer, “oh, Alathos, you flatterer!” When he turned his hatred on her fellow avain a pain pinged in her heart for she too lost her family to murder. “That is -not- fair,” she didn't have to raise her voice to send the fear she provoked in others. When Thamalys fell to his knees she responded to his hand and held to to fall beside him and say, “shh-sh. It’s okay. Keep your calm Thamalys.” She turned the fear from before and focused her powers on a calming one before looking up at the high elf, “Alathos, I plea to the kindness of your heart Oldest One. Do we not all deserve second chances in life? You know just as well as I that beings such as us live too long without doing damning deeds.” Her persuasion in her voice is almost non dismissive once she connects those liberty blues to the elf’s own gaze. Essentially being shoved aside so Thamalys can attack the high elf she was possibly a little quicker than him, Now it's her turn to put herself between the elf and the Avian and her warm hands gently placed on the sides of this stranger's face. Her wings span out to place a barrier between them while those liberty blues connect to Thamalys’ own sapphire ones, “no, Thamalys.” That alluring alto timbre nearly vibrated the air between them and he possibly singed a few of her onyx feathers, but she doesn't allow this to distract her and her corse. “Stay with me. Listen to the sound of my voice and understand the words I speak that this is -not- the way. If only for the fact of being an Avian please put your trust in me that I will help you if you let me, I shall take it from here.” Her words only for him leaving the elf out of this part of the conversation with that Bardic ability also weaving in calming tones. She says his name to him slowly just as she did with Alathos: the taboo and perversion laced into it garnering on desire to hear it over and over again now that she knows how to say his name, “Thamalys Feinkthan, are you with me?”


Alathos was pondering the rebuke of the Headmistress, possibly even inclined to consider her reasoning… that is, at least till he found himself strangled by the flaming hand of the Blue. Curiously enough, though, he would not have flinched. He just frowned, rolling his eyes into a resigned expression of much expected disappointment. A split second after, the Spellblade was helding thin air only, the Keeper vanished from sight without a sound, a faint hint of a golden mist leaving behind. Somewhere, not too far, the sound of hefty parchments shuffling could clearly be discerned.


Thamalys felt the touch of the Countess’ hand on his tattooed face when still intent into squeezing the thin neck of the Keeper. In regular circumstances, he would have just dismissed that with a brisk gesture, a grunt, and a step away for good measure. However, right in the middle of that turmoil, it was a miracle he actually didn’t reach for his Halberd. Well, a miracle, or the full might of the Bard’s magic. Actually roaring, the ivy-shaped tattoos on his face dripping droplets of liquid blue fire, he let go of the Oldest One - whom in fact just disappeared anyhow - turning instead to face the Black Winged. “No? I, I do as I please, with pesky codgers and ancient dragons alike! If I cannot get the key, I’ll smash that door! The bastard. Has. To. Pay!” he ranted, eyes nailed into those of her, golden streaks building a glimmering net into that solid blue gaze. || What are you waiting for, then, silly Bird? Come, so that I can add one more pair of wings to my personal collection… or maybe you would prefer to serve me into the darkness, just as you did for years? What, don’t you remember that as well, now? Ah, I bet you do… || inquired the Dragon, calm as a coma. As a result, the Blue was about to lose himself for the sodding eternity - eventually, though, the Bard’s deeds brought some much needed outcomes. The black veil in front of the Spellblade flickered and shattered, much of his anger dissipating into the chilly air already. A rumbling mess of thoughts was still pressing against his sanity, but her simple question needed an answer. “I am. And…” he added, a long sigh exhaling, arms falling along his hips, the flames licking his skin fading into the ink, “… and I am so, utterly sorry. I… ah, maybe Alathos is right, maybe I never truly changed, maybe I still am the dreadful bastard I have always been. So much to deal with… my brother, my brother is gone… Keeper! Old One, I am sorry! you hear me?” he cried to the ceiling, loudly enough to be heard within the whole of the Library. As soon as the echo died away, he buried his face in both of his hands, panting. “Most of all, I apologise for the mess in which I brought you in… I would have never imagined…” he concluded, desperately trying to digest the revelations of the keeper while barely managing to keep the Black One at bay. Such a mighty fight was taking place within the skinny features of the Blue. So much to consider - a single, well-defined name dominating the scene, though: Korkorhan. || Yes, that - is - my name, o’ tiny thrall… || tittered the Ageless One.


Brennia didn't know why but her arms slipped from his face when he started to fray around the edges and begin to fall apart, but she'd wrap her arms around him burying him in his most favorite scent and a hand goes out to caress up the trailing arch of one of his wings. Anything involving the wings was intimate to most Avians as she was just trying to soothe him. Her alluring and calming voice said softly into one of those pointed ears, “you are forgiven, but in my town.” Yes, she's the only avain left around these parts that give a care about Schezerade anyone, “one must only ask for help when in need and they shall receive it.” Her frame pressed against his own would feel soft and pliable but heavenly before she gently pulled herself away to a safe distance. Again, gaining eye contact with Thamalys she asks him, “what is it you need help with? What aren't you telling me?” Her entire aura warm and open now to the lengths he would feel no judgements from her if he trusts in her truly.


Thamalys was way too upset to pay too much attention to the Headmistress’ embrace. Which he tolerated - to put it mildly - although it was plain enough that he did not cherish the idea nor indeed the feeling of being in contact with anybody other than himself, with possibly a single, icy exception to that very rule. He stiffened, the rim of his wings twitching slightly, a metallic clink sounding sharp and odd around the two Avians. Luckily enough, the voice of the Bard carried a lot of power with it - and the Blue found himself longing for some more, the same tickling feeling you experienced after the very first taste of a well-aged wine. Notwithstanding, he welcomed that step back of her with a long sigh, of relief chiefly, soon after raising his head to level his gaze with that of the Black Winged. “I am not hiding anything from you, milady - I would never dare. Why, the Keeper just brought to me much of the truth I lost… no matter of painful this is, a part of me is still grateful for that…” || A part, but not the whole of you, trust me! || pointedly rebuked the Dragon. The Spellbalde closed his eyes for a moment, focusing on not to linger too much on his newfound memories - he would have needed some time to just cope with those… - while at the same time trying to ignore the pervasive presence of the Ageless. Her voice, he thought, think of her voice… and that actually worked well enough to allow him to press on with his speech, albeit in a rather broken, raucous tone. “What I need… two things, I guess. First and foremost, time. Time to ponder who I was, and what I want to be - if I still have that choice in me, that is. Time to accept what happened, to embrace the fact that… well, no need to dwell on that, now. The - second - thing…” and there he had to stop mid sentence, as a flapping sound nearby righteously caught his attention.


|| Alathos || “… would be a key, yes.” completed the Keeper, one more time delighting the scarce audience with yet another appearance, this time materializing from the leathery cover of a tiny booklet abandoned against a shelf. He was massaging his own neck with his right hand, clearly not exactly prone to forget about the recent incident with the Blue’s flaming hand. “Milady, I suppose you are partially right…” he begun addressing the Countess, “… maybe it was not entirely fair the way in which I brought back the past of this scoundrel… but then, you should have known him - before - he embarked in that suicidal, utterly stupid quest. Arrogant, ruthless, cruel, even - you would have done the same. However…” and here he would have stopped, his golden eyes abandoning the shapes of the Black Winged to scrutinise the Spellblade instead. “… maybe you - did - change after all. The Thamalys I knew would have never felt sorry - nor pleaded for help, or thanked anybody, or showed some manners. Indeed, if the Headmistress is willing to help you…” he continued, a tiny hand proffering, palm open, to the Avian - empty, apparently. “Well, I do not see why I should hamper your search”, he acknowledged, an instant before the smallest, silvery key appeared in his hand, ready to be taken. “Nonetheless!” he added, closing his fist hiding the key from anyone’s sight. “I do understand your desire to know who you were and what you deed - although you will find no joy in that, you probably - need - to know. And I also understand your ache for revenge on Korkorhan… albeit I can only foresee more death in that…” he shook his head, the Ageless nodding eagerly at his words. “But I must be sure you would not search for anything other than the Tzur archives. Too many dangerous books lie within the restricted section… so. If Lady Brennia is willing to guarantee for you, I shall hand her the key - mind you, though, if you touch anything other than the archives… I will know, and the punishment shall be… interesting, trust me…” he noted with a broad grin, his hand once more outstretching, but this time toward the Countes. “ Would you be ready to take that responsibility, milady?” he asked once more, a much amused expression on his face.


Brennia listened to all before giving Thamalys a stern and steady look that meant, ‘if I’m going to be vouching for you - do NOT screw this up’. Those stunning liberty blue hues settle on the elf once more with kindness and appreciation - the lady knows how to politic. She lets out a relieved fake sigh before closing some of the distance between her and Alathos so she may gently take the key from him, leaving a warm whisper of her touch on his hand, “I sensed a soft kindness burning within you, Alathos, Oldest One.” Those shapely plump lips dripping seduction with every syllable while her soft touch caresses along the man’s jawline. She bent down a little in order to place a platonic and sweet kiss on his high cheek bone before a, “I thank you.” A smirk exposing those pearly whites before standing straight and motioning Thamalys to follow her and addressing Alathos one last time, “I look forward to our drink.” From an outsider's perspective she seems genuine for she is able to put on quite the act of flattery for her own gains. A knowing grin given to Thamalys once they are alone and making their way to the restricted section before she now speaks to him, “I need you to focus on the sound of my voice and keep yourself together in here. Whatever we find out if you can hold any reactions in until we leave that will help. We can deal with the aftermath of the hidden secrets at the fountain or in the college, however far you can make it.” By how they reached the door and she unlocked the door before securing the key deep between her cleavage. This section is vast and she's never been here before as she stepped in close to Thamalys to keep a close watch on him while continuing to talk about anything at all with her calming focus, “where shall we start?” Her gaze looks over at him while her peripheral vision keeps track of all around them.


Alathos canted his head toward the right, silently approving every single syllable leaving the Countess’ lips - no resistance whatsoever would have been shown toward the Black Winged gesture of grabbing the keys - nor, indeed, the kiss. “Very well, then… we have a deal, it seems - I shall leave you to it, but do remember: I am counting on that drink, Milady…” he simply noted, consequently touching with his left the spine of a massive tome only to disappear with a loud snap into the papery realm he was the only master of.


Thamalys was perfectly happy to follow the Black Winged One’s suggestion - he could have listened to her voice for ages, and never be satisfied with it still. Trudging behind the Headmistress, the Blue eventually found himself within the elitist boundaries of the Restricted Section. He had to gasp in awe, presented with the apparently boundless collection of… well, not only books of the most diverse shapes and sizes, but artefacts as well, painting, sculptures… he could spot a massive harp in a corner, and - he could have sweared - a couple of green parrots chasing each other on top of a massive bookshelf stuffed with colourful bottles and large wooden boxes alike. Nevertheless, the overall picture was something he felt he was familiar with - after all, Alathos did state the Spellblade had the keys to that very place. || Very. Very interesting indeed… maybe we should have a quick look to that set of crimson-covered booklets over there? || he suggested the Black, trying with some rather strong compulsion to drive the Avian toward some possibly lethal bits of knowledge. Think of her voice, think of her voice… he silently kept repeating the Winged Beast… but there was only silence to be heard. He sighed, trying to recover some pieces of information from his broken memory. “I… I seem to recall the archives are over there… that corridor… the walls should be surrounded by a whole collection of chests of drawers… but before we get there… could… could you maybe… sing for me, yes? Does not have to be anything grand, really… just a hint of your voice to stay with us till we are here… so that I can have something to hold on to… it is so difficult to for me to keep my mind on the task… I feel like… something is trying to drive us away from our search…” he went in a voice full of sorrow while moving the first steps toward said lane, ambling along a sort of a winding path unraveling between tall stacks of book.


Brennia hums a tune softly which has just enough Bardic power weaved within it to keep his his calm. Her footsteps soft and neatly silent as she leads him around to the area he mentioned before. Finally gaining entrance into the room he described she motions for him to take over from here while she continues to soothe his mind with her humming. Subtly she want back to being alert while folding her large wings closely to her frame and keeping her eyes open for anything unusual.


Thamalys let the melody of the Bard sink into him, soothing, lulling, taming a broken spirit still badly shaken by the fluster originated by the Keeper. Trying in turn to follow the tune, he would have murmured some notes himself, while pacing toward the drawers where some part of the Blue thought he would have found some answers. The Black, righteously upset, kept mauling his thoughts, but such was the skill of the Headmistress that the Spellblade reached a sort of balanced, if precarious, equilibrium. Eventually, they reached the archives of the Tzur. Unlike much of the material piled up within the rest of the restricted section, the paperwork of the mages was kept in a most tidy fashion. Nonetheless, the Winged Beast had no clue about the actual year the expedition against Korkorhan took place. “I think we can safely ignore these rows…” he began, pointing at the lower part of the massive collection, “… I… sort of remember having been through that time ago, they are ancient. No, we are looking for a folder somewhere in this section, I believe…” on he went, delimitating with the span of his arms a small, if still sizeable, region of the archives. Without further ado, he extracted the first of those drawers, found himself a spot relatively free from the awful amount of clutter laying literally everywhere, sit down there, and started a long stroll down memory lane. Too many things to be listed in here he re-learned about himself that dire day - very little of which pleasant at all, but at least the presence of the Black Winged avoided the descent of the Blue into the swirling realm of lunacy - for now. Suddenly, the swishing sound of paper came to a halt. “This is it…” he simply stated, a particularly ominous folder covered in black leather raising high above his head, seeking for the attention of the Countess. “I can still recall my own writing, and this lines definitely belong to me…” he went on while pointing to an elegant annotation in crimson ink right engraved right on top of the cover. So eager he was to gain knowledge of the Black, he completely neglected that subtle feeling of unease he crept into him the moment he picked the folder up, not to mention a particularly nasty laughter of the Ageless, for some reason presently in quite a high spirit. In fairness, the Blue was about to remember, but he was just too late, his greedy hands having already unraveled the binder - hence shattering the magical seal he himself conjured a long time ago. As a result, the whole paperwork in his hands crumbled to pieces, a massive cloud of red smoke materialising from the ashes instead. The Spellblade would have screamed, but found he could not, said crimson fumes already working their ways into him. For one thing, the smell of it was surprisingly pleasant, something along the lines of grapefruit - he thought right before a powerful numbness started to develop across the whole of his body. He could not move his jaw, the whole of him slipping slowly on the marble floor already, paralysed, helpless. No words could describe the joy of the Black, silently witnessing that poison in action. With the very last shard of strength he could muster, the Blue gestured with his left hand toward a small satchel secured across his belt, in the thin hope the Headmistress would have paid attention to that particular suggestion. As a Healer he probably had what he needed to vanquish the bane… if only he could have reached for it.


Brennia continues to watch the man carefully while humming gently, only looking at his pointing out of the folder with much patience. If he happened to connect their gaze throughout his search he would notice that eye contact with the bard was even more powerful in the calming effects. When the trap is released by his own hand she was quick to step back from it and put her arm over her mouth and nose in order to protect herself. Eyes following him attempting to reach for his satchel she was quick to gain closer once more and take out what it was he needed and administer it to him.


Thamalys felt some life flowing back into him, upon the swift gesture of the Countess whom most likely just saved him from a most dreadful end. Soon enough, the thick liquid within the vial she produced from him satchel vanquished the poison for good, and the red veil before his eyes vanished, much to his relief - and, weirdly, to a non negligible extent that of the Black One as well. “Thank you… I… I should have remembered… alas, all of this was useless, then… I shall never know…” he groaned, rolling on the floor, with one hand rummaging through the pile of grey ashes. || Maybe, one day… || he chuckled the Black presently within a very good mood. He would have cried out of frustration and sorrow alike - but he could not remember how that was even accomplished. With a supreme effort, and largely thanks to the magic of the Bard still lingering in the corridor, he arose instead to his feet, coughing and panting. “Milady… I have no words to express how ashamed I am… I brought you here, stealing a whole night from you… and for what?” he asked himself aloud, arms wide open, eyes nailed on the high ceiling, almost as pleading for something. “For a pile of old cinders, and a whole lot of long-forgotten memories… I shall never set foot again in this city. There is nothing for me in here….” he continued, kicking away what did remain of the ashes, which happily took off into the chilly air, swirling and trembling. “Well, there is one thing… I am now deeply indebted to milady, that is sure enough. I own you - badly. Whenever and wherever you feel like you would need me… send word to me. I will gladly oblige…” he stated in his deepest voice, a stiff bow producing even. So upset he was, he did not even care about the sheer amount of knowledge piled up in the rest of the restricted section.True, the Keeper told him not to have a look around, and yet… no, not today. Today the Blue was defeated. Broken he was, possibly beyond repair - and thanks to the Wind the Bard was with him the whole time! As such, the huge shapes of the Spellblade made their way already through clutter and books, aiming for some air. He would have flown back to Frostmaw, most likely - he could have used some cold, to sooth him during the time he surely needed while pondering the many revelations he collected that very night.