RP:The Exorcism of Karasu Tsuji
Part of the You Must Have Been Human Arc
Summary: The worst comes to pass.
Shrine to Vakmatharas the Supreme God of Death
A desolate desert landscape gives way to an ominous and awe inspiring structure to the east. A great, glimmering obsidian obelisk rises up from the sands before you, in defiance of the surroundings. At first glance it appears to be made of solid obsidian, yet upon closer inspection you see that the precious stones are simply tiles that cover thick walls constructed of hearty straw-clay bricks. The expense that was spared, obviously went to ensure that the structure would weather the constant heat and harsh sandstorms that have destroyed the lesser landmarks in this arid region. There appears to be only one entrance that is shaped like a smaller version of the obelisk, it is high and wide enough to allow even giants and colossal dragons passage. Surprisingly, there is no door to stop you from entering. If you find this a welcome invitation and pass through the portal you'll see that the inside is much smaller than the outside -- maybe due to the thickness of the walls -- yet still massive. The great chamber you stand in is bleak yet bright, pitch black walls with a mirror finish that gleam from the light of four symmetrical windows, each placed to face the four points on the compass. There is little else inside that you see, deepening the mystery of the misplaced tower's purpose and meaning. Finally, toward the back of the hall you find a towering statue of a fully-robed and hooded figure carved out of solid obsidian. There is no face under the hood, or even a head, its entirely empty, giving one the impression of a dark, endless chasm. In one skeletal hand the faceless figure holds a sword up high and in the other it carries a balance scale, each side in perfect equilibrium. The way the flickering candlelight around the figure shimmers off of the intricately etched robes, they appear to roil and billow, as if the statue were floating...But, towards you? A trick of the light? When you turn to walk away you see a gigantic inscription above the doorway you entered through. Inlaid in silver so as to stand out against the obsidian backdrop it reads: "In tribute to Vakmatharas, the Supreme Lord of Death, who takes the most righteous of us amongst the most vile of us without bias or malice. We are blessed that dominion over Death lay in his fair and balanced hands." Mystery solved, you decide to leave once the shrine's Priest starts walking toward you with an offering bowl and some scrolls that contain more information about the great Vakmatharas.
The road to this point had not been a pleasant one. Since the last time Ahr’Nuk had reached its perigee, things had not gone well for a certain spellblade. Nearly driven to the brink of insanity and back by the creature long driven mad inside her mind, Karasu does her best to keep the conversation light with those traveling with her. “So would it be possible to create an incantation that only draws sand and not other fine earthy particles towards an object? If it could be done like that with the object being a blade, and done in conjunction with a beginner’s level lightning spell, theoretically you should be able to create a wall of glass-like shrapnel that does not require intermediate spaciomancy techniques to draw from a reserve from glass that has already been forged.” The spellblade muses out loud as the small caravan makes its way under the intense heat of Kafzhash. Aside from a set of goggles to keep the sand from her eyes, the woman is dressed lightly to welcome the heat as a reprieve from the godsforsaken chill of the late spring. ‘They have led you out here to kill you along with myself, useless child.’ The entity whispers in her mind, eliciting a slight flex of her hands into fists for a moment. Walking behind her is the avian that has been assisting with keeping the refugee spellblades in check, his wings extended to provide the party some shade while they walk.
Quintessa rides upon Bloodbeak her faithful cockatrice as part of the caravan, serving as a scout to rush ahead and perch atop of sand dunes so mismatched eyes could take in the horizon. Tinted goggles protect the changeling’s sensitive eyes as she scans and waits, trying to ignore the nagging feeling that something was going to go wrong- seriously wrong with what she had planned in her head. Only about 15 meters ahead, Quintessa glances back at the rest of the group as she waits for them to join her, pale hands reaching inside her cloak to retrieve her clove cigarettes so she could tame her fractict worries. “It’s better that you came with us, Mox.” The warlock retorts for the student, a cloud of sweet smelling smoke catching on the wind as she exhales, eyes still glued on the horizon. “The shrine is just up ahead.” She points out in the direction of a glimmering obsidian obelisk, plainly visible from her spot upon the dunes as the party of spellcasters joins her. “There we should have all the basic amenities to begin the Rites of Exorcism…” Quintessa knows she didn’t have to explain this to her current company, but it was comforting for herself to speak it aloud anyway. “Though nothing like this had ever been attempted in contemporary Necromancy- least nothing that’s ever been recorded. We should all be ready to expect the unexpected.” A final glance is given to Karasu before she urges Bloodbeak along, trying to hide her concern for her lover’s safety as best she can.
Quintessa may have managed to raise Bradyn’s interest in the current endeavor that the necromancer was inclined to join the party and offer his assistance, but that does not mean he is interested in being overly friendly with any of the individuals. He was polite enough, all things considered, but the small talk that was happening was not something Bradyn had any interest in participation in. Not beyond wandering if Karasu’s current musing had any relevance to their task, or if she was just musing for the sake of it. And even then? His current interest in Karasu was not born out of any real emotion, even Quintessa has to be aware that this is not why Bradyn is here. No, his interest in her is limited to the fact that she’s the subject to what is in his view an experiment. Tessa and Odhranos were no doubt that they had positive results in the ritual they were about to undertake, but Bradyn? He just wanted to see what would happen one way or another. Success. Failure. It was all the same to him, outside of bragging rights if they were to succeed. The Maharan did not see fit to change his attire for this trip into the desert. Black slacks, nice dress shoes, a waistcoat and a pressed white button down shirt. He did at least bring cloth to wrap about his head to protect his face from any sands the wind might carry. Maybe he could have found a more suitable outfit, but the vampire does not often make trips to the desert. He doesn’t seem too bothered, as he is mostly focused with studying their current experiment subject.
Odhranos mulls the question over before nodding his head. "It should be easy enough pull off the first part. Once you've got the basic understanding and can tell sand and dirt apart from a terramantic point of view, it's a matter of getting that distinction to come across in your incantation." Odhranos pauses for a moment, and lifts the golden blindfold over his eyes enough to wipe the sweat that has beaded behind it. The fabric is replaced and Odh sets his mind to his task once again, urging onwards a large wood and canvas sled that had been borrowed from an elven tribe native to the desert, on a favour owed to the Guild for services long ago. The catamaran-like vessel creaks and groans like a beast of burden as Odhranos shunts it over the sand, as it labours beneath enough supplies and equipment that they should be prepared for anything the desert might throw at them. While he is aware of the tense atmosphere that lulls over the caravan, he continues, preferring to back Karasu's attempts at keeping upbeat "You might consider trying a pyromancy spell rather than electromancy. Lightning and sand will get you fulgurite, which is pretty, but very light and brittle. Fire will get you a more dense finish, if you're looking to use it in a fight. Half-molten glass hurts too." The terramancer chuckles from where he stands on the sled's deck. "I've burned my fingers one too many times that way."
Karasu slows her pace as the ebony obelisk comes into view from behind the dunes. “I can do anything.” The phrase of comfort to herself is barely audible over the wind and the creaking of the vessel. From behind her comes a simple question from her near-mute student, “Why?” Aumaxra’s eyes fix onto Karasu with a look of curiosity, to which she gives one back. Had he not been present when they discussed the ritual? “Quintessa knows the specifics better than I do, but supposedly this should make most things right. Molten glass, huh...” Karasu muses, slightly embarrassed she did not know something that now seemed like such an obvious oversight. As the spellblade passes the Mahran to approach the shrine, she notes, “I hope this satisfies your curiosities.” A soft hand is rested on the small of the hexblade’s back, calloused from years of training with the sword and from mishaps with learning the basics of magic. Abovehead, a black cloud of smoke that heralds the presence of a certain pyromancer monitors the situation carefully, slowing with the rest of the caravan as they approach. Tentatively, Karasu reaches a hand out to the doorless entryway. Like a cloak of pure night, her hand seems to disappear into the doorway completely. “I trust you, Quintessa.” Karasu says, passing through the doorway into the mirrored halls of the shrine with her first. Outside, the avian fidgets silently, glancing at the terramancer and the necromancer as if to indicate they should go ahead of him.
Quintessa dismounts her cockatrice so she could travel with the rest of the party, leading him by the reins through the dusty road winding northward to the Shine of Vakmatharas. She listens to the conversations silently, nursing her cigarette as causal glances over her shoulder confirms who was speaking before blue and hazel eyes flicker to the next. Eventually Quintessa found herself staring at the Maharan, his formal garb a juxtaposition to the rough and untamed wilderness, yet somehow it would have been even stranger had the vampire dressed any different. The changeling was still glad he came, whatever his motivations, for his experience in their shared field eclipsed her own and she knew he could fill any void her chaotic studies produced with his near encyclopedic obsession of necromancy. A hand on Quintessa’s back snaps her out of her unorganized thoughts, her attention shifting to Karasu to offer her a soft smile as she confesses her trust in her. “I told you I would do anything I could to help you. I meant it.” Quintessa was filled with determination. She would not let Karasu down. Leaving Bloodbeak outside, the warlock follows the spellblade further, wondering if she should try to explain things further as to why this location was important for the spell to work. “These temples aren’t placed arbitrarily,” she begins, mismatched eyes tracing along the symmetrical windows. “In my ‘Weave Theory’ I speculate that magic flows along an infinite web that holds reality together. Certain locations along this weave called nexus points have a high amount of concentrated mana lingering there, locations like the Xalious Tree, the Black Pond, and here, the ancient Shine to the Supreme God of Death. Various sigils on the walls and floors, and the very nature of the arcane architecture itself will allow us to tap into the magic necessary to begin this rite…” Quintessa pauses for a moment to drop her cigarette to the floor and crush it under her heel. “I only hope it is enough to sever the connection as my calculations have predicted.”
“I certainly hope so too,” Bradyn says in response to Karasu, dark eyes trailing after the young woman as she enters the shrine. His response explained why the Maharan was lacking in popularity. Despite his more callous approach to this issue, the necromancer’s intentions were not to do anything that would interfere with the ritual as planned. As Quintessa herself had said, hopefully her predicated calculations were correct. “There is only one way to find out…” the Maharan says to Quintessa, there was still a certain lack of concern to the tone of his voice. Either way, the Maharan was not here to create a rift between himself and Quintessa with any tomfoolery. Their current goal was intriguing enough, and he saw no reason to delay in seeing it’s end. If the avian did not want to enter the shrine after Karasu, then Bradyn would. Surely Quintessa has provided details of what roles both Odhranos and Bradyn were to perform, so that is where Bradyn’s mind went as he slips into the darkness to follow after Karasu. If they are met with success, then great, but if they are met with failure? Well the Maharan was too proud to risk that failure being attributed to any fault of his own.
Odhranos doesn't experience the same ominous awe most pilgrims report when Vakmatharas' obelisk rises like a black tombstone over the horizon. Instead, a sad fondness creeps into the terramancer's heart when to his blind eyes, the tower looms, cast in silver light as the obsidian glistens with its glassy voice, a high tenor to the bassy thrum of the clay it sheaths. "It's been a while." He murmurs quietly to himself as the caravan slows, absorbing the spectacle before the final stretch. His last visit had not been so different from Karasu's now, his mind weary with the mark of another's burdens. The golden cage at his side hisses melancholically and he tucks his face in behind his collar, so only his forehead betrays the human swaddled beneath the cloth. His old wounds can wait for another time. Right now, all that matters is that Karasu survives the fast-approaching ritual. The dune-skiff crosses the last league with ease, as the sand slowly slopes towards the foot of the dark monolith. Bringing it to a halt, Odhranos crouches and hops down from the deck, his feet strangely silent on the sand. He dips his head towards Aumaxra, an acknowledgement of the avians courtesy, then he follows Bradyn into the temple. The cool darkness surrounds him even as the dull weight of the masonry crowds in over his head. Odhranos reaches up and slips his blindfold off, a sign of respect as he enters the shrine. He follows the pair of spellblades, then walks a little further to where the statue of Vakmatharas presides at the end of the darkly mirrored hall. He bows towards the statue, whispering something quiet under his breath that is inaudible to the others before he returns. "The Ritual won't fail. Even if it involves more than we can anticipate, we will see this through to the end." Odhranos looks to where he assumes Karasu and Quintessa to be, offering them a comforting smile. "You will see this through. Both of you. I don't doubt that for a second." With that, Odhranos moves back towards the door, where he takes up a position with his back to the portal, a stone sentinel to bar the way. "Ready to begin when you are."
Karasu is silent as she lowers a large satchel at her side to the base of the shrine. Despite the intense heat of the desert sun just moments ago, the spellblade felt a strange chill while inside these halls. Even the cretin that called itself her body’s rightful owner had gone strangely silent in her head. One by one, Karasu removes large crystals from the bag, all etched in a series of runic markings that seem to absorb what little light is given in the halls. An orb is withdrawn, completely pitch black at first as Karasu takes a seat at the base of the shrine, tucking her knees beneath her legs. “You know not what you are about to do.” A familiar baritone voice rings out into the holy space. Standing directly behind Odhranos is the unmistakable figure of Kaaname Tsuji. “Raise so much as a finger at me and I will lock your remaining senses to plunge you into a void not even the dreamwalker can save you from, Kerrigan.” He mutters the threat. Any past formalities held from their past tenure in Xalious is now gone as an icy stare fixates straight ahead at Karasu. Karasu holds the orb tighter, her features twisted into a scowl despite her hands shaking.
Quintessa kneels next to Karasu, drawing forth her own relics and interments to use in the dark ritual. Only as the warlock gingerly places a clay canopic jar bearing the image of a hooded reaper on the floor does the woman hear a voice that causes the hairs to rise on the back of her neck. “Tsuji.” Quintessa stands and turns to face him, standing next to Karasu in solidarity against him. She clenches her fist, not letting the rage she felt for the man drive her to draw her sword in an attempt to cut him down just yet. That’s likely what he wanted, to bait Quintessa away from her duties here by threatening Odhranos with his telemancy. “You cannot best all of us, Kaaname,” Quintessa says coldly, her posture relaxing as she assesses the situation, trying to buy time to think. A slow shift in her attention fell upon Bradyn and a certain fact of vampire physiology came to the forefront of her mind, causing her to smirk in grim glee. “I brought someone not even you could have predicted I would- Someone whom your mind tricks won’t work on. Care to give him a demonstration, Master Mahara?” Quintessa wouldn’t wait for Kaaname or Bradyn to react before she turned to continue her mission, scrambling to arrange the pieces of her complex puzzle in a circle so Karasu could take her place in the center. “Odhranos, I’m going to need your help too, as the foundation of the spell.” She spins to snatch the magic jar from the floor before crossing the distance to meet him, thrusting the artifact into his hands. “With this object we will force the soul within Karasu out and contain it… hopefully. You’re the only one with a strong enough presence to hold the jar without whatever it is possessing her latching on to you instead… and even if it did it isn’t like you have vacancy in your head anyway.” A cheeky giggle escapes her before she turns to lead him to his spot for the Rites of Exorcism, taking her own spot before she takes a slow inhale, the weight of the situation finally settling on her. Hopefully she would remember all the words correctly…
That baritone voice was familiar to just about everyone except Bradyn, but it was quickly clear to the necromancer that the latest arrival was not a welcome addition to the party. His stormy gray eyes slowly swivel from Karasu and onto Kaaname, a sinister grin spreading slow across his lips as the necromancer listens to Kaaname threaten Odhranos. Bradyn and Odhranos may not be the best of friends, but the two have met and the necromancer is more than aware that the terramancer can defend himself. Yet, Bradyn is short on patience. Karasu was already setting up for the ritual and had positioned herself at the base of the shrine. Quintessa was still of clear head, a detail that Bradyn was not surprised by but was still impressed with, opting to press forward with the ritual rather than let this fool distract her. By the sounds of it, Odhranos was essential to its completion. The darkness from the entrance of the shrine begins to creep forward at the bidding of the Vakmatharas follower, moving in utter silence and taking the shape of several arms with clawed fingers. Odhranos would have ample time to respond to Kaaname’s threats, but once his piece is done the shadows currently under the necromancer’s command will take hold of Kaaname and pull him back into the darkness. “We’re busy,” Bradyn says, in a delayed sort of fashion, after Kaaname has been removed from his sight and presumably sent back out to the desert. Maybe. Could Bradyn have sent him elsewhere? Possibly. It didn’t matter though, it did not seem like the necromancer was keen on underestimating this enemy. Bradyn moves forward and attempts to trade places with Odhranos, taking a position in front of the dark door that he just sent Kaaname through. Bradyn does not stand idle and useless waiting for their potential enemy to return. A small dagger is retrieved. It’s not impressive enough to even consider it a weapon, but it can cut and Bradyn uses it to slice into the palm of his own hand open. His own blood is the means in which he paints symbols and runes on the ground and the doorway in a bid to prevent Kaaname from reentering and interfering with what needs to take place.
Odhranos doesn't so much as move, nor does he turn to address the intruder, silhouetted by the light of the doorway. "Are you so simple a mage that you still think to raise a finger to cast magic, Tsuji?" Odhranos laughs brightly, his voice warm with life and colour. "Really, I thought you were more accomplished than that." Odhranos turns his head, where his smile is visible to the Steward from the doorway. "You would have been much better off simply doing what you threaten and not announcing your presence. Instead, your resorting to pomp and threats makes me think you might be bluffing, Steward." A pause follows, during which Odhranos' smile only grows, gaining a slightly feral edge as S'erok bridles excitedly. "How fun!" A laugh echoes around the hall as Odhranos throws his head back. "You're right on one thing, Tsuji, I don't know what I'm doing. Hell, I haven't known since I stepped on this bloody continent seven years ago! But I do know one thing." Odhranos head turns and though his eyes are unseeing and devoid of colour, the look of sheer unbridled fury in that gaze is utterly blood-curdling. "I know what you've put her through. And so help me, I will split heaven and earth before I let you lay a finger on her again." Odhranos snarls in a tone that would set anyone's teeth on edge. "So I dare you, you sick, snivelly, insignificant excuse of a man. I DARE you to raise your measly little finger." He spares him one last foul epithet before turning away. "Because I am dying to call your bluff." With that, Odhranos ignores Kaaname and turns his attention back to the Ritual. When Quintessa presses the jar into his hands, he accepts it with a wry laugh. "Lucky that I'm all booked out then. I'm sure S'erok would love the company." The jar is grasped with both hands as Odhranos settles into a wider stance, calming his breathing as he takes his place in the slowly tightening weave of the circle, as the crystals begin their unearthly song around him. Odhranos lets out a long slow breath and becomes one with the circle, another stone in the puzzle, another piece of the Ritual.
Karasu steels herself and wrenches her eyes shut, beginning the incantation. “Regenerati, qui mortuus est, et natus est solus ut cum peperisset filium Vakmatharas 'limine in Regnum Dei--” A deep breath is taken as an unfelt wind lifts up the wild curls of the spellblade, revealing the blackened veins that mar the left side of her face. Kaaname feels his own lip curl upwards, revealing the fangs bestowed upon him by the House the wretch with the mismatched eyes had stolen from him. With the main focal points of magic in the world still damaged, the telemancer had yet to regain his magical footing to bring his abilities back to what they used to be. Odhranos had called his bluff square and true, but-- “I am not deceiving you! Mhad’xlyn is far more dangerous than-- Hey!” The shadows rise up to meet him as he is forcefully ejected from the room. Whether he was sent outside to where Magikrios was tending to the spellblade student’s wounds and was ready to eviscerate him, or whether he had been dropped in the center of a nest of an ancient dragon, any scenario would result in… “Don’t let her escape!” His final plea is cut off just as the orb in Karasu’s hands begins to glow a deep red. The eerie color reflects off the mirrored walls, bathing the room in its light. All is silent once the trickster is removed, but it lasts for only a hair of a moment before a sickening fleshy crack resonates in the shrine. Karasu doubles over with a pained yowl, her hair parting at the nape of her neck to reveal a yellowed eye with a bright red iris darting wildly around as it scans the room. The eye blinks, then begins to pull upward, as if another person had been encased in Karasu’s skin.
Quintessa breaths slowly as the magic from Karasu’s orb glows crimson, both of the warlock's hands extended to her sides as she taps into the latent mana the temple provided. Her pale, unpainted lips part slowly, reacting to the visage of a forien spirit being drawn from Karasu to mutter the mystical words of the rite. Arglwydd marwolaeth... mae angen eich pwerau…” Quintessa chants, her voice activating the shallow engraved runes on the floor around her, each glowing a deep red much like Karasu’s gem. “i atal y rhai... sy'n herio'ch ewyllys…” The changeling’s magic seems to coax the wraith-like entity further from Karasu, wisps still connected to her host like the strings of a marionette. A bead of sweat forms of her brow as the wraith-like woman resists and thrashes against Quintessa’s magic, a horrible screech emanating from what one could only assume was her mouth. Something wasn’t right- she was saying the words right but it was too powerful for the spell to take hold. Quintessa needed something, something concrete to focus the spell on. Luckily for her Kaaname had provided such a gift. “Mhad’xlyn!” The spiraling of magic calms suddenly as the disembodied soul turns her crimson eyes upon the one who addressed her, “You think you can keep me contained with this pathetic incantation?” Mhad’xlyn coos, an incorporeal hand reaching down to caress Quintessa’s cheek, her voice far too sweet sounding to be coming from the horrific physical manifestation she was maintaining. Quintessa gazes into Mhad’xlyn hollow eyes, but she doesn’t take the bait. She wouldn’t be distracted now. “Byddwch yn gwrando arnaf a byddwch yn cysgu- Mhad’xlyn!” With a final burst of arcane energy Quintessa’s spell finally took hold, drawing her slowly into the jar like sand being swept away by the wind, another loud screech serving as her final protest before she growled the words. “This isn’t over.” Now all Odhranos needed to do was maintain his control over the jar until she was sealed within.
As Quintessa has pointed out, what they were attempting to due is not something that has been recorded in contemporary necromancy. Karasu’s hands glow red and then there is silence. Those inexperienced with necromancy might assume that those few fleeting moments of quiet means that they were met with success, but nothing with the dark arts ever comes so easily. Bradyn is not surprised when he hears Karasu’s pained cries reverberate in the room. The Maharan watches everything unfold before him and while it occurs to him that he could probably do something to assist Quintessa, even while trying to stand guard on the door, he does not. There was something about this Mhad’xlyn being that Bradyn found intriguing, part of him did not want to see her contained. It did not matter though, Quintessa was more than adept. As far as Bradyn was concerned, he had been more than useful during this endeavor. It’s not like he was actually gaining anything out of helping, outside of knowledge and being able to witness this dangerous ritual. He had seen enough, participated enough, and now it was time for him to return home to Vailkrin. There was no concern for Karasu’s well being beyond this point. Bradyn did not care to utter any goodbyes, he would just step backward and through the dark entrance and depart.
Odhranos closes his eyes and gives himself over to the Ritual, calming his mind and body, until he exists in this strange liminal space of between magic and wakefulness. His breathing slows, beyond the point of restfulness, one could mistake his breathing to have stopped entirely if they didn't listen too closely. The clay jar is cold in his hands, chilled with something more than the cold air around it, it seems do wick the heat from the air and his skin, as if seeking to hasten him towards the chill of death. As the chaos unfolds and Mhad'xlyn is dragged howling out of Karasu's neck, Odhranos remains still, a rock amidst the tumultuous flow, immovable. As Quintessa's words invoke the apparition's true name, the jar reacts, exuding a renewed aura of cold, dragging a deathly pallor into the terramancer's hands. As Mhad'xlyn's essence is siphoned away, mote by unholy mote, the jar's pull soon becomes too much as the wraith is dragged bodily towards Odhranos. Seeing the mage and realising it's way out, her crimson eyes flash greedily and she hurls herself with the tug of the jar. "Then I shall take this gift you have so kindly given me instead!" The wraith hurtles at Odhranos, baring it's grotesque incorporeal maw as it dives at him, seeking the cracks and clefts of his mind where it can worm in and stow away in the darkest corners. At the last moment, Mhad'xlyn is brutally rebuffed, as a guttural roar resonates from the terramancer's mind. "Embrace dissolution, you shadow of a shadow!" S'erok howls triumphantly, as the jar redoubles it's efforts, dragging the last of Mhad'xlyn screaming into its icy embrace.
The jar is shut with the last of the lich’s essence, and the orb in the demifeline’s grip grows dull in color until the room is plunged back into the darkness only punctuated by holy candlelight. With a spidering crack, the orb crumples in Karasu’s hands, sending glassy dust onto the foot of the shrine. When she opens her mouth to speak, to ask whether they had won, blood spills over her lips and stains her lap. The point of entry where she had once been a living phylactery had become an open wound, leaving exposed muscle and torn veins in its wake around her neck. Precious air attempted to dance its way around the blood Karasu was now choking on. Despite the lack of another entity to taunt her as panic surged through her mind, somehow she still knew exactly what Mhad’xlyn would remark: “What good is a tool if I cannot use it? It may as well be cast aside to rot.” Karasu looks up as Quintessa suddenly rushes over to her to lift her up. When was it that she had fallen over, and why couldn’t she stop shaking? Between choked breaths, Karasu is able to give out a single cry before her eyes roll back into her head. “Odhranos, tell Magik to call the Healer’s Guild!” Quintessa’s terrified voice, now lost of all composure she may have had before, is the last thing she hears before Karasu dips into unconsciousness.