RP:Their Dark Materials

This is a Healer's Guild RP.

Summary: Genevieve and Emilia combine their peculiar strengths, trying to free Thamalys from Chisel's curse. With a quintessential example of non-conventional healing, Necromancer and Genasi eventually manage to accomplish the cumbersome task. The price to be paid? A couple of identities stolen by an ancient Black Dragon, a severed hand, and some promises exchanged in the darkness. Frostmawians, beware…

Frostmaw: Faux Twilight Cavern

A sense of ancient, arcane power permeates the chilled air as the southern tunnel opens abruptly into a massive cavern. Very little light enters this area, for the only opening that can be found aside from the entrance tunnel is a perfectly round hole in the distant roof. Yet one can't help feeling as if they're in the wide open despite being below ground. The walls are a peculiar wonder and aid to the strange illusion, appearing to be almost entirely basalt unnaturally polished to a glossy sheen, giving the cave the uncanny appearance of an inky night sky--with the ceiling gap above small enough to pass for a moon. But it's what lurks amongst the basalt that is the true source of the strange atmosphere: stars, infinite and brilliant in their eternal shining. These stars, however, are not quite the same as the ones in the night sky, albeit being remarkably passable at first glance; rather, they are myriad gemstones embedded into the walls--fluorite, for those able to recognize such things--in an array of colors, from flawless white to glowing yellow, serene blue and glistening violet, all eagerly catching faint light and reflecting them in an eternal mimicry of winking starshine. Any can tell this place is no longer purely a natural formation, if ever it was one. Enchantments long have been woven into the very core of this strange cave to maintain the careful appearance of an open sky beneath the earth. Further travel into the cavern will reveal a massive underground lake occupying the northern half, its unfrozen but deathly cold waters lapping at a 'beach' of black sand and rounded pebbles of blue fluorite. If one possesses night vision or squints to their fullest, they may just spy what appears to be a large glacier and structure in the center of the lake. The home of this place's creator? It's impossible to be certain, and there seems no obvious way across the waters to reach it--a lurking, intelligent presence seems to suggest even attempts at flying across will prove fatal.

Thamalys stood right in the middle of the vast space, where a huge white blanket had been laid upon the uneven ground. On one side of the monumental piece of rough old cloth, the tall shape of the Gossamer Halberd was pinned into the soil, the whole of it ablaze, devoured by long tongues of blue fire roaring into the darkness. On the other side, a wooden table, low and small, its surface crowded with a whole array of materials, from vials filled of colourful liquids to long bandages, from a collection of scalpels to a wide enough basin filled with crystal clear water - and much more. Barefooted, bare chested, the Blue sported only a pair of old leathery trousers, broken in multiple points. A master of fashion, he was not, but that night he had more pressing thoughts to deal with - chiefly a serious attempt to remove the curse of the Wooden Puppeteer via a dangerous combined attempt of the Wintry Lady and a newly found Necromancer. While waiting for the latter, the Winged beast appeared to have been deep in a conversation with the Genasi herself, a couple of steps away from the folded shapes of those silvery wings. “No, I am not entirely sure this is a good idea - more of a feeling, albeit the Black seemed to enjoy her presence way too much…” that would have been an excerpt of a sentence uttered by the Spellblade in an especially low voice.

Emilia had those wild white curls pulled back into a high pony tail to keep them out of her face and the work space this evening. The Genasi sported a simple gown of a faded grey, not a fashion master either. “I wish I could talk to the Black one day, seems he doesn't like me much. That is okay. If she can help with something beyond what short term help my blood offers than I am all game to give it a shot. I am plenty full of blood to share…” her words faded into a whisper. How much blood had she already given the Blue? Neither could be sure. Perhaps enough that over the time he sported nothing but frozen blood jn his system mixed with cursed blood. Walking around, impatiently the Genasi started to play with the dread locks of the Winged one. It was nothing fancy but making sure they were not going to be in the way in the time to come. “Hopefully this person is good…” she whispered to the Blue.

Genevieve still has the black fluorite tucked away in her pocket; she’s barely touched it since Thamalys gifted it to her. As she approaches the maw of the cavern, a gloved hand plays with it idly, almost nervously, trying in vain to wear down the rounded edges of it even further. Another hand carries an advanced book of curses, one that she poured over obsessively the night before. Her single black eye squints in the murky darkness punctuated by the shimmers dotting the ceiling. It would be a lot easier to guide herself with her aura, but that would further discomfort anyone who’s also inside. “I-I, um, I’m here,” she stutters out to nobody in particular, her call tracing the edges of the cavern in a trilling echo. “I-if anyone’s, um, around, I mean,” rambles continue to roll off her tongue, muttering nervously as she approaches the apex. Had she come too early? Too late? A far-off echo tells her she’s not alone, which temporarily alleviates her fears. She’s either trembling from the cold (far worse than her last sojourn here) or from nervousness — regardless, her teeth are once again chattering as small steps bring her to the center chamber. Finally, after a bit of blind stumbling, she makes out two figures: Thamalys, the afflicted avian, and a woman standing beside him, decked by medical apparatus and the avian’s flaming-blue sword. Quite the sight. Whoever the stranger is, she emanates something chilly. Genevieve hikes her collar a bit higher, a shivered wheeze escaping her lips. As she approaches, the woman’s features are more easily discerned: cascading white hair, alabaster skin, icy eyes. Beautiful, like a sculpture; it makes her feel plain in comparison. She remembers reading about that race before — a Genasi, was it? She can’t quite recall, the anxiety of the situation making her head swim. “Thamalys,” she acknowledges the avian with a nod. “I-it seems we’re pr-prepared, yes? G… good.” Naturally, she’ll have to introduce herself to the woman as well. “I-I, um, i-it’s nice to meet you, miss. M-my n-n-name is Genevieve. Genevieve Crane.” She needs to start leaving out her last name; it only reminds her of the past. She gives another slight nod, gaze firmly fixed on the lake, only sparing the Genasi a few cursory looks. Genevieve can’t be sure what Thamalys had told her about their encounter; she’s hoping that it isn’t anything terrible, that the icy woman gives her a chance. “I, um, I’m r-ready when you both are.”

Thamalys did not object to the Wintry Lady trying to enforce some order into the knotty mass of his ivory hair - chances are some bloody mess would have tainted the quiet of that night soon enough, thus better to prepare. “Good?” echoed the Blue, mildly taken aback? “Of all adjectives, that would be tricky one to assign to somebody like… oh, here we go…” sort of cut his own sentence short the Avian, the moment the Necromancer came into sight. “Miss Crane - thanks very much for coming…” acknowledged the Winged Beast with a brisk nod, sidestepping as to allow for the necessary introductions and presentations to be dealt with. A note of relief was palpable in the voice of the Spellblade, as the presence of the shadowy figure did not manage to stir the Black at all - such was the effect of Emilia’s presence, who indeed could never get the chance to interact with the Ageless Dragon. “I see you have brought quite some reading material… I shall interpret that as a good sign. Now, the first challenge we are faced with this evening, is to actually - reach - the splinter itself…” begun the Blue, raising into the light his left arm, tumefied, abhorrent, a tangled mass of green-and-purple vines and rotten flash. “Then, how exactly to proceed would largely depend on both of you. Emilia’s healing powers are phenomenal…” and that would have been followed by a tiny bow hinting toward the tiny frame of the Genasi, “… but cursing the cursed thing is beyond the Healer’s reach indeed. There…” continued, gesturing toward the low table, “… you’ll find anything you need - hopefully. As for myself, I beg you: do - not - stop your doing, whatever madness may escape these lips of mine. I trust The Wintry Lady with my life - the rest, is all details in the background. Ready at your mark, then…” concluded the Winged beast, slowly bringing himself seated onto the blanket and immediately after laying down, eyes nailed on the ever-changing enchanted ceiling, his chest lowering and raising in slow, controlled breaths, arms along his sides, wings furled. As ready as one can be…

Emilia finished tucking the last of a crazy lock of hair back into a more knotty mass of braided dreads as Genevieve made her way into the chosen location for the attempt to fix the Winged man's arm. In the cavern she almost glowed being as pale as the first winter snow fall, yet gleamed a blue hue from the flames of the halberd near by. Almost like a statue came to life, almost. “Emilia, pleasure to meet you, Miss,” the Genasi said as she extended her black hand out for a shake in the most polite of ways. If the hand was taken Genevieve would have been able to tell that not only was it as cold as ice, but cold as death itself, somehow colder than the rest of the wintery woman. It was black ice of a dead hand, fact very few actually knew. Stepping back the Genasi tripped over the laying Thamalys, landing on her rear end on the other side of the man with a sound like ice shattering echoing through the cavern. Never worry she wasn't broken just loud when falling. Just sitting there for the moment, “As a necromancer you can reanimate dead things, yes?” A question she knew the answer to already, but as she spoke the Genasi was wiggling that black hand of hers. If removed and reanimated via the magics of the other it could worn its way into the tangled vine and dead tissue of the avian's arm.

Genevieve fixes her gaze on Thamalys’s malady. It continues to fascinate her, how -alive- it is, teeming with all the heart of a vengeful forest. The opportunity to pick it apart with such fine apparatus is an opportunity that she’s incredibly thankful for — dissecting the living, breathing being of an impregnable curse, a chance she may not have for a long while. Reaching the splinter will be quite the task, but as soon as it’s found, Genevieve believes the rest will be smooth sailing. As the book describes, disabling a curse via another curse is a common practice when the original method of unbinding it is lost. The necromancer can already sense her presence twitching, frantic and electrified, sniffing out the source of Thamalys’s curse with the skill of a harrier. Of course, the wintry woman startles her out of her reverie. “Emilia,” she repeats, careful to not botch her name. “A pleasure, y-yes.” Her gloved hand shakes the genasi’s black one delicately and a chill shoots through her spine — a worse chill than what her presence inflicts on others, undoubtedly. (There’s a subtle sense that the hand isn’t entirely hers, foreign, but it isn’t polite to pry now.) More teeth chattering until the cold subsides. She flinches when Emilia trips and falls, but the sudden question has her realizing she’s -probably- okay. “A-a-and, um, yes. R-resurrection is one of m-my specialities,” she answers with a hint of pride. “D-do you think we may be able to utilize it?” An innocent question, marred by the maliciousness of her aura and thoughts. Whatever idea Emilia has, she’s more than game. Genevieve kneels beside the ice genasi, laying the spellbook on the floor beside her. She skims the pages one last time before her attention rests entirely on the avian himself. “O-once we locate the splinter, I w-will perform the curse. B-but I must warn you again, Thamalys, it w-will be an arduous experience.” The strained counsel of her voice is contrasted by the excitement of her presence, which Genevieve can sense snapping and quivering at the avian’s arm.

Thamalys lifted his cranium a tiny bit, just in order to make sense of the thud that accompanied the Genasi stumbling into his long legs; as it was definitely not the first occurrence - and surely not the last one - the Blue limited himself to a small sigh, before resting his head back onto the rocky ground. Why did he even bother producing a blanket… the Wind only knew, but that was hardly a priority. For a start, the Spellblade found the recent inquiry of the Icy One quite worrying - what is dead may forever stay as such, or so any decent Avian would have thought. Was there any additional layer of meaning to be attributed to that particular query? On top of this, the Necromancer - perhaps unsurprisingly - sounded quite keen to play around with whatever mean at the thin boundary between life and death. || By the Wind, what I am doing… || silently pleaded the Blue, for once partially looking for an answer from the Black - none would be given, though. “Do what you must, both of you…” simply stated the Winged Beast instead with a rather deep, if flat, tone, those blue eyes stubbornly intent to capture the flickering details of the stars embedded in the magical ceiling above. Born and raised with the sole intent to bring sorrow to others, that night had a whiff of redemption for the Spellblade with it - or thus the Avian would have loved to think. He steeled himself for the pain ahead, then, clenching his teeth. The countless icy branches inked into his pale skin kept playing with the swaying light of the same colour, as if anticipating the dire moment.

Emilia was starting to like this new person that Thamalys has found to aide them in mending his arm. It could be the former spirit that shared a brain having left traces behind or just a hidden side to the woman, but Tham was about to see a dark side of the ice woman like he had never seen before. Turning icy eyes on the book which Genevieve brought over while she spoke, “My hand is dead and functions rather well being frozen dead attached to a constant source of cold. If I remove it while you are locating the curse you could then bring the hand to life and use it to get into that tangled mess of arm and clench a fist over the sliver. It would give us a good hold on it and perhaps a way to wiggle it back out of the mess before healing begins. I do not know much about curses, Miss. I do know about healing. The arm should heal easily without the cursed bit inside of it…” The healer spoke her words softly knowing she could be wrong here, undead things and curses were not her area of expertise in the least. A white hand reached over to gently pat the thigh of the Blue, reassuring “I will not let you die, promise.”

|| Genevieve || Thamalys’s unvoiced concerns are not considered by Genevieve as they begin to get to work. Empathy… is not her strong suit. Any reassurances she may utter are just that; she is far more concerned about the operation going smoothly than the pain they may inflict. It’s hard to hide a feeling of anticipation welling up in the pit of her stomach, a certain eagerness to get to work that most would find abnormal. She pockets the fluorite, hunching herself over the avian’s tense, still figure. Emilia’s idea excites her immensely; it’s not hard to notice. “U-using your hand as a guide? Th-that’s… an amazing idea,” a curved smile makes itself known, as much as Genevieve would like to suppress her enthusiasm. “Yes, it will make a perfect conduit, a-and will allow me to hone in on the splinter, pr-preventing any outside contamination. It can isolate it,” more rambling ensues. “I’m very capable w-with curses, so r-rest assured, the splinter will no longer be a c-cause for concern once it’s neutralized. O-once it is, the effects of the curse will slough off, and you can begin healing him.” A more or less perfect plan. Genevieve begins to take control of her presence, feeling the dark static of it through her fingertips. She guides it to Thamalys’s arm, encircling the curse like a bird circling prey. Slowly but surely, she’s finding the origin implanted somewhere within that mass of vine. Her eyes gaze over it — yes, she can sense it, hidden behind purple vines along his medial deltoid. “I-I suppose the first step is to, um, locate the splinter, yes? O-or remove the hand? I have an idea of where it may be embedded…” She traces her finger along the shoulder region, careful not to touch the curse itself. Emilia may be better at locating splinter than she — being a healer and all — but her eyes wander to the instruments beside them regardless. It’s tempting to just dig through the vines and find it.

Thamalys did not really like the way things were developing - at all. The Blue knew that the Wintry Lady would have stopped at nothing - but he also knew she would have easily overlooked her own sanity in the process. “Emi, you know I would not dare to comment on your Healing…” he uttered in a soft voice the Avian, still as the water of a winter lake “… and yet I must ask: is this the only way? What if Miss Crane fails to bring your black hand back? A cursed arm is way less of an agony for me to withstand than knowing you mauled because of me…”. No time for pondering such questions that long, though, now that, much as a river finally freed from the dyke, the will of the Necromancer surfaced to its full extent. The Blue would have followed the wording of Genevieve till the black aura of her started encircling what once was his left arm. Not that such an exploratory attempt brought any pain - nonetheless, the Winged Beast stirred, uneasy. When was the last time he had to endure such a gloomy presence toying with his flesh and bones? He could not recall - Korkhoran would, but once more, he would not dare to show himself in the presence of the Genasi. Speaking of which: the dark side of the Icy One? Oh, he had quite a few glimpses - none of which he particularly enjoyed remembering, and yet fundamental to their work as Healers. Hopefully, Genevieve would have only sensed the surface of the shadows swirling within Avian and Genasi alike - chances are she would have liked them way too much. What a trio they made, dancing upon the slippery boundary of evil without so much of a grin. “I am afraid I cannot be of much help in guiding you through the exact location of the splinter - my mind was not necessarily sane back then. Nor I can feel it - the whole of the arm feels exactly the same to me.” At that stage, and in all fairness, the Blue did not really think possible for the curse to be removed - despite the combined effort of Necromancer and Healer. Was he doomed to change his judgment? The night was young, as a sudden gush of wind reminded them all, finding its way through the winding entry of the cavern, pledging the blue flames to sway on one side, casting monstrous shadows all around. A part of the Winged Beast just so hoped no Frostmawian would have fancied a walk to admire the enchanted ceiling - || Wind, not today… ||

Emilia was a healer over that monster beneath the frozen flesh. This nature of hers is what kept her from joining in the same thoughts as Genevieve that playing find the thorn in the arm, much like a needle in a haystack, with the medical instruments would be fun kept her from doing so. Genevieve was right that having a single guide to operate like a puppet would cause the least amount of extra contamination to his arm. It is while the necromancer is tracing the cursed item like a dog finding a lost bone that Em turns to pick up one of the larger blades from the table of instruments and potions. The hand was already dead, but fused with Genasi magic that would keep it long preserved after being removed. A good thing for Tham as it would not start to decompose within his body. “Close your eyes, Tham…” Em whispered to her friend on a gentle wind of air. Laying her hand down on the table with blade in her other hand the Genasi inhaled slowly before a sudden swift movement and the other hand had forcefully in one movement chopped down through the wrist severing the hand from the arm. The blood that spewed from the stump did not turn red, but remained a soft slushy blue. The black hand flopped on the table, fingers wiggling like a fish out of the water. There was no screaming. The Genasi long ago had lost feeling in her body, if anything it tingled. The bloody blade was sat to the side as Em cupped her good hand over the stump, a white glow as the flesh started to seal over itself. It was best she mend the open bleeding of herself now while Genevieve was free to do her thing with the frozen black hand on the table. All protests made by the Blue would be met with, “Don't worry. I know someone who can make me a new hand. I am fine. Breath.” Stump not bleeding the Ice Woman would sit next to Tham resting her single hand on his forehead with a gentle touch while she watched Gene work and await the next step.

Genevieve comments with a tinge of exasperation, “Thamalys, r-rest assured, I am more than c-capable of replacing her hand.” Whether replacement means ‘putting it back on her wrist’ or ‘finding a new one’ is purposefully ambiguous. Either way, the avian’s apparent incredulity (as she interprets is) will be patently ignored for now. She’ll prove her worth with her success. The incoming breeze soothes the uncomfortable heat of her anxiety, yet the dancing flames startle her if only for the briefest of moments. This will be a long night, she’s sure of it. A flicker from her dark field indicates that it’s found the exact location of the thorn under the pulsating brush and greenery, which sends a brief smile tugging at her lips. Her eyes watch with interest as Emilia severs her hand, cleanly and without any apparent pain — Genevieve is very much entranced, and will most likely hound Emilia with questions once the operation is finished. The necromancer removes her glasses in the interim, her vision growing muddy and dark but her focus intensifying, her presence now visible to her as dense, inky tendrils of smoke. Once it’s fully removed, blue blood oozing from the opening, a dart of necromantic magic takes hold of the black hand. It snaps to life, fingers twitching and grasping at air as the necromancer gets a feel for the anatomy of the severed part. Genevieve can feel it like a third hand attached to her by magic alone — sharp and cool, but capable of the meticulousness necessary for the task ahead. “A-alright, Thamalys, I’m g-g-going to get started.” The controlled hand finds it way up to the masses of creeping plant and vine, skittering along the cool table with its digits. As the hand begins to crawl through the bulk of the avian’s curse, Genevieve feels reflected pinpricks of pain, but her aim is no less steady. The throbbing vegetation just barely yields to the deliberate strength of the hand, empowered by the same dark magic that the necromancer radiates; she suspects that it’s at least somewhat repulsed by it, which is promising. Once it reaches the suspected source of the curse, it wrenches itself through the bulk of the dark greenery, close to where Thamalys’s actual arm would be. Here, Genevieve can sense the thorn resides, and commands the hand to grasp onto the roots of the curse as tightly as possible. A sudden jolt of agony nearly causes her grip to falter — the splinter, almost alive, definitely does not like her meddling — but the hand holds on with a vice grip as she readies her curse. Shutting her eyes, the necromancer dwells on banishment, removal, negation, almost demanding for the splinter to cease its meddling. There’s an obvious pushback from it in the form of physical pain, more pinpricks and vine-line lashes threatening for her to lose her concentration. But, thankfully, she does not, for she is all too familiar with physical punishment; instead of receding, her mind cogitates on the forming curse with newfound intensity, the hand rigid in its hold. If it had visible knuckles, they would be white. Genevieve is like this for a stretch of time, targeting the splinter with a continual outpouring of magic, barraging the thorn in an attempt to overpower it. She isn’t sure how long this lasts, too lost in her own head, but the resistance from the cursed thorn eventually goes slack — she opens her eyes, only now aware of the world around her, a steady stream of magic still going to the hand in order to seal the splinter’s curse inside of it.

Thamalys refused to close his eyes - he desperately wanted to rise on his feet and call off that madness instead. “Emi…” he just had the time to mutter, to implore, one could have said, before a dull thud echoed through the cavern. “By the Wind…” inhaled sharply the Blue, knowing for certain that sounds must have signified the black hand of the Genasi departing from the body of the latter. Actual pain had yet to start, but even then the toll on the Avian’s mind was quite significant already. He cold not bring himself to watch the awful deed. He did breath, surely, but the whole of himself twitched ever so slightly, from the rim of his wings to the ever-changing patterns of the tattoos covering his skin. No time for second thoughts, though - and most certainly not then than the probing, almost shy touch of the Necromancer turned into a sharp tool with as much intent as sheer force. Into the gross mess of mouldy vegetables and putrid flesh the hand of the Genasi carved its way, guided with no hesitation by the will of the shadowy surgeon presently in charge. And thus, as a downpour of much-awaited rain, the pain flooded the Blue. It begun as spiky spasm, numbing the mind of the Avian to the point he thought he was about to lose conscience the moment the blacked-ice hand || - Her - hand! || found its way through rotten tendons and angry vines. But the agony truly exploded when said hand grasped the cursed splinter, the very thorn Chisel punished the Spellblade with - then, he screamed, but not like a noble warrior finding an elegant death at the hands of a worthy enemy, no. The sound that left from the Blue’s lungs was nothing of human - it was the shriek of a bird of prey skewered by a pike, the horrible noise a dying animal would make when impaled on a pole. And that was just the beginning. For the entire duration of Genevieve’s struggle with the curse, the Blue kept howling madly, thrashing his head so violently against the rocky soil that in a matter of instants those long white braids of his would have found themselves soiled in crimson blood. Eventually, the Black stepped in: not out of pity or compassion, mind you - those silly things simply did not belong to the Ageless One. No, the latter needed the mind of the Blue not to shatter, and thus he suddenly took control. The Spellblade was no more, the thoughts of Thamalys the Blue shoved into some remote corner of his own essence; not so much of a change in practice, if one would not count the fact that an actual pupil did surface into the otherwise solid blue eyes of the Healer. A vertical one, surrounded by a pool of scarlet. A split second after, and the Blue laid still, his breath under control again, in utter silence, a grin that did not belong to him painted on that chalky face. A dangerous impasse, as Korkhoran would have loved to engage at a deeper level with the Necromancer - while trying to block out the Genasi, who, for once, could truly appreciate the darkness of the aura in person.

Emilia stared down at her wrist where the black hand once was attached to her. There was an odd feeling of emptiness there, like something was there yet there was nothing. Her mind could will the missing limb to open and close though nothing would come of it as the connection was no longer shared with her hand, but Em would sound crazy later when she would swear as Gene moved the hand that she could feel it walking on finger tips, feel the prickling sensation and the pulsing sensation of the cursed bark piece that was clutched firmly in the black ice hand. Sitting there by the head of the Blue she watched in silence as the necromancer worked her magic. The heart of the Genasi beating away inside her chest with adrenaline and anticipation. The dark magic all around her was enough to remind her body it was a monster beneath the flesh, the nails of her one hand slowly growing out into icy claws, teeth within her mouth turning pointed like those of a shark, and the look in her eyes one of hunger, hunger for the darkness in the air. All the while Tham was screaming in pain breaking the monster inside the Genasi bit by bit. His head was cradled in her lap as she held it from smashing into the ground. Cold fingers running over his forehead to remind him she was there for him in this most painful moment. Then he was silent in the middle of it all. Cold eyes of the Genasi glancing down to stare into unfamiliar eyes of the darkness within the Blue. Almost soul piercing eyes that glared down with a silent warning, if it tried anything she would do something he would not like. Teeth still pointy the Genasi turned those eyes on Gene now, “Reemoovee it, alllreeedee.” The sound of her voice feral yet half calm somewhere between monster and ice sculpture come to life. Fingers of hers twitching while trying not to claw up Tham as she waited impatiently to start the healing of her beloved friend.

Genevieve grimaces as the sealing is complete. Residual aches course up the length of her body, both physical and mental. The hand scuttles erratically down the length of Thamaly’s mutilated arm and back onto the table, where it twitches for a moment before falling lifeless. Her aura leaves the part and returns to her, folding in on itself, obviously well-sated after the sealing of Chisel’s curse. She exhales sharply, groping for her spectacles and restoring her vision once again. “I-I believe it sh-should be safe to heal him now,” she announces, glancing at the pair with weary eyes. It’s only after this that she notices how changed the two appear. The sudden shift in the avian’s aura does not go unnoticed, grazing the grin and darker features with a perturbed curiosity. She’s always suspected something off resided within the spellblade, judging by the way they parted last; to see it burst forth like that was both interesting and a bit concerning. Had her efforts bore fruit? Was this some kind of side effect of her meddling? She was not entirely sure. Emilia’s sudden change in temperance and appearance also disturbs her (ironic enough, considering how bizarre she herself is) — but she’s lying if she says she isn’t interested. “Y-you two, um…” she trails off, unsure of how to word her thoughts. Her attention turns to the curse once again, observing the symptoms of the thorn collapse, wilt; it did work, after all. She’s pleased, but keeps quiet, a rising anxiety emerging from the transformation of her two associates.

Thamalys, or better, what was left of him, did not even try to pierce the will of the Black - he knew better. Instead, he waited - and as expected, the moment the thorn was evicted from the Avian’s arm, Korkhoran vanished from the physical plane entirely, burying his essence within the deepest corner of the Avian’s mind. And yet, the Ancient Dragon had gained something terrible in the process: faces. Of Necromancer and Genasi alike, as seen through those flaming eyes, squarely embroidered into his faultless memory - to what use? Very much likely nobody would ever knew - hopefully, that is. Slowly, the original colour of the Spellblade’s eyes took over the gleaming scarlet, the pupils of the Scaly Beast vanishing into a lake of deep blue. A moan would have been the first noise coming from the Healer. Something broken, something painful, but his own nonetheless. “Blessed be the Wind and you two alike…” sort of growled the Winged Beast, slowly shaking his head, too weak to even try to get seated, “… it is gone - it really is… that feeling… great Sven you really managed… and the Black! Gone, gone… in debt, forever I will be… again… a Necromancer, no less…” he kept ranting, collecting a whole string of not wholly meaningful words. Immediately, a swarm of ivy-shaped ink flocked toward the left arm, trying to banish that awful mass of rotten matter with the flash that belonged to the Avian. In normal circumstances, that would have been the matter of seconds - but not against that sickness. The curse may be gone, but the deeds of Chisel still resisted the Healing talents of the Blue - who just smiled. He knew the Wintry Lady would have known what to do now… “the hand! Your hand!” abruptly remembered the Spellblade, almost managing to lift his head off the bloodied blanket.

Emilia watched as that black spider…wait no, her former hand crawling around like a frozen spider exited the mass of rotten vines that made up what was Thamalys's arm. Blinking a few times the words of Genevieve sank in. She could heal him now, but it almost seemed unreal to her with all of the efforts made by the pair prior to this moment in time. Patting the forehead of the winged man Em turned her gaze down, “This may or may not hurt. I'll numb you up best I can first…” the words trailed off as the soft voice of the Genasi settled back into place. Frozen hand rested upon his shoulder allowing a deep wave of pure winter chill to depart from her hand into his shoulder and down his arm, a cooling numbness to ease the future pain. Now, Em has never worked with only a hand before this was going to be an interesting challenge. Scalpel she needed a one was the thought process in her mind, but it was odd magic that caused the formerly animated hand to twitch to life once more. The bond the Genasi and her magic had with the missing limb extended beyond the normal, but her magic kept it moving as if still part of her. Walking across the table it grabbed one of the scalpels and hopped off the bench to carry it over to the Genasi. “Oh, thank you,” Em whispered without realizing it was the black hand that had handed her the item she was thinking about. The healer was in thought of her own world and assuming Gene was a mind reader too. Taking the blade in hand she smiled down upon Tham, “All better soon…” she whispered hopefully. Leaning forward the Healer began at the shoulder and started to cut away at the moldy vines and flesh attached to the outside arm of the Blue being careful to not destroy the arm below. He was babbling odd words but she let him. Focused pieces of vine and rot started to fall to the floor. “What hand?” she questioned, totally having forgot hers was missing. Cutting. Cutting. The pile of yuck on the floor was growing as the mass was shrinking. When Em was sure it was enough gone she used the blade to cut the stump of hers to allow blood to trickle from her down over his wound. The same wound that it had been mixed with many times. A cooling sensation as it settled into the injury and began to seal him up from inside out now.

|| Genevieve || Between Emilia’s surgical work and Thamalys’s ramblings sat a quiet Genevieve, mostly observing them with a clinical eye. A fascinating duo. Her work is done; she could simply depart now if she wanted. Then she remembers — she has to write this down. A worn leather-bound journal is soon in one hand, a thin piece of charcoal in the other. Pages upon pages of field notes have been scrawled in the blank sheets of the book, her writing emanating the same dark energy as her body. Even after all this time, her writing is still as neat and flowing as before she left the Crane homestead, a remnant of her time as a scribe for her grandfather’s mad blatherings. Here, now, instead of writing visitations and condemnations, she’s writing about the fascinating things she’s observed in this cavern: the peculiarities of the ice genasi, the curse of Chisel, the avian’s flickering features and ivy tattoos. Most of all, though, she reflects on her cursework, noting that her expertise in the field has definitely increased — at least, judging by the skill with which she handled the splinter. Genevieve is proud of herself; it’s a strange feeling, pride, and not one she’s wholly familiar with, but she revels in it. The book snaps shut, shoved into her bag, and she turns her attention back to the two healers. “I-it, um, appears that everything was successful, yes?” She gives another nod, the slightest hint of a smile on her pursed lips. “Excellent, excellent.” The necromancer rises, dusting off her robes and cloak before adjusting the strap on her satchel, pulling at her gloves. Her gaze meets the stars above them and the open maw of the cavern. “And the night isn’t even over yet…”

Thamalys knew exactly what sort of sensation was about to percolate through his wounded arm - utter chill, but of one sort he learned to appreciate in time. Much as a hairdresser, the Genasi trimmed and healed, a disgusting pile of what at this stage looked like garden waste accumulating on the stony floor. With every vine gone, the mind of the Blue came back to him, piece by piece. By the time the Necromancer was finished with her writing, she would have faced a rather lively Thamalys. “It would appear so, yes. And…” pondered the Spellblade, canting his head in mild disbelief, “… you want me to believe you are to just walk away without demanding anything in return? You do realise, I shall hope, that your contribution was essential to free me from something I thought it would have been my very death, yes? What is it that your after, then? Gold, perhaps? If - nothing - would be your answer, then I would have to assume something darker that what I have seen in you already must have taken the place of that thorn… Emi, what do you make of her?” would have casually added addressing the Genasi. Now, one could think that the absence of many loud words could have meant the Blue simply gave the Wintry Lady’s help for granted - far for being true. With his right hand, and while the Icy One would have probably be intent still to cleanse the awful mess of ligaments and nerves slowly coming to life again, the Avian would have simply clenched the left ankle of the Genasi, a ring of blue fire drawing around that almost transparent flash. An odd way to signify gratitude, perhaps, but such a strong gesture for the Blue to offer. The two would have probably had a much more animated discussion || Cutting your bloody hand off? In which universe did you think… — could have been a probable excerpt ||, but as of now the Spellblade was trying to get a hold of the Necromancer - witnessing her vanishing into thin air after such a deed? Not an option, these sort of creatures were rare even in Lytrhidel, no matter how shadowy their aura.

Emilia was focused on finishing up the last of the arm healing as her ankle glowed a soft blue with the thank you from the avian. She barely noted it other than her skin looked silly for a moment when she glanced at it. It was the woman turning to depart so quickly that got her attention as well, “Thank you most kindly for aiding tonight. I would much appreciate it if you kept the happenings of tonight in your book only…” she nodded with a stern look. She did not need people knowing more of her secrets than need be, to be on a capture list again was not something she was wishing for. Nor did she want it out yet that she had just so casually cut off her…hand. Hand?! Staring down the at the stump the Genasi let out quite the high pitched of whistling scream. Her hand was indeed gone! Not a dream it was no longer attached. Instead, this hand of hers was perched on her shoulder much like a pet monkey and waving a finger at Gene. Yes, the necromancer staying meant that the conversation with the Blue over the amputation would be prolonged. Finally answering Tham, “She intrigues me.”

|| Genevieve || Thamalys is met with a blank stare by Genevieve, who is already half-prepared to leave and face the yawning cold of Frostmaw once again. The shriek coming from Emilia snaps her out of it as her gaze darts to the hand’s chiding finger. She really didn’t expect payment — this is just something she enjoyed doing. Yet she recalls an old adage, a wise introduction in one of the books she consumed: “If you’re good at something, never do it for free.” And so, she won’t. She takes a step forward gingerly, crouching in order to better face the still-downed spellblade, jittery arms on her thighs. The mottled, rotting greenery around him reminds her of her traipses through Kelay, back when she couldn’t control her dark field and it ravaged the forests she walked through. The avian is met with a shy, embarrassed beam, glowing from his kind words. “I-I suppose…” she begins, black eye floating from Emilia, to the shimmering lake leagues behind them, to Thamalys himself, “...you may reward me with your tr-trust? And perhaps the trust of other Frostmawians? I mean no harm to these lands — I simply enjoy the solitude.” Not exactly true, but she’s definitely not going to go after anyone in Frostmaw considering the city’s fearsome reputation. A tinge of pink dusts her cheeks, self-conscious. “I did not assist you expecting gold in return, tr-truly, I expected nothing at all. A-and I’m quite thankful that you gave my abilities a chance.” And that he didn’t actually kill her last time. That was a huge plus. “And Emilia, th-thank you for the compliment. I c-can assure you the nature of this event is safe with me. I have a few secrets of my own to keep locked — I understand your concerns.” The genasi, too, is given a smile. Genevieve lingers there, unsure if she really wants to leave just yet. This strange duo has offered her endless fascination, from Emilia’s icy complexion to Thamalys’s tattoos and flames. Perhaps she can let her guard down around them… even a little bit.

Thamalys did not anticipate such an answer from the Necromancer. He thus remained silent for a good while, before trying an answer. “First and foremost, you have my gratitude. And my respect, and my genuine appreciation of your magic, however evil it may be. My trust, though… no, not yet, no more that I don’t have yours. Yes, the three of us all bear darkness within us, but there is something in you I cannot bring myself to accept - perhaps, I will never, albeit my debt to you is so huge that I foresee my logic will eventually yield. We are Avians - remember that, when you will be tempted to curse me in turn for being an ungrateful bastard.” He searched the eyes of the Genasi, before pressing on. “However, I - am - indebted, and as such I - will - talk with whom can or cannot grant you free passage into Frostmaw. That much, you deserve, and yet I cannot say I will be doing happily. Death hovers all around you like the most persistent of the winter clouds - by the Wind, you do really tear my judgment apart! Enough of this, now - I am tired…” he simply stated, lying back on the sodded blanket once more, eyes transfixed onto the sparkly ceiling. “Thank you, Miss Crane. What you did here this night… it will not be forgotten. Thank you.” And with that, perhaps aided by the soothing chill of the Genasi, gently spreading throughout the whole of him, the Blue closed his eyes, waiting for a sleep that he knew he would have been free from the Wooden Puppeteer’s course - for the first time in months. Oh, the relief. “Thank you. Thank you both. Emi…” but whatever he was going to say, Morpheus cut him short.

Emilia turned a gentle smile of blue lips on Genevieve, “Gaining trust of a stuck up bird is always the hardest thing to get, but he does not wish to behead you which is a blessing on your part. Thank you for this evening. We shall see what we can do to help with your passage in Frostmaw. No promises.” Her words soft in nature. Now she would not stop her from leaving as Tham was snoring. With effort of having one hand the Genasi along with some magic winter aide managed to get the Blue into her arms and carry him off to a safer sleeping location. The greenhouse.

Genevieve takes in the words of Thamalys, giving him credit — she expected as much from him, avian or otherwise (truly, she must begin to learn about the nuances of the races), but at the very least he’s in her debt and he knows it. This is enough to satisfy her, even if the candid remarks about her presence still stings. Once he’s sound asleep, a tension she was holding in her muscles suddenly relaxes; her job is finished here, and Emilia appears more than capable of handling the rest. So be it. “I’ll be taking my leave now,” she announces, rising once again and already thinking of the bitter night to come. “If you are ever need in my services… um, I will be around.” Vague, but at least she’s offering, right? “And… thank you very much for your help tonight. It seems Thamalys really appreciates you, Emilia.” A beat. “J-just, um… acknowledge that.” It’s awkward and stilted, but that kind of advice is genuinely coming from her. Gods know how much she’s loved before only to be abandoned so readily. With that, she takes one last look at the pair before departing, the frost already sticking to her hair as boreal air fills her lungs. A smile still sticks to her lips. Huh.

This RP is linked to: RP:Back to Black