RP:The In-Between

Part of the What You Leave Behind Arc

Part of the Souls Out of Time Arc

Summary: Kybella's search for power bears fruit. Kahran's forces grow in number. (Special Notice: Kahran and Kybella NPC'd by their respective players.)

Venturil: Somewhere in the Great Plains

Kybella sits amidst her library, favoring a leather wrapped book; passed on from one mistress to another over the years. She is searching for the best way to convince the coven to take up arms. The best way to search for power, and proof they can succeed. Green, white and brown robes are draped over her old withered frame. Time had not been friendly to the old crone. Loose liver spotted skin does a poor job of holding brittle bones together. Even with the help of her knotty wooden staff she could only meander for short periods of time. Not having the strength, she once carried in her youth. The old witch needed to find power, the ability to twist the will of those around her. Markus, her second in command, is already under boot. He hated the old ways. Loathed the life of inaction. With his power and hers combine there must be something they can do to herd the group. If not, she would personally cull them all.

A hooded man stands before Kybella, robed in black with strong shoulders and sky blue eyes. They’re inquisitive eyes, almost kindly. He did not arrive through the door or else the witch would have heard his approach. She will not be able to piece together when or how he appeared; her mind will fog and on some level she will wonder if he had always been here. “A fellow student of history?” His voice is harsh, but his tone is sincere curiosity. “I admire that.” He takes a seat and reaches for another book, flipping through the old pages with grace so as not to further damage a binding already in disrepair. “Musty tomes once interested me as well, Kybella.” His inquisitive eyes scan the details of a page on the finer workings of pyromancy for the space of a few beats before he slams the book shut so hard the glue tears. “Now I deal in higher things with amplified results.” He lifts his scarred right hand to remove his hood, revealing a face full of further scars. A burn runs down his forehead to his disfigured nose. “I am Kahran. And you will have those higher things as well.”

Mistress Kybella isn't one for foolish antics, and believed the hooded man to be another acolyte attempting to interrupt her quiet reflecting period. She had clearly told them not to bother her with trivial matters. Olive eyes do not even leave the words of that book. Not until Kahran speaks. The witch jerks backwards with a startle, perhaps too adjusted to those that remain within the walls. Wait? Who is this man? How did he get in here and when? Bony fingers raise to pull back the veil of her own hood, revealing homely looking features and long since grayed hair. Tongue flicks out of her mouth to wet dried lips. "I am," the only words she utters before the book is slammed. How dare you, she instinctively thought! She could call upon a million and one questions. Why weren't the alarms going off? Why were those stationed as guards not running into the library this instant? "Higher things" she mutters to herself? It just so happened that she liked his words, and instead of calling the enchantments of the room, whether they would do anything or not, she would listen. "What higher things?" Intrigued, she places her old elbows upon the table to rest, while eyeing his scars.

Kahran is gaunt, and he remains stone-faced. His eyes expressive eyes are disorientingly at-odds with the rest of him. They flash with the all-knowing of some great scholar. “You seek what is rightfully yours: the means to do as you wish. This world,” he motions all around them with his hand, “is an in-between. Magic exists to be commanded, but the laws of nature have always seemed to stymie magic’s ability. A tree can only burn once. It can only further so much fire. The wood goes to ashes, and the fire will only spread so far.” Kahran cants his head as if to accentuate the sad truth. “Witches and warlocks fumble with things they believe… immutable. Even the most sacred texts in the most forbidden libraries will agree on this: there are limits. That is why your tomes are useless. That is why they cannot give you what is yours by rights. The best witches, the best warlocks, seek to expand the playing field. They carve against the unseen boundaries of the in-between. We are sculptors, you and I. I will show you these higher things.” Immediately, Kybella’s vision of her safe abode is replaced with a view of a massive oak tree, springing up at impossible zigzagging angles toward a bleak pale-white sky which casts dim, faded light upon her surroundings. In the blink of an eye, the tree is magnified multiple times over, so that she sees it repeated all around her. A panoramic view. She cannot escape it. A slight red flame appears midway up the tree and all its copies, and then they all burst and all the crone will see is the burning. The ignition is so fierce that the tree should fall apart quickly, but it continues. A feeling of power without appreciable end will wrap around Kybella, warm her with its graces. Kahran emerges from the sea of searing red, the burn running down his face glowing a more vivid crimson than all the rest of it. And then they are back, both of them seated, Kahran’s stony face unchanged. “There is nothing immutable in the elsewhere. The in-between is not for the likes of you and I.”

Surely there is far more to the man before her than what she had initially thought. Rightfully mine? Kybella had the strength of her coven, mages and witches alike who could do things most could not fathom. They were in a time capsule, so to speak. A place where none gathered, where they could practice their craft without fear of oppression. Without worry or limits. And still all her long years could not prepare her for what Kahrans vision brought. She watched, clearly surprised by his level of skill. The amount of time and practice he had put into his craft. The trees, the fire it all seemed befitting of a man carrying those scars. The embrace is warm, not scolding like she had thought. Though soon the vision fades and without warning Kybella is sitting within the library, hand idly waiving to help clear the muddle of her head with magic. Olive eyes scan the man further as if seeking something about him. Those eyes of his though, seem to entrance her. She knew better than to keep such contact for long. Many a witch had claimed the lives of men by doing such things. Perhaps that was part of his intent. To enthrall her, cast her into the bonds of servitude. As she nearly protests out loud, her mind calls forth a recent vision or dream. Still carrying the air of authority, she had always carried; Kybella seeks to make direct eye contact. "Kahran," his name new to her. "I had a vision just recently," Kybella grabs the knotty wooden staff which she had sat off to one side of the table. "In it were fires, men and women dying. All for one mans greed." She lets this hang in the air for a moment, as if saying that he might be this one man. "I was told that those who sit and do nothing, deserve nothing." Old lips now part ways revealing yellow stained teeth. "Perhaps it's time we do something. Carve out our own path?" The in-between is not for either of them, that much is true, but she would push the limits of what they could do. "Let me show you around Kahran. Welcome you to a place that you are free to call home." He could come and go as he pleased. "Master," the only words that she would utter to him for now. With a wave of her hand she planned to guide Kahran around their compound and show him what they could do. Even speak upon the things she wanted to do, and perhaps the things he needed her to. Kahran had come at most intriguing time. She had only a glimpse at his power, and already knew, she could learn much from him.