RP:Until It Sleeps, We Must Push Through

Part of the Laugh Now, Cry Later Arc

Part of the You Must Have Been Human Arc

Part of the Once Upon a Midnight Dreary Arc

Part of the Welcome To The End Of Eras Arc

Summary: After certain discoveries are made in Cenril, Kanna leads Lanlan and Valrae to the Necromancer's Guild to convey their discoveries regarding the necromantic plague. It is there that they come across a very sickly Kasyr. Upon examination by co-leader Khitti that they determine that Kasyr can not wait any longer for co-leader Quintessa’s ritual to merge Kasyr back with the dark energies Lanlan has kept contained. Between three advanced necromancers and two powerful mages, the ritual nearly takes everyone into death’s embrace, and the sheer power of the energies formed seem to draw a multitude of antagonists from the shadows to observe and attempt to interfere.

Alternate Title: Put That Thing Back Where It Came From Or So Help Me

The Black Spire

The entryway of the Necromancer’s Guild is a true testament to an affinity towards dark magic. The foyer is massive in size, with a vaulted ceiling with beams and buttraces capping a series of wide marble staircases that lead up to opulent corridors. Every landing opens to a mezzanine formed by arches and a wrought iron filigree railing overlooking the entry hall. From a position upon the travertine tile floor, it seems that the tower extends further than the spiral staircase can reach. The walls are a mottled, onyx stone, hewn to a smooth face and polished to a mirror-like shine. This dark stone meshes well in an eerie sort of harmony with the stained glass windows that litter the building, colored in various shades of red and arranged in geometrical patterns within the window frames. A quartet of chandeliers, each one crafted from thin, wirelike strands of emerald to resemble a tangle of vines and leaves, hangs in cordoned quadrants from thick chains attached to the ceiling. The heady scent of pungent incense and rich, flavorful cigars wafts through the labyrinthine halls.’

Myriad doors and entries stretch out from the cavernous room, each one bedecked with archaic splendor and subdued style, leading one to believe that maybe the tower is bigger on the inside. One chamber seems to lead into another, and on and on through a maze of far-reaching rooms. The majority of these are classrooms and laboratories or dorms and study halls, while others are offices for the teachers and higher ups of the guild. A massive library, an armoury, and rooms to be used for spellcasting practice that has been enchanted to protect the entire tower from wayward magic can also be found amongst the chambers. The walls are tiled in jagged obsidian, while the floor seems to be a solid sheet of semi-precious hematite stone. A constant, calm patter alerts visitors to the presence of a circular fountain with a low lip at the center of the room. Jets of water are propelled from the perimeter of the pool and into the middle, where three steel-wrought sculptures of a black widow spider, cloaked skeleton, and a multi-limbed, humanoid woman--the Spider Goddess, Vakmatharas, and Delisha respectively--surround and direct their attention towards the middle of the fountain. Floating in the middle of the three is the guild’s sigil, the skull of which is made from the same onyx stone as most of the tower, though it has a faint red aura around it, and the several layers of runes orbit around it, in much the same way as a gyroscope. Flickering censers dangle from every corner of the room, wafting violet-black smoke and the aroma of lilies while casting ominous puddles of light and shadow. A flight of stairs nestled inside an alcove, along the left wall through a sculpted archway, leads down to the basement.

The walk from Cenril to Vailkrin turned out to be not as long as perhaps the two members Kanna was bringing along with her were expecting. With the help of a spatiomancy quirk her superiors had discovered, portals were more readily accessible to members of the Necromancy Guild. The trio make their way over the cobbled stone bridge to the city of eternal night, and towards the tallest building in the city: a black spire nearly as tall as the Mage’s Tower of Xalious. The twin moons of Vaalane and Ahr’Nuk hang ominously behind the tower, giving the entire landscape an eerie look. If any part of this landscape made Kanna feel uneasy, she sure didn’t show it. With a casual demeanour, she strolls into the building without so much as a knock. “Here we are! I’m sure one of them is around here somewhere. Bradyn! Quintessa! Khitti!” Kanna calls out, her melodic voice echoing around the Necromancer’s Guild. After a pause, she adds in a sing-song voice, “I have guests~.” Surely, this would be enough to get one of the loners to peer out, no?

Valrae had changed. With no idea what she’d be heading into, the witch had thrown on soft cotton pants and a pair of ankle boots, the heels short enough to be comfortable but high enough to satisfy her vanity. She kept the cream colored wool coat. She’d also changed bags, this one somehow larger than the last. It was a heavy thing, even spelled as it was to hold what amounted to a small shop’s worth of magical tools. Valrae had never been to the necromancer’s guild before. The novelty of it was somehow lost to her now though, her mind focused inward instead. She did, however, walk just a little closer to Lan. If he noticed, she didn’t particularly care at the current moment. The witch had her arm elbow deep in it as she followed Kanna the spire, the sound of jars rattling as she fished around for her wand. Why was she always losing it? Surely there was a spell for that.

Kasyr, despite not being a member of the Necromancers guild, has managed to make himself look right at home. Though, this is less due the casual manner he's sprawled across a bench, or his surprisingly adept handling of a rather bite-y book. Really, it's more due to the fact that he's looking even -worse- than he was at the Titan of Winter opening ceremony. He's doing a -really- good job of living up to his old nickname of Ashen- given that the pallour of his skin has achieved new, unhealthy shades that are a bit disconcerting for someone that's still supposed to be alive. Still, as haggard as he appears- he still managed to put some effort into outfit. To whit, he's sporting some finely pressed black dresspants, a white dress shirt, and a red spidersilk vest. It's nice, it's tasteful- and it'll spare some effort in figuring out a funerary wardrobe if they botch things up and kill him dead. Provided he even leaves a body this time. It's on this delightfully positive thought that he first catches wind of Kanna's singsong statement, coaxing the kensai into replying, "If you're searching for Khitti, I believe they may still have their hands full." Possibly? The Kensai hadn't been keeping track. This chapter on exsanguinating curses had actually been pretty riveting, so he'd been dead to the world for a bit.

All day, Khitti’s frakkery senses had been tingling. Well, this was as good a time as any to practice with her new tarot cards, right? The cards were shuffled and one was drawn, Khitti opting for the simple daily card pull. She hesitated a moment, then looked at it: it was the Tower. The redhead squinted at it and tried to recall its meaning, but damn there were so many to remember. Quickly giving up, she reached over and grabbed the worn booklet that had come with it. “Major arcana… Tower… Tooooowwwweeerrrrr…” She eventually found it. Her right eye twitched a little. “Sudden change. Upheaval. Chaos. Revelation. Awakening.” It was around this time that Kanna called out for her and the other two Provectus Maluses. Khitti’s spine stiffened at the sound of her name and a chill ran down it. “Oh. Oh no. No no no no no.” She shoved her cards into their metal box with the booklet, ran out of her office, and peered over the balcony at the first floor. Khitti’s olive-green line of sight shifted back and forth between everyone as the hair on the back of her neck stood on end. Kanna. Valrae. Lanlan. Kasyr. These people -shouldn’t- be giving her this feeling and yet…? Ugh. Okay. Time to go get in trouble and hope that Brand doesn’t have to come save her ass later. She’d head down the stairs to meet with the four, suspicion and wariness written all over her face. “Hi, guys.” Yes, she’s even saying ‘hi’ to Kasyr, even though he’s been here already.

Lanlan was enjoying the journey to Vailkrin, at first. But walking through the portal to quicken their journey didn’t just shrink the distance to their destination, it rushed him toward consequences. Ones he wasn’t ready to face. Did he lie to his friend? She might not have come if he didn’t. And she had to come. Just like he had to bring Kasyr’s vile essence back to him. Something that was almost certainly going to be bad for Lanlan. He awakens from a stupor upon entering the Necromancer’s guild and seeing Kasyr. This was his first time here, just like Valrae! It was a time to celebrate! “Valrae isn’t that…? Kasyr! It is, wow! What a coincidence! Oh and you say Khitti is here too? Well that is interesting. Yeah.” He just needed to buy a little time while he thought of how he was going to explain this.

Kanna first notices the gaunt figure reclining in the foyer, giving him a polite nod greeting at first. Of everyone who has gathered today, Kanna was the only one who didn't immediately recognize the so-called King of Vailkrin by description alone. Taking a tentative step towards him, she notes, "Oh dear, you're jaundicing." With a tilt of the head, she places a hand out that begins to glow. The spell she is capable of could only detect plant-based poisons, but what she senses is different. Definitely the unsettling aura of a necromancy spell, but something else was there as well. "What strange magic, it's like a combination of a curse and a poison. You definitely need a Thanadule or higher to inspect you." Catching a glimpse of the fiery Provectus, Kanna straightens up and raises a hand in greeting. "Khitti!" Seeing how casually she addresses Valrae and Lanlan, and it seems the sickly man as well, her eyes light up in realization. "You all know each other? Oh my gosh, what a small world!" Kanna exclaims happily. Remembering what it is she came for, she opens the doors to the guild to reveal the tuxedoed ghoul, still clutching the missing poster from Cenril. He had been shambling behind the trio at his own pace, but had followed Kanna diligently. "I have a theory on how to help these creatures. Visceromancy combined with healing could jog their memories to make them lucid and nonviolent again!" Turning her attention back to Kasyr, her brows furrow. "I think you should examine this boy first, though. He doesn't seem to have a normal curse or poison affliction."

Valrae found her wand around the time Lan begins speaking to her again. “Kas!” She exclaims his name happily, her cheery smile dropping only when they neared him enough to see what terrible shape he was in. “Oh, Kas…” Khitti has appeared as well, which has her turning to tilt her head back and share another smile for the other woman. “Hey, Khitti!” She turns back to Kasyr quickly though, watching as Kanna’s hand begins to glow. “What does that mean?” She whispers to Lanlan assuming he might know. She walks toward Kasyr again, stopping in front of him. “You really don’t look well.” It’s clear she’s forgotten the reason they came, even as Kanna tells Khitti the highlights of it, and she leans down. There was a heartbeat of hesitation before she reached out with her free hand, moving it to touch Kasyr’s own. “I really think you need a healer.” Val wore a great many hats when they were needed, but a healer she was not. She draws her hand back and moves to stand near Lanlan again. In her mind, she ticks over the things she’d brought in her bag. Could anything help? What did she know! “What do we do?” The witch turns her too wide eyes to Lan. She was whispering again.

Kasyr notes the promptness in which everyone was gathering, and brusquely closes the book he was reading. Partly because his divided attention meant he would have been affording it more changes to take a bit out of him. As Khitti descends the stairs, the kensai casually plants it down on the bench he was seated at, and then stacks his pack on top of it, so it can't scurry away. "Yo." There's a small wave, alongside the greeting, before his attention flickers over towards all the people Lanlan had gathered. ...He -had- gathered them, right? ...Kanna's general disposition was enough that the Kensai actually had to wonder if the illusionist had simply accumulated a few stray companions along the way. Though, this new addition didn't seem malign at least. Her ghoulish companion, however- well, Kasyr doesn't try to -squint- at them too noticeably. After all, when someone concerned in your wellbeing starts talking about -curing- the denizens you'd put to the torch- well, you just need to count your blessing that said denizens aren't in a position to rat you out. At least there's no real baggage inherant in Valrae's presence. "It's worse than it looks. ...Wait." No, that's actually pretty accurate. But you're supposed to lie at these times. "Tired, sorry. Got that reversed, madamoiselle. How have you been- Et, uh- "Okay, while Kas may have avoided glaring daggers at seemingly domesticated ghoul in a tuxedo, he can't help but side eye Lanlan, "And you, Monsieur. It's been so long since I heard from you. Been busy at the tower, with...everything?" Lanlan, if looks could kill- you'd be dead sevenfold. Not that the Kensai is allowed to dwell on those feelings. They have business, after all- and that means forcing a guise of pleasentness, and doing something unassuming, like...fiddling with a scalpel. It's not a threat, he just needs something to contain all this nervous energy. Yeah.

Lanlan moves further into the tower and nearer to the dying man. He’s beaming with jubilant glee at the sight of him. He looks bad. Even for a human! Or whatever he is. He could be dead in -days-. Of course, Lanlan intends to make sure he won’t be. His glory diminishes and he meets Valrae’s eyes. “Did you forget? I’m sure I told you,” he lies. “Kas needs our help, because as you can see, look at him. He’s what, half a man maybe. A quarter. And we’re going to put him back together. Remember?” Yes of course, it’ll all come back to her. While he smiles innocently at Valrae, he can feel Kasyr’s eyes on him, and he can feel his glory returning. “In fact, yes! My time at the Mage’s tower has never been put to better use than it has been lately.”

The necrobotanist gave her explanation about the ghouls in Cenril and the promising cure for them, but the conversation was soon sidetracked by Kasyr’s current state. Something was lingering beneath the surface of Lanlan and Kasyr’s words and yet… even with her extra perceptiveness, Khitti could not discern it -- not without context anyway. “Fix him? Just what exactly do you know about this,” she said, her words directed at the drow as she stepped over to the Warrior’s Guild leader, a hand lifting in the air momentarily to strengthen the candlelight on this floor a little more. “What has happened to you…?” A frown fixed itself upon her face as she studied him, the redhead wishing she'd joined the Healer’s Guild ages ago. “Something about this feels… familiar.” Khitti stood up straight, her line of sight shifting from the Kensai to nothing in particular as she tried to remember memories she’d long since put out of her mind. It had been easy to, especially after dying the second time and coming back without any memories at all. It was there, just beneath the surface. Just like whatever the hell was going on between Lanlan and Kasyr.

Kanna gives a quizzical look to Lanlan. Was that why the pair were originally in Cenril when she ran into them? “Hm.” While Valrae gives Kasyr a once-over, Kanna gives a little hum in wonder as she notes the way Lanlan’s smile twitches from being forced, and the way the sickly man continues to stare at him as if wondering when he’s going to burst into flames. It wasn’t her place to question the interaction, though, there were far more important things on Kanna’s to-do list. Her ghoulish companion stares vacantly into the distance as the living and saner less-than-living converge around Kasyr. “A healer will absolutely be needed once whatever is causing this is expelled…” She echoes Valrae’s sentiment softly. Once Valrae straightens up, Kanna takes her place and offers her hand. “May I?” Without waiting for consent, she gently takes one of his hands in her icy ones and holds it palm-side up. A rose-thorn emerges from the tip of her finger, which she uses to prick Kasyr’s own. Blood bubbles to the surface of his pale finger, a normal reaction at first glance. Kanna furrows her brows and gives the finger a squeeze. Black ichor follows in the blood’s place, far too dark in color to be mistaken for blood. Kanna releases his hand and stands quickly. “We need a poisons expert.” She says definitively.

The witch laughs at Kasyr’s grim humor despite her worry. It was familiar and very much like him which helped to calm the nerves that were beginning to fray. “I’ve been golden comparatively,” She replies. Valrae’s eyes narrow at Lanlan. Forget what? She feels pretty confident she would have remembered Lan mentioning something about Kasyr’s condition. The drow is spared now only because her concern for him eclipses her desire to dig her heels in. This also warrants him miles and miles of unearned grace as she looks over the very obvious tension between the two men. Why were they talking about the tower now? She wouldn’t know and it didn’t seem to matter currently, so she tucks it away. Val looks up as Khitti brightens the space and frowns. “Familiar?” She echos, a spark of hope warming her chest. If Khitti had seen something like this before, surely she knew the answers to curing it. Kanna was doing something to Kasyr again. The witch watches as she draws his blood, her hand going to her lips as something black follows. Again, not a healer, but that seemed *bad*.

Kasyr purses his lips a bit when he finds himself discreetly prodded with a thorn, something which earns Kanna a wry, "Aren't you supposed to warn that this will sting a bit?" While those present seem somewhat disconcerted by the caliginous fluid that leaks out of the wound, the swordsman just seems... resigned. And that expression doesn't falter, either, when the unnatural ichor bunches up onto itself and begins to push itself back into the wound, as though seeking shelter from the inquisitive eyes present. "I'm guessing by the diagnosis, that Lan has been less than forthcoming. . . Quelle Surprise." With a sigh, the swordsman folds his hands up beneath his armpits, and simply pauses for a moment to try and collect his thoughts. Khitti, at least, seemed on the verge of fathoming what was going on, "It's not poison. It's vampirism- though that might be the same difference to some." He manages a bit of a grin at that, before shaking his head, "Though- it is killing me. Partly because someone has been hoarding the -rest- of what I was." Yeah, Kas is just going to make this Lanlan's fault. I mean, It's his fault, being all hush hush about things.

Lanlan is looking pretty proud of himself right now. Khitti wants to know how he will fix him? Well Lanlan is happy to explain. “You all know he’s not a vampire anymore, right? I mean he did such a bad job pretending, I knew almost immediately. Whatever happened to take the evil out of him, is the same thing that’s killing him.” Everyone’s doting all over Kasyr, he must be loving all this attention and misguided affection. “Oh, we need much more than that Kanna. An entire cult of freaks, a coven of witches, an army of clerics.” And you Lanlan, don’t forget how much they need you. You have the key to all of it. He’s careful to consider Valrae, who shows him a suspicious eye. But she doesn’t address it, not yet. This whole situation with her was so tenuous with her, he can hear the guillotine’s rope snapping thread by thread. In a hole like this, the only thing to do was dig deeper. Yet he’d have to mind these betrayals. True, they didn’t -know- it was a betrayal to give Kasyr this doting tenderness and worry after Lanlan’s experiences with him. But they should by now. And here he goes, Kasyr, openly trying to turn his friends against him! “I got the help I needed, Kasyr. The help -you- need. Who cares how or why they’re here now.” Just like that, Lanlan’s optimism was drained, and all it took was a casual observation. “Can’t even do a good thing…” He shakes his head and detaches himself from the crowd of bleeding hearts. Or, he meant to. But -someone- hasn’t finished betraying him yet it seems. “Hoarding it? I never wanted any part of this, you’re lucky I’m here at all. Actually…” He slides one hand into the snug sleeve of his other and pulls a mason jar out of it. A mason jar wrapped in black silk, protection embroidered onto it with golden runes. “Here it is. I’ll be happy to be free of it.” And he lobs it in a droopy arc toward Kasyr…only it’s not going to reach him. With no interference, it’ll land on the floor, the jar will break, the runes will fail, and all of them will die screaming. Or they would, if it was the real artifact and not merely a perfect replica.

Khitti’s lips twisted into a frown as Kasyr acknowledged his predicament as being related to vampirism. Like a lightning bolt, the memory finally came to her, her face losing a bit of color. “It seems similar to what I went through before -I- became a vampire. Back when I was fused with the spirit of someone from the Shadow Plane and my dark magic was not my own. Amarrah’s essence and her magic was poisoning me, and since I got no help from Larewen, I was forced to become a vampire.” She’s still quite bitter about that, to the point that she spat after using the Dragana woman’s name. It was Lanlan’s turn then to open his mouth and it was all Khitti could do to not reach over and choke the life out of him after Kasyr’s mention of it being the drow’s fault that he’s like this in the first place. The redhead scowled at Lanlan as he lobbed the jar into the air, leaving her to shadowstep over to it to catch it before it hit the ground or anywhere else. There was no telling what it would do to anyone else if the death goo touched them. After handing it over to Kanna, Khitti shadowstepped again, this time in front of the drow, “I don’t know what game you think you’re playing, but you’re in my domain now. I will not hesitate to make you take a little dirt nap beneath the tower. Or should I let the spiders have you? Or the kraken in Black Pond? Or maybe Quintessa and I will use you for experiments? Or let the students use you for parts? There’s many ways to get rid of you here, Lanlan.” The shadows in the tower coalesced somewhat, becoming thicker, heavier like a dark fog. Khitti might be a bit shorter than Lanlan, but the shadows aided her in seeming more threatening. “So, be on your best behavior, dear, and we won’t have any problems.” The shadows faded away and Khitti gave the illusionist a sickeningly sweet smile. “Now… We need to get Kasyr to Quintessa. She’s likely next door.” She looked to Kasyr then, “If you need help, I can shadowstep you to the fortress.”

The Misshapen Fortress

Before you stands the unfishished stronghold of Countess Quintessa Dragana, the Shield of the East. The uneven, ebony walls that enclose the area around the citadel are unbroken, save for two places; Heavy gates have been built into the dark stone, made of thick wood and plated in heavy Ghroundium, which is engraved with interwoven spiders and burnished to a silver-like shine. Within the walls, modeled after the famous Vailkrin Plaza and reinvisioned in a style she calls ‘Art Draco’, the Countess has had the streets paved in ebony stone and adorned with elegant, silvery street lights that glow an ominous green as the lime flames light the way. The black stone walls are left unadorned save for several green-burning sconces and a series of banners, each flag bearing the black hand of Vailkrin upon a shield wrapped in thorny, flowering vines. To the west lies a short path leading through a second pair of gates, taking you to a massive black spire that stretches into the gloomy Vailkrin skies above the Dark Forest. Although the fort remains unfinished, it is still large enough to house the temporary resident stonemasons and carpenters that work around the clock to build Quintessa’s vision, as well as the modest garrison that protects them. Along the walls there is not a moment that the Countess’ skeletal archers aren’t looking down on the surrounding area, nor is there a moment when her vampiric pikemen aren’t wielding halberds at the gates, ever ready to defend these walls from their Mistress’ enemies, domestic or forien. If you have business with House Dragana or the Necromancer’s Guild, you are free to roam here peacefully, but interlopers will not be tolerated. Loitering too long around here will get you reported to the Countess either way, after all, the shadows are always watching, especially within these walls.

Below Quintessa’s Misshapen Fortress, hidden from the world at large under stone and dirt to keep her unsavory experiments a secret from the common folk, the Countess of the Dark Forest hunches over a cold slab in her operating theater working on some poor prisoner she had dragged up in chains. He was long gone by the time her unexpected visitors arrived, empty, lifeless eyes staring at the new arrivals as they stepped through the shadows to end up standing in the center of her massive laboritoy. To those who had never been inside here before it would seem a strange and alien place, featuring tools and devices rarely seen outside of the most advanced alchemy setups. Mithril surgical equipment of every size and variety, from scalpels to bonesaws to even larger devices meant to serve as rib spreaders. Flasks and decanters of every shape and size rested with her distillation set, made from experimental tempered glass she had to import from outside of Vailkrin, some fitted with two-way vacuum adaptors, others with extraction apperatises, and she even possessed an unusually large separatory funnel squbb-shaped glass stopcok that hung from the ceiling above a series of slidable gurneys. When the party arrives not only would they discover Quintessa (who was much too preoccupied with the dead body before her to notice) but they would also see the body of Odhranos held in large vat of greenish, translucent fluid and glows with supernatural energy as the highly advanced set of runes etched on the steel rings holding it together hummed with unending magical effort to keep the terramancer suspended in soulless life as the cage that housed it sat on a black marble pedestal right in front of him. Meanwhile his changeling chaperone mutters to herself, bloody hands wiping the sweat from her brow only to leave a large streak of blood insead, hands hastily wiped off before she scribbles down some notes and cackles at her murmured musings. “Of course it’s like this I-” midsentence she stops and shoots a look over her shoulder, a lone golden eye peering from under the shadows of her unkempt hair. “Mother?” Quintessa turns to approach the fellow necromancer, walking towards her with slow steps while utterly ignoring the others. “I’m glad you’re here I-” She looks around the room as if she is responding to something nobody else can sense. “Did someone just call my name? Oh, nevermind…” She reaches forward to take Khitti’s hand between her own, only to leave something wet and sticky in her palm before wandering away to gaze at Odhranos floating in the vat of necrotic false-life enfusing goop. “When are you going to wake up? Your friends miss you…You see?” When Khitti looked down she’d discover what exactly Quintessa had handed her a moment before… Quintessa gave 1 desiccated zombie tongue to Khitti. Kanna grimaces slightly when she hears the mad woman’s name, but forgets about it quickly enough as she’s handed the extremely dangerous artifact. The growing shadows did nothing to unsettle the ghoul; she had already seen the extent of the guild’s wrath when she painted the chandelier a delicate pink to give the room some color. Her brows furrow slightly as the group makes their way to the fortress. If this was protected, why was there no mana coming off of this…? Her other experiment would have to wait for the moment. Kanna is last to follow the group, as she gently leads the zombie to sit down on one of the chairs in the waiting area. “We’ll find her.” She murmurs reassuringly to the ghoul before following along. The thick wood and ghroundium-plated doors swing inwards, where a quick ask to one of the vampire servants takes them down to the cellar where the more unethical of research projects take place. It seemed that fixing Kasyr was about to become one of them. The torture chamber, laboratory, whatever you wanted to call it, was a little more messy than when Kanna had last visited, but it was nothing a bit of cleaning couldn’t accomplish. “Oh, Kasyr, that’s your name, correct? That operating table over there should be clean if you want to lay down. Quintessa-- forehead. Ah, this man needs to be examined, he has a very bad curse going on for him.” It's unclear who screeches Kanna’s name in disbelief first, but by the time everyone looks, the short bard has the runic protection cloth over her arm, and a spoon in one hand as she’s mid-bite of what’s supposed to be the extremely deadly death goo. Only, death goo didn’t have chunks of blueberry in it, did it? “What? It's fake.” She says as if it should have been obvious. After shoveling another mouthful, she casually points at one of the organs removed from the corpse with the spoon. “Can I have that one? I need to supplement my magic again.”

Valrae had visibly grimaced when Kasyr revealed that vampirism was what ailed him. Her fear of the vampiric curse was her worst kept secret. It *was* different to her than poison, if only because in her mind it was something much worse. “What does he mean, Lan?” Val turns her dark eyes to him again waiting for his explanation. Guilt knotted in the witch’s chest. Had Lanlan tricked her here in fear that she might not help Kasyr because of her aversion to vampires? Busy drowning in her own shame, Lan is spared her anger. That is, until he decides to throw the jar. “Lan!!” She hisses his name in disbelief, even as Khitti snags the replica jar and saves the wasn’t-actually-in-danger day. As the shadows in the room deepen, Valrae watches as Khitti stands face to face with Lanlan and makes all manner of threats. Some she’s sure at times she’d like to have seen followed through. “I-” The witch draws the word out even as she takes a careful step between the two, “Don’t think spiders or krakens are necessary….” Val gives Khitti her brightest, sweetest smile. There was something like an apology shining in her eyes. “At least, not until after we fix Kasyr, right?” Even when the tense moment passes, Val still finds her jaw clenched. “Lan, that was a terrible joke.” She whispers, sticking by his side as they move for the fortress. The unease that had pricked along her spine only worsened the farther into this adventure she went. By the time they were standing in Quintessa’s laboratory, the witch’s knees felt as if they were made of jelly. It was when her eyes met the lifeless one’s of the poor body that Tessa had been working on that her skin drained of enough color that she rivaled even Kasyr for looking the most unwell. Her blood was already pounding in her ears by the time a tongue lands in Khitti’s hand, but it wasn’t until Kanna began to eat what Valrae thought was a part of Kasyr’s condition that Valrae finally lost it and vomited all over Lanlan’s shoes.

Khitti was about to greet Tessa and tell her what was up… until she got a tongue shoved into her hand. She stood there for a few moments just staring at it with her mouth agape. She probably would’ve stood there even longer trying to process this if it wasn’t for the fact that Kanna just popped that jar open and went to town on it like a kid with a cookie jar. The redhead blinked several times and when it registered that it was a fake… her attention settled on Lanlan. And then she threw that tongue at his face. Full on baseball throw. Whether or not it hit him is a different story, but Khitti was clearly not pleased. “Tessa, Kasyr is dying,” she said finally, taking a few steps towards Lanlan. “We need to put this weird death goo back in him to make him a vampire again. But Lanlan here’s got jokes and I’m about ready to rip his heart out like I did with Jessamine.” Khitti kept slowly closing the gap between her and the drow as sharp shadow-icicles grew along the fingertips of one hand. “Last chance to give up the real thing or I’m gonna turn you into an all you can eat buffet for Kanna.” She wouldn’t -really- do it, would she? Maybe not, but she was dipping really hard into her intimidation skill checks today.

Lanlan can’t understand why Kasyr merely implying that Lanlan could have something to do with his advanced state of decay is enough to set these wolves to his throat. Valrae asked him to deny it. And he wanted to explain everything! But that would take too long and clearly, he had to anticipate being assaulted. “Not now,” he says curtly. And sure. Tossing the jar of concentrated evil between them didn’t help. But it was a fake! No harm would come to anyone! Of course, he couldn’t say this. How could he tell Khitti the impressive rescue was for a cheap jar of jelly? He couldn’t. One unfavorable syllable might set her off. Valrae stepped between them, and he turned his cheek to Khitti’s threats, and wordlessly waited for them to stop, while reminding himself why he was here in the first place. It was important. When they left for Tessa’s mean looking castle, Lanlan stuck to Valrae and almost began to explain himself. “I was…” But how much could she understand? How badly did she want to believe the worst about him like everyone else? Would it even matter that he saved Odhranos from Ernest if she also knew what he gained from it? “I was busy. Anyways, it was a good joke.” But he wasn’t laughing anymore. His cane, painted with hot rod flames, slid out impossibly from his sleeve and he alternated each step leaning on it while he walked. Its tapping was the only sound he made for the rest of the walk. Silence. It was his newest weapon, learned harshly after his lung was detonated and wasting words became painful. In the torture chamber, he only grimaced. They had these in the underdark and he knew then that the main purpose was causing pain; whatever science happened was an excuse. Or an accident. It was a strange situation, precarious. Because he didn’t know how much Tessa had been following recent events. Was he walking into the home of an enemy? Or temporary ally? After the bizarre Mother-daughter ritual involving a dismembered tongue, she stops offending him. So, the latter. But in his survey, he lands his eyes on Kanna. Had she figured it out? Yes! He smiles (barely) and nudges Val to look where he’s looking. Soon everyone else did too, and his smile broadened. The tiny joke was designed to end with Kasyr leaping out of his comfort to save the jar from smashing, and hopefully land on the ground in shame and pain as he was splashed with blueberries. But this was better. He sneaks peeks at the others’ faces, their hearts must be doing flips! Kanna, he decides in that moment, is pretty trad. “See? It was a good joke,” he says to Valrae. The look on her face heralds a purge. “Oh no, Valrae don’t. Val-!” She does. Luckily, he’s ever-prepared for this type of event. From his shoulders to his toes, embroidered on his clothes are a complicated array of runes designed to prevent foreign substances from taking purchase. With no apparent effort, his feet lift off the ground, and the muck slides off his feet, adding to the puddle under him. Knowing he would stay clean isn’t enough to prevent his revulsion. He was -still- barfed on. “Valrae you were dead! Burned alive you can’t even handle…?” He stops. Averting his eyes, he pulls a clean handkerchief out of his pocket and offers it to Valrae…before Tessa’s ‘gift’ slaps him in the cheek and splashes into his hand. He can feel the slime on his face, even if he can’t see it. His breath starts to quicken as he sees what he holds and tosses it away. He touches his gloved fingers to his face and a string of sticky saliva sticks to it and snaps. He rifles through his pockets, searching for the napkin he just gave away, frantically, turning them inside out. One after another, until he remembers. Valrae had it. Fine, fine. It’s fine. He’ll just use magic. Why was he here again? Despite the fact that Khitti was moving to assault him, again, he slides a mirror from a sleeve and holds it in front of him. In seconds the grime is changed into iridescent motes of light that float off his face and disappear. It’s gone, so why could he still feel it? Phantom contamination. Infecting him. Poisoning him. But it is really and truly gone. When he’s done, the mirror is sucked up into whatever pocket dimension exists under his wrist, and he faces Khitti, shaking with rage and anxiety. “No. I’m keeping it until I’m ready to give it up.” It isn’t that he isn’t afraid of her in this moment, it’s that he knows she can’t hurt him if she ever hopes to save Kasyr. Kasyr, who asks, out loud, the same question he’d been quietly asking himself. “I don’t remember, but I know I’m not a courier.”

Quintessa has her back turned to the others as they speak amongst one another, her bloody fingertips leaving a streak on the glass of Odhranos’ pod before she skulks silently across the room to stand behind Kanna, mismatched eyes peering over the ghoul’s head to see what she’s doing. “You’ll spoil your dinner, love,” Quintessa says in a low, emotionless tone, “But help yourself.” The warlock leans back before spinning around slowly to affix her gaze on the remaining party, the dark circles under her eyes clearly visible without her makeup as she appraises each one of them in silence. “This man,” Quintessa repeats Kanna’s words, her gaze intensifying enough to burn a hole right through Kasyr, “Daedrias' Blade- the Kuro no Kensai of the Dark Lands. Don’t you recognize him, Kanna? From the wanted posters? Yes, yes, he’s quite famous…” Her mouth twists into a wicked grin as she looms closer to him. “Dying?” This question she poses more to Kasyr himself, pale, bloodstained hands moving to examine him without warning. “Bah, still in one piece though aren’t you? Not like I’d expect you to embrace a commitment like death anyway…” Quintessa trails off as Khitti addresses her next, the changeling turning away from Kasyr in time to witness her regifting the tongue to Lanlan. “How nice of you Khitti,” the changeling mistakenly thinks this was a real gesture of kindness she was showing the illusionist, despite how clearly put off she was at the half-drow. “Oh yes, Lanlan is quite the jokester. Has a future as Jester Templi if you ask me, although- huh? Now? The essence of the Dark Immortals is here in my lab?” She looks to Valrae, sees that the Red Witch is completely horrified and nauseated, assumes she doesn’t have the goop, and then turns to Lanlan, her form drifting over to loom above him like a dark specter. “Give it to me quick, Lanlan! We mustn’t treat this as a triviality- not even I could shield you from the sheer power of Elazul and Khasad should something bad happen. All of us will shrivel away like devil’s grass in the harsh sun if it is allowed to proliferate outside of a host container.” She glances at Kasyr, the ‘host container’ in question. “I hope you’re ready because this is going to be an absolute nightmare, mon ami. I’ll prepare the Containment Apparatus if you want to find a bed to lay on…” Then without another word the changeling warlock begins to shift through a table of tools, letting some fall to the floor with a loud clunk, lifting up one that looks suspiciously like a Pear of Anguish.

Kanna gives a horrified noise as Valrae promptly loses her appetite all over Lanlan’s unvomitable shoes. Putting the fake jar aside, Kanna moves to the witch, grabbing a clean cloth as she crosses the roof. Pay no heed to the fact that Kanna knew without looking around the torturing room where the clean linens would be. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t know that the real stuff was that disgusting.” Lowering her voice to a whisper, she questions to Valrae, “If the dark immortals were turned into wereseals, how did they get in a jar?” There is no part of that statement that would make any sense even if Kanna remembered any part of history correctly. There’s a slight creak from the lab’s doors as a pair of familiar red-pink eyes peer in. The eyes take a look at the room’s occupants one by one, then down at the puddle of vomit on the floor. “Ugh.” The visitor rolls her eyes and slams the door, footsteps rapidly departing as grumbling can be heard about interrupting meditation time for a circus. Looking at Valrae again, Kanna’s lips quirk in something akin to pity. The ghoul might have reacted the same way that she did if she were still human a few years back. “Chair. Clean water.” She points out to the witch, gently leading her aside so she can recover while everyone prepares for a round of ameteur surgeon. Moving to Kasyr, Kanna gently takes him by the crook of his elbow to walk him to the operating table. She studies his face as she leads the involuntary patient. “They really should have hired a better artist for those wanted posters; They got his nose all wrong. I would have thought the man in the posters was a Frostmawian.” Kanna says decidedly, trying to keep the conversation lighter with a bit of a strained smile. Death was no laughing matter, but stressing over it wasn’t going to do anyone any favors. While Khitti threatens Lanlan, Kanna chimes in, “I’ve never had Drow before, I wonder how he’ll taste with a side of winter-berry gravy.” She didn’t actually want to eat him, but it seemed like the non-blueberry version of what she had been handed was going to be integral to this operation. With a twist of her hand, a large deep violet mushroom begins to sprout from her palm, golden spores dusting her skin as it blooms. “Quintessa, should we put Dear Daedria’s Blade under for whatever you’re going to do?”

“I was too busy burning alive to vomit then,” She replies dryly. “Or I might have.” The witch accepts the handkerchief Lan offered with a small, apologetic smile. Something akin to affection stirred in her chest again. This was their way, after all. He would do something idiotic, probably to soothe his own ego, and then offer kindness in an offhanded way that belied whatever goodness she knew he hid behind the tricks and the postering. She yelped, something she would replay and be embarrassed about later, and struggled with another wave of nausea as the tongue slid down Lan’s face and landed with a stomach churningly wet sound on the floor near her feet. “It was a bad joke.” She whispers back to Lanlan. Running the handkerchief over her mouth, Valrae grimaces again at Khitti’s last threat. “Can we save the eating bit - any eating of anything for just like five?” Droplets of sweat glistened like starlight on her brow, trapped in the golden baby hairs that framed her still pale face. “You’re here to help Lan, the same reason all of us are. Just give them the real jar, please?” She looks at him again, eyes dark and pleading. And Quintessa is there, standing in front of him. She looked for all the world like one of the Old witches to her at that moment. The kind she’d only read about in her Auntie’s old grimoires. Looming, dark and urgent. She cut an imposing figure now, especially to Valrae, who felt small and a little pathetic in the face of unknown vampiric ritual. “Nightmare?” She echos, her voice small, just as Kanna nears. Val turns her face to the other woman, giving her a small smile as she offers her a clean cloth. “Thank you, really, I-” Her apology dies in her throat and is replaced with a strangled laugh. Endearment warmed her. “That’s a really good question.” She turned just soon enough to glimpse familiar eyes but they were gone as quickly as they’d appeared. A twinge of jealousy ran through her. “Thank you again,” She says to Kanna, crossing the room as she’d been directed to collect herself for a moment. Val didn’t sit though. She dropped her large bag in the chair and began rummaging through it again, pulling the emerald skull from it’s depths. When she turns again, she’s collected enough to cross the room. This time, she lingers near Khitti. “We’re putting him under?” Val’s eyes turn to Kas. Another wave of worry wrapped pitty crashes over her. Gripping the skull tighter, she frowns. “What exactly are we doing?” She turns her face toward Quintessa. “And how can we guarantee Kasyr survives it?”

Kasyr finds himself surprised. Not so much by the fact that Lanlan has mastered the ability to double down on self-created issue nigh indefinitely- but rather, because of how uncomfortable it's becoming. Maybe it's the quirks of being an empath, and the overall mercurial flickers of feeling that simmer beneath the pomp & pompousness- but, the swordsman finds himself more exhausted then anything. Which is why the drows latest reply only earns a, "Chin up. You get to help kill me. Should be cathartic. Provided you remembered to actually bring the damn thing." As for Quintessa's acknowledgement of his presence... and general morbidity, "I'm fairly sure my resilience es about the only reason this -might- work at all." At this point, he realizes that he's being guided along by Kanna, as per the changelings direction to find a spot to lay down- so he simply allows himself to be guided along to whatever table has the least amount of questionable stains on it. "Enchantee. Maybe I'll ask your advice on where to find a proper portrait artist the next time I consider crime. Though, remind me to keep you away from ominous looking Jars." The table he finds is ...adequately cozy? It'll do, anyways- Which means he begins to go through the motions of removing his jacket, and the shirt beneath. And with the way that he begins to neatly fold them up, and set them aside- you could almost be forgiven for overlooking the fact that there's a festering wound in the midst of his chest, a corona of cracked and blackened flesh, which spirals off into a number of ulcerated tendrils. Not for the first time, the Kensai issues a small prayer to Daedria- just another on a long pile, meant to keep the corruption gnawing away at him under wraps. It's only afterwards that he deigns to answer Valrae's well meaning, but grimly funny question, "There -is- no guarantees, madamoiselle. We roll the dice, hope I survive, et, failing that- hope that my corpse at least makes a suitable enough container that it doesn't proceed to kill everyone present." Is this an appropriate time to make finger guns? No. But he may as well be glib about how dire the situation is. "Oh, and Khitti- In case this does go horribly wrong, I've left some lose notes for what to do next which -should- help with the shrub, at least. There's other stuff to attend to, but- well, I can figure that out later.' Because it's perfectly well-adjusted to just plain around your demise. Then again, that -was- how he contributed to the Mage Guilds little war scenario.

Lanlan leans on his cane, mollifying his stress with his fingers on his temples and shaking his head. It hurts, but he could still botch the experiment and kill them all if he wanted. The dream consoles him, wards him against this crowd of wet blankets. And invites a devious smile. “Bad joke, huh. You’re right Valrae.” But even if they were all against him, he knew he was in no danger. Because they wanted Kasyr to live, and he had the elixir. They don’t even know (or care!) why Lanlan wants Kasyr to live. Kasyr! Who nearly killed him for crimes he is nearly totally innocent of! And here Lanlan was, like a lighthouse surrounded by ungrateful boats. Yes, Lanlan, exactly. You’re like a lighthouse, the only thing keeping them from smashing to pieces on the rocks. He pulls his hand away from his face and slithers a hand into the flap of his satchel while he narrows his eyes at Tessa. He slowly draws his hand out of the pocket. “Like I just told Khitti,” he says, looking up at the hag, “I’ll be handling Kasyr’s vile essence. Make it work, Quintessa, or let him die.” He hands her a silver-winged hand mirror. “Got something in your teeth, by the way.” Then, mysteriously, its the sound of his walking stick tapping across the floor while he stands clearly beside Valrae and Quintessa. But that visage breaks down, making a pained grimace, dying with its hand clutching its chest in agony. The mirror Lanlan gave Quintessa follows, its glass cracking loudly, as if just by her looking at it (assuming she ever accepted it). Lanlan reappears beside Kasyr, displacing a cloud of dust and making the fires and shadows dance. “Catharsis! For killing you? But it’s not about you, Stupid!” Yet he didn’t hide his glee. “It’s about Caluss. The ego on you. Wow.” He’s tempted to remark about the grotesquerie that was Kasyr’s chest, but that would be silly considering his own scars.

Khitti rolled her eyes at Lanlan and his whole act towards everyone. “There’s no way for anyone in here to have an ego here when yours is taking up all the room. I’m starting to hope you’ll float away though with all that hot air in your head.” She sighed heavily and pinched the bridge of her nose (something she often did that she amusingly enough had in common with Kasyr). “Just get the hell on with it, will you? Otherwise, I’m gonna go find another way to fix Kasyr. Found a way to get rid of my vampirism, so I sure as hell can find a way to fix his.” That could very well mean that the drow didn’t have as much leverage as he thought he did. Asking the gods to help Kasyr probably wouldn’t even need as much of a sacrifice as getting rid of her vampirism had. Khitti finally noticed that Valrae was beside her and she offered the witch an apologetic look. She even reached over and gave her arm a little squeeze. Khitti was… alright… for now. Most of what she’d done had been for show anyway. “Kasyr… I have been on the receiving end of being opened up and poked and prodded by necromancers. I didn’t have a choice in that, but you do. Are you actually okay with this happening, if it has to? There could be a chance that you’re awake during this, like I had been. But at least this won’t last years…” Khitti’s demeanor had shifted from angry to grim and somber. She didn’t like this. She didn’t like any part of this and maybe, just maybe, she had been leaning on some of that anger to cover up how uncomfortable she was. But now? Now it didn’t matter. She had to ask. She didn’t want to not ask. Not about something like this. Khitti had heard him, of course, when he mentioned his notes for Xicotl, but that’s not what mattered right now, so she didn’t acknowledge it. Khitti looked to Tessa, hoping she was readying whatever materials she thought she might need for this. “And when this is over… when you’re back to normal, you can use my blood, if you wish.” There she went self-sacrificing again. He was going to need to feed, after all, and she knew it.

Quintessa passes by Kanna as the bard addresses her, placing a free hand on her shoulder to keep the woman from walking away as she speaks. “Drow tastes like any other elf meat, only more gamey because of their lack of nutritional intake- anyway…” The warlock thinks for a moment, mismatched eyes drifting away from cornflower ones before snapping back into place when something occurred to her. “Anesthetize him? What for? You think he’ll put up a struggle?” Her gaze lingers for a moment before ending up on Kasyr, a cruel smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth as she releases Kanna to continue with her preparation. “Formula 16B, two parts Essence of Nightshade, one part Milk of the Poppy, and a bottle of whiskey. That should be all the anesthesia required for this operation.” Quintessa continues to gather the supplies she needs, a steel tray in her hands slowly growing a larger collection on its surface. “Valrae is right; Stop eating in my laboratory- this is a delicate arena and must be respected!” She couldn’t hear the Red Witch’s inter musings about the changeling seeming like the Old Witches of yore but had she surely it would have instilled a sense of pride within her. Though her ways were different, more modern, Quintessa very much was a daughter of the old craft, of hag covens and dark secrets that were best left forgotten. Then, with a loud clatter of tools and instruments, she nearly slams her tray down on the end table next to Kasyr’s head and reaches above him. Pulling the separatory funnel squbb-shaped glass stopcok attached to the ceiling down to eyelevel, she opens up the top and moves away again, indicating to whoever had the Vampire Juice to pour it inside -carefully- before closing it back up. Stopping before Valrae, Quintessa holds out something for her to take; a long, silvery needle attached to a glass tube. “You want him to survive? Good.” The smile that the changeling gives the witch is the opposite of reassuring. “I need five grams of human flesh, 10 milliliters of fresh blood, and a pinch of powdered bone. You know how to use a mortar and pestle I assume? Everything you need is in my lab already, except the blood which one of you will have to donate. This is the only way to ensure the transition into unlife is a successful one.” She shoves the syringe into her hands if she hasn’t already taken it and moves on to her next task, throwing a quick verbal jab over her shoulder at Kasyr. “Roll the dice? Are you -trying- to insult me?” The sarcastic tone and cheeky grin indicated she wasn’t actually offended, but one might spot her reaching for a more gruesome instrument when she said so anyway. “But you are quite right, you most certainly won't survive this process. Is that not the point after all? To make you a Revenant. An affront to Vakmatharas. A thing of power and beauty.” The way Quintessa speaks about these things borders on zealous, or perhap who you ask, blasphemy. When Lanlan offers her a silver winged mirror she takes it, assuming it to be an important element of the ritual that joins the rest of her tools on the steel tray next to Kasyr’s head. “Caluss,” Quintessa repeats the name with a scoff, “You do realize turning Kasyr into a vampire is in line with the God of Undeath’s wishes, correct? We are working in circles, like pseudodragons with their heads cut off. No matter, I shall help either way…” The Changeling holds up an extra long syringe up in the dim light of her lab for a better look, examining the mysterious green fluid within before placing it on the table with the rest. “After all, I have already personally done far more to aid the Great Insectoid that Dwells than any of us, why stop with this task?” Quintessa gives Khitti a glance from the corner of her eye when she mentions the horrible experiments conducted on her in her youth, and the changeling makes doubly sure not to allude to the types of things that went on in this very lab. “This is nothing like what happened to you,” the warlock begins, moving back to take her place by Kasyr’s bedside with a scalpel in hand. “You’re here by choice, aren’t you?” The sharp end of her tool hovers threathenly near his chest as she attempts to remove his clothes. “Not much of a choice, granted, seeing as the alternative is a painful death as your insides rot away at a rapid pace. Yes, trusting me is much better.”

Kanna gives a squint at Quintessa’s apprehension to anaesthetic. Surely, this was going to hurt quite a bit. Even though Kasyr was willing, pain was going to make him thrash around, wouldn’t it? “If he’s going to become undead anyways, I suppose not…?” She moves aside to find a container for her fungal creation; no use in letting the use of mana go to waste. As the thick stem is torn from the flesh of her hand, Kanna listens to the bickering of the group. The ghoul was used to making quick judgment calls, and so far her understanding was… The drow was arrogant but powerful, the witch was weak-stomached but determined to help, and Kasyr… Well, Kasyr was finding a way to smart mouth those who at least had a vested interest in his survival. She rolls her eyes as she screws the lid of the jar tight. “Boys.” She mutters to herself, before turning around with a sparkle in her eye and a saccharine smile on her face. “I think that’s amazing! You must be really powerful if you’re controlling the essence. It must be fate that we all ran into each other, don’t you think?” The charm has been turned on as Kanna makes her way past Lanlan. Glancing over at Valrae, Kanna’s eyes are immediately drawn to the skull. With the runes along the ceiling emitting light, the light reflects off of the skull, casting emerald shards of light across the room. “Beautiful, and curious.” She moves towards another corner of the lab, pulling out a rolling step-stool so the short women could access the higher shelves if needed. Hearing Khitti’s offer to help, Kanna withdraws a small vial, placing it on the counter next to Valrae. Khitti and Valrae did appear human for all intents and purposes, but it was rude to assume, and if Quintessa had given the syringe to Valrae, it was better to let the witch prepare the concoction. “Let me know what you need me to do, Quintessa.” Kanna ends her tour of the room by standing opposite of her. Looking down at Kasyr, she gently brushes a lock of sandy hair from his face, her fingertips ice cold to the touch. “Mother Daedria, please call upon the gods and your fellow Ascendi to protect he who has fought as your blade.”

Valrae felt her stomach lurch again at the sight of Kasyr’s chest and the talk of what drow tastes like. It was no small feat of her will to keep from vomiting again as he lay down on the table. She hardly heard his reply over the sound of her own heartbeat drumming away in her head. “Grim,” She replies softly, her lips bowing into a frown. It seemed to be the theme of the night. She was oblivious to Lan’s self important inner monolog and naively believed his reason for his presence here was as simple as her own. To help a friend in need. That belief spoke volumes on both her own idiocy and her begrudging trust, no matter how stubborn and small, in Lan’s deeply hidden goodness. She was sure it was buried somewhere in all the ego he seemed intent to armor himself in. She might have been surprised by Lan’s illusions, but the truth of it was she was already too exhausted to waste the effort. She watches as he appears next to Kasyr and resumes his antics. “Lan, of all the people in this room to lecture someone on ego…” The murmured thought trails off with the roll of her dark eyes. The witch smiles as Khitti seems to articulate it and offers her a comforting touch. It was simple, but the gesture moved mountains in soothing her frayed nerves. She watches Kasyr’s face closely as Khitti reiterates his choice, waiting to see if he had any second thoughts, all while wondering if there was any true choice here with the obvious damage he was currently suffering. It was when she made an offering of her blood that her face drained of what little color had returned of it. In the darkest, most secret parts of her heart Valrae was deeply grateful for the offer. If she had any other option, she would take it to keep the fangs of a vampire from her own throat. The very idea of it chilled her to the very marrow of her bones. Kanna’s voice pulls her away from the spiral of anxiety that had begun in her mind and she laughs again, the sound too loud as it bounces around the lab. “That’s right, Lan is very powerful. Too bad he wastes so much effort on party tricks and driving everyone crazy.” She narrows him a pointed look. Her too wide eyes turn to Quintessa as she addresses her with instruction. For a moment, it felt good and like progress. Something to keep her hands busy, working toward a goal, would keep her mind focused. But there was blood again. Valrae almost drops the syringe placed in her hand. It was cool on her too hot and sweating palm. She doesn’t hear the words spoken next, the sounds of the room distant and far away, as if her head was being held underneath water. Flesh. Bone. Blood. It was a spell, simple as that. More exact than what she was accustomed too, to be sure, but a spell. Val knew how to gather what was needed for a spell. The witch moves away from Khitti and begins her task woodenly, feeling as if she were watching from outside of herself as she grips the emerald skull tightly. She finds what she needs easily, appreciating from her distant place how intuitive the lab had been stocked. Valrae thanks Kanna again while she balances on the stool she’d thoughtfully placed out. She combines what was asked, draws her own blood in a practiced, if shaking way and without flinching. When she returns she stands near Kanna and watches her as she says a small prayer. Endearment for the small woman warms her chest and she whispers, “That was lovely. I have a feeling we could use all the help we can get.”

Kasyr stares at Lanlan for a few long moments, seemingly at a loss for how to interpret the drows' actions. So much animosity, and bluster besides- A toxic intensity which always seemed poised to provoke. "Exhausting." Even if a good portion of the song and dance was an illusion, the effort to orchestrate that parade of indignities was tiresome to even try and fathom. On a certain level, it made Tessa's brusque and eerie bedside manner a welcome distraction. Or, maybe not- given that her scientific zeal seemed to have that scalpel hovering dangeorously close. Given the neat piles of clothes he'd already set aside, there's a moment where her finds himself wondering if the insistent nudge of her fingers is an attempt on her part to figure out how to remove his skin like a summer jacket. "Let me have a drink before you start cutting, s'il-te-plait." There's an awkward smile there, which he manages to hold in place even as he mulls over her uncanny enthusiasm to carve him open like a solstice turkey. "Get a few in moi, in fact, et maybe we can talk about the logistics et merits of fighting the god of Undeath this way." Internally, the joke sours as soon as its spoken- the Kensai already able to picture the knots his stomach will make when alcohols introduced- courtesy of the hawkish familiar he'd pacted with. Temperances Touch had made him an unwilling Teetotaler- and yet, the others seemed more at ease with the idea that this inhuman proceeding could be made more humane.

Or at least, as at ease as they could be, considering Khitti's query. It was a question he hadn't braced for, and he feels his poker face cracking- a flicker of melancholy crossing his features, fed by those fleeting feelings of uncertainty. He could feel the others trying to gauge his expression, Valraes studious gaze only adding to the weight of the moment. Even as he forced his lips to form a hard line, he could feel a sense of dread bubbling beneath the surface. Yet, it was not due to the agony by the changelings macabre methods. No, what sees his eyes drifting to the ceiling and away from the faces of those gathered- is the simple awareness that something intangible was about to be lost, mortal elements left to gather dust. The old work, once neglected, had found it's way back to him. An all-consuming, never-ending obligation- which made even the prospect of dying feel palatable. The dryness in his throat that could have rivaled the Nameless desert, but he still manages to croak out a reply to the necromancer, "We have a job to do, Khitti. Business as Usual."

The glibness helps a little, a small deflection that helps to center himself again- to focus on the task at hand, and the process. It also menat he became duly aware that someone else was saying something. ..Offering prayers? The girl with the cold hands. There was something reassuring about that. "Kind of you.While she always seems to welcome moi back with open arms- I'm sure she gets tired of seeing me so soon." There's a hint of a genuine smile, before his attention tilts off towards Valrae- and the way her focused scrutiny had become something else entirely- a sort of disconcerting auto-pilot. "She might need the drink more than me."

“It’s not hot air, Khitti,” he says with a confused look. “It’s magic. Whoever heard of using hot air to float? You sound crazy right now.” She was probably not going to stop being mad at him any time soon. “So that,” he says, sharply pointing toward Quintessa’s victim from before, “is what happened to you? And I’m the one you’re mad at? I’m the one you can’t trust?” Way to go Kasyr, you sabotaged another of Lanlan’s friendships before it even started. That’s what he wants you know, Lanlan. For you to be alone. He notices Kasyr’s lingering stare, and wonders what to make of it. It should be gratitude, but it isn’t. And again, Khitti’s making demands of him. How mean she could be. “It’s not like we’re waiting on me…” he says, gesturing without looking toward Quintessa, Valrae, and Kanna getting their stations set up to make the murder they were all about to commit more palletable. “None of that will help,” he says plainly. “Oh! You’re excited to see it aren’t you! Curious…? Okay I’ll get it then.” It’s a process, but it starts with him holding one palm over the other, and when he pulls them apart again, a stone box engraved meticulously with impossible violet runes seems to manifest from nothing. Impossible to read, impossible to exist. For how could the entire matrix of them be shifting like leaves floating on a gentle whirlpool? Nothing was set in stone anymore. Not even words chiseled into rock. Certainly not life, and definitely not death. “No, actually, you can’t find another way. It’s not enough just to make him live. We have to return him to how he was. He has to–actually, never mind.”

Despite the nonsense, Kasyr was probably the only person he knew he could trust. Valrae? Maybe. But only if she trusted him. Did she? Opening the box was as easy as tilting the lid on its hinges. He peers inside of a starry void and sighs exasperatedly. “The tether fell in,” he says, and he plunges his arm, up to the shoulder, into a box barely big enough to hold a human skull. He’s visibly frustrated, until something causes his countenance to sharply change. It’s Kanna. “Oh, me? Powerful? Maybe a little,” he says coyly. Look how humble you are Lanlan! “And you must be very observant, Kanna!” Look how he even compliments her in return. Why can’t it always be like this? Valrae can try to shrink his head with her petty qualifiers, but it won’t work. “Right Valrae, I drove them crazy.” He winks at her, his whole neck and head behind the motion. Finally, he grabs hold of what he’s been burying his arm in the nether for, and pulls on it. Hand over hand, he piles up several yards of silver chain, with a jar wrapped in gold-embroidered violet cloth. It’s tangled up snugly in the rest of the shiny links. “It doesn’t work like that,” he tells Quintessa as he rejects her container. “I’m not waking it up until the last possible minute. Not until everyone else is ready.” Since he knew what they thought of him, he also added, “It’ll take all of us.”

That time was going to be soon. “And no, this isn’t in line with what Caluss wants. Caluss wants to turn us all into witless walking corpses, with no wills, and no individuality. Not like her!” Says Lanlan pointing to Kanna, who has obviously won him over. “More like…him.” This time he points to the guy Tessa was working on earlier. Ever the scapegoat it seems. “He does not wish for what’s coming to him, trust me.” Without looking at her, he rests a gloved hand on Valrae’s forearm and whispers a prayer. To Vakmatharas of all of them! An easy one Gevurah taught him, traditionally used to assuage the fears and anxieties of those who were about to depart. Used by the matron to steel herself in a fight. And now used by Lanlan to help Valrae overcome her intense nerves and steady her hands. If anyone should be mad, Lanlan thinks, it should be Kasyr. Was he? His jokes were worse than Lanlan’s, and he certainly wasn’t -happy- about this. But why wasn’t he? What did he have to lose by gaining inhuman power? Was he afraid of the pain? Of dying? Doubtful, he’d endured enough of both (it was probably earned). Then…of losing his humanity and becoming a monster? If Kasyr wasn’t ready for this, how could any of them be? The thought made him uncomfortable. “I…” am sorry we have to do this to you, but we do have to. “No matter what happens, I think of this as a win-win.” He says, interrupting himself with more badly timed humor. But he can cope with animosity, whatever that other stuff was can wait.

Khitti just stared at Lanlan. For what seemed like -forever-. She facepalmed herself, then pinched the bridge of her nose again, and sighed heavily. Why was he so damned infuriating? Instead of being angry, she just looked… tired. Tired of being insulted. Tired of arguing with Lanlan. Tired from worrying about Kasyr, despite the fact that she knew full well this wasn’t going to be pleasant. Tired of a lot of things. As if the look on her face wasn’t enough, the exhaustion was even in her voice as she spoke. “If this thing gets loose, you all need to leave,” Khitti said, flatly. “I likely am the only one that has any hope of controlling it. And you all need to fix what’s happening in Cenril. That -cannot- be allowed to continue or spread elsewhere.” And I’m the only other one in this room that’s been a vampire. She wanted to say it, but didn’t dare. Instead, she took the vial for blood and one of Quintessa’s scalpels, then stepped away from everyone else.

The knife was pressed against the top of her forearm and allowed to slice through cleanly to let the blood flow down the side of her arm into the vial that Khitti held beneath it. As it drip, drip, dripped down into the glass container, Khitti watched it. As it filled the vial, all she could see was that tower card she’d drawn before this all started. When she was finished, she passed the vial back to Quintessa, then dealt with her wound, finding a bit of gauze to use while putting pressure against her arm. When it seemed like it’d stopped bleeding enough, she replaced the gauze pad with a new one, then used a bit more to roll around her arm and hold it there. Really, she could’ve just used her light magic, but she needed to conserve magic for the possibility of a fight and what was even the point of healing it up fully if Kasyr might need to drink from her anyway?

Shadows started to coalesce around the room, turning into a thick, blanket-like fog of protection. Anything that might be considered an entrance or an exit was covered, while the doorways themselves were warded by not only the shadows, but also a wall of shadow-ice and shadowfire as well. They'd part, of course, if anyone got near it enough to try to leave the room. It was a necessary precaution, if it was as bad as the drow was making it seem.

Quintessa watches as Kanna brushes a lock of Kasyr’s hair from his face, a dark brow raising ever so slightly at the gesture. “Well, Kanna, since you are so keen on making sure he’s properly medicated, why don’t you conjure up the formula I suggested? After all your bedside manner is as always, tip top.” A pale finger lazily points to her medicine cabinet across the room. “I should have the essence of nightshade in there, but I might have used the last milk of the poppy on myself last night- which means you’ll have to acquire some poppies yourself. Not a problem for my star necro-botanist, right?” She gives the ghoul a cheeky smirk before her attention returns to Kasyr, the smirk growing into a twisted smile. “Oh, don’t worry, this isn’t for cutting your flesh, yet,” She says this while unceremoniously stripping the clothing from his body, slicing it into neat ribbons that floated to the floor like flower petals. “I keep a bottle in my cabinet over there, Kanna, would you be a dear and fetch it for me before making Formula 16B? The Rynvale import, if you don’t mind.” It is at this point Quintessa takes notice of what Lanlan was saying and something about her already grim demeanor snaps like a twig, her manic enthusiasm replaced by a powerful, burning annoyance with the half-drow. Her fingers grip tightly around the handle of her scalpel until her knuckles turn white, mismatched eyes flashing over to the illusionist like lightning. “What do you understand about Caluss’s wishes? Was it you who came in contact with It? Was it you who took in Its essence and did Its bidding?” She closes the distance between them with footsteps as silent as a specter, her bare feet resting on the balls of her feet as she raises an unnecessarily couple of inches to loom over him for the second time tonight. “No? Then I would stick to your parlor tricks and stop speaking of things you don’t understand. Even Gevurah didn’t understand Caluss- and of course not! A priest of Vakmatharas could never. They fetishize death, worship it.” The blade that hovered near Kasyr’s chest now hovered near Lanlan’s, a punctuation mark for her statements. “Caluss seeks to undo death, to forever rid us of the entropy it traps us within and I have no reason to assume he would turn us into slaves. After all, he could have done so with Kanna and he didn’t. This is proof you are misinformed, so shut the frak up and put Kasyr’s essence in the damned device above his head before a third soulless body ends up gracing my laboratory before we even get started with his procedure.” Returning to her position at Kasyr’s side, she gives a glance to Khitti and nods her head in concurrence. “She’s right. As most of you know my status as a vampire is a ploy- one used to quell the discontent of House Dragana in the wake of the civil war. The pure power of the Revenant curse would destroy me, most likely, and even if I survived I would not come out of the experience the same person. Khitti has already embraced the curse once before and thus her body- her soul, even, will be more able to reduce the damage it’ll cause if something bad does happen. But it won't, right?” Reaching over to take the vial, Quintessa thanks her and drips a tiny bit on her fingertips, using it to draw a series of runes around in a circle upon his chest. “Beth oedd unwaith wedyn yn dychwelyd i nawr…” As she speaks a small incantation in Aklo, the runes respond in tandem, glowing a faint green. “You know the basic Rites of Animate Dead, right, Khitti? I might be incorrect, but the same process could be applied to this ritual… unless you have any suggestions?” It was clear Quintessa respected Khitti’s experience in the Necromancers Guild even if her speciation was within the Black Tides and not resurrection. As a former vampire her knowledge would no doubt be invaluable.

The small praise from the Red Witch would have brought a blush to Kanna’s face had she still had a human form. “Thank you.” The request for the tincture is met with a solemn nod as the bard moves away from the operating table. “You already went through the pre-prepared formulas, tsk tsk, always so busy.” She chides in a sing-song voice as though this were not a matter of life and death. The necrobotanist makes quick work of examining the medicine cabinet, pulling aside bottle after bottle with barely a glance at the labels that differentiate them. “Aha.” Kanna uncorks one and holds it over a vial, but only a lonesome rust colored drop falls out. “You’re out of the essence of nightshade too.” She would sigh if it wasn’t an unnecessary burden for her forced respiratory system. The ghoul moves to another unlit part of the laboratory. As if reacting to her presence, the runic lights activate, illuminating another cabinet. While Quintessa and Lanlan bicker, she pulls out a wooden trough full of fresh soil. The soil glitters with seeds and pollen of multiple varieties. From an upper shelf, Kanna also withdraws and dons her gift from Khitti; her crown of nature’s magic. As if practicing a dance, Kanna moves her arms and hands in a rehearsed manner, pulling her hands towards her at the end of each movement as if to beckon the plant matter forth. Saplings break out from the soil, growing in rapid form until red berries bloom from one plant, and white poppies bloom from others. As she plucks the components and mixes them with the Rynvale import, she refrains from pointing out that she was, in fact, a slave to Caluss’ will until she finally resisted. No use commentating on this further; it would only delay Kasyr’s treatment. Once the mixture is run through a strainer to remove the solids, a small attempt to make the mixture more palatable, she moves back to Kasyr with a tin cup in hand. “We’ll see you on the other side.” Glancing at the runic marking on his chest, she inquires, “Would it be possible to use the basic Keep Fresh spell to prevent further necrotic spread while you work? I can afford the mana.”

If she hadn’t been watching Kasyr’s face, she might have been fooled by the easy tone in which he answered Khitti. But the way his lips moved into a stubborn line gave just enough away for the witch to know the truth of the matter was that they no longer had a choice. Kasyr no longer had a choice. Something small and nameless ached in her chest for him. There was little else Valrae held as sacred as she did her own mortality, she couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of understanding for Kas now. She’d been willing to risk throwing off her place in The Wheel by returning to life the first time. She’d made her choice for her people, whatever reasons Kas held on to now, she knew the weight of his decision. In her dissociation, she misses most of Lanlan’s chatter. A shame, because she would have paid her own weight in gold to see the look on Khitti’s face as he explained he was using magic and not hotair. Instead, she only blinks at him as he winks and fishes into a deceptively small box to produce the actual cloth and rune wrapped jar of vampirism. She comes back to the room when his gloved hand closes around her forearm. The humming that came from the emerald skull in her hand told her before she could even sense it that the drow had used his magic on her. Whatever had been trembling inside of her seemed to still. She offers Lan a thin, grateful smile. “I won’t leave you,” She finally says, looking to Khitti. The crystal skull responds again, reacting to the power the redhead used to call shadows down and protect the work they were doing. It wasn’t just the added resolve that Lan had given her that caused the words to tumble from her lips. The simple fact was, Valrae would die in this room with the rest of them before she’d have the heart to leave it. This stubbornness was a cornerstone of her personality and something that had likely gotten herself killed the first time. Qunitessa’s admittance to not being a vampire came as something of a shock to the witch. If she’d known it before, she’d forgotten it. Her mouth forms a small ‘o’ of surprise, both for the revelation of her status as a mortal and for how she spoke of Caluss and even death. Her lips bow into a frown. “Death is an essential part of life, Quintessa. Caluss is an abomination, you can’t possibly think otherwise?” Her whispered question was drenched in a tone that suggested that the words Quintessa had spoken crossed her as blasphemous. She realized how it sounded to quite possibly everyone in the room. Perhaps all but Lanlan had been touched by death before, herself included. Even still, the witch had never wavered in her belief in the balance and the cycle of the soul. It was not something to be altered. Her eyes move away from Tessa as Kanna returns to the table, the twisting knots of dread that tangled around her mind easing a touch as she passes Kasyr the potion. Valrae is again moved by her thoughtfulness, this time though, she does not speak.

Kasyr exhales, trying his best to keep centered and focused- to prevent his mind from drifting too far into nostalgic thoughts, or future problems. Whilst there's an appeal to the distractions those would provide, there's a lingering awareness that he still needs to be present- that the darker purpose which binds them all here, with it's terrible inevitability, still requires him to play a few more parts, beyond simply being a canvas for arcane scribblings. And so, he does his best to play his part- providing what he hopes looks like a brash smile for Kanna, "Certainement. I'll do my best not to tarry in between." A smile that doesn't quite hold up as Valrae speaks of undying abominations- coaxing him to lift the cup of medicine to his lips. To Empera's credit, the damnable spirit even allows him to go through the motions- the Kensai briefly allowed the luxury of a taste. And yet, the strictness of it's pact remains an immutable fact- and he needs only to feel the swell of his throat closing up, and the violent roiling of his guts to know that there would be no acquiescence. There's an awkward sort of panic that slithers through his mind as this happens- coaxing him into contending with the immediate issue. In this case, by brusquely slamming down the cup, so he can scoop up his tattered clothes and violently cough. And just as quickly as it starts, it's over, the fabric bunched up to mask the residue of bile and medicine mixed within- even as he feels that unnatural revulsion and discomfort die down. It would have to suffice. He would have to manage, that was it. That grim sentiment settled on, he bushes the crumpled clothes (and the associated evidence) off the table, and hopefully into the nearest trash receptacle, before he tries his best to return to a resting position, "Let's save the theology for later. We can discuss the finer points of blasphemy as we discuss deicide." The swordsman stretches his arms out, careful to set his hands at the edge of the table so he'd have something to clench onto, in case the vestiges of fuzziness he was feeling were far from enough, "You know, Unless Lanlan sneezes et we all die."

Lanlan nods without looking at Valrae, allowing his favor to go on unnoticed to the rest of the room, or at least be very subtle. For some reason, he felt they didn’t deserve to know. And he’s ready now, just waiting for the mixture to be administered, and for everyone else to ignorantly assert that they were ready, even if he believed they never could be. He at least, had his escape plan figured. In the event of a failure on anyone’s part to contain this abomination, he would be replaced by an equally handsome version of himself but made of dust and memories. Then he’d be gone. He’d also probably use it if he was successful, since he would no longer be necessary. “Thank you Khitti,” he says earnestly. She was going to cover his and everyone else’s escape, and it wouldn’t be the type of thing that he should discourage, even if he believed it would be hopeless. And it was her that caused the shadows to emerge magically and protectively wasn’t it? At least, if everyone took it as seriously as she was, they would (probably) survive. And as if he wasn’t already sure, he wasn’t wanted here. Now it was Tessa’s turn to let him know. But he’s just blessed himself with the peacefulness of death, and true to its name, he seems to await it coming from Quintessa with grace. While she looms over him and berates him, his eyes are forward, and he is patient. Maybe without this blessing, he would retaliate against this latest threat against his body, or maybe even tremble with fear. Instead, he’s able to let her flaunt her affection for the monster called Caluss. “You’re wrong,” he says. “About so many things.” And he nods along with Valrae’s words, readily able to admit that what they were doing to Kasyr was unnatural and unfortunate. But necessary. Tessa goes back to where she was before, but Kasyr seems to have rejected Kanna’s help? Or his body did at least. And yet… “Okay, get ready.” He held his hands in front of him and the chain-tangled jar of concentrated death lifted in the air above Kasyr’s body. Link by magical link disappeared, glowing white-lavender as the power evaporated until the jar was free. Then the purple embroidered silk wrapping slid off slowly, as if held aloft by a single corner as the jar became free. Was it all overkill? Whatever protections these things were combining to offer seemed to cover a docile and ordinary jar. “Among the obvious wards designed toward containment, I’ve also…encouraged the entity to sleep.” The lid, a simple and silver metal, begins to twist. Lanlan’s manipulating it cautiously, as if not to wake it from its slumber. But it is awake. And though he holds it above Tessa’s containment vessel (which is then above Kasyr), the entity explodes! Violently, it bursts the confines of its improvised and enchanted prison, casting jagged shards of glass in every direction. “Contain it!” He shouts. “Save yourselves! If one of us falls we all fall!” What’s left of the jar is a screaming black supernova, a bursting star of shimmering obsidian angrily reaching toward signs of life and unlife with tendrils of dark matter, both fluid and solid. Arms tapering from a hub, winding toward prey with barbed spears meant to pierce and to hold. Lanlan, was as ready as he could be, and yet even with his prayer of peace, finds himself nearly flatfooted. But he manages a defense. He claps his hands together at the outbreak of the monstrosity, and again spreads them wide. Coming apart with his fingers, is a web of brightly colored lavender threads of magic that sizzle with power. The entity slams into it, aiming for a gap, but finds itself repelled. Being only temporarily delayed apparently, a second tendril comes behind it, reaching out of its central mass. Lanlan’s bright web begins to warp and tunnel while it struggles to contain the onslaught, and he steps out of the pocket, giving himself an extra second when it eventually breaks through.

Khitti didn’t speak. She didn’t offer Lanlan a nod in return for his thanks. She didn’t indulge herself in arguing with Quintessa about Caluss and the gods as she’d done in the past. She didn’t comfort Valrae any longer, nor did she acknowledge Kanna’s attempts to aid Kasyr. And as for Kasyr himself? There’s a twinge of pain in her heart for him. She knew that tone. He did not want to do this. Did he want to go back to being alive again? Fully? It brought a frown to her lips and tears to her eyes, but nothing else as she did her best to concentrate on the amount of magic she was putting forth to guard the room. But her best was not her best as she was overwhelmed with memories from her quest to get a cure for her vampirism and the reasons for the quest itself. “Just do it,” Khitti said, anguish in her voice as she answered Quintessa’s question on whether or not she had any other suggestions. Do it. Get it over with. -Now.- Lan would open the jar and another entity in the Dark Forest would stir. Khitti had long since stopped looking for it, thinking whatever it had been--she’d thought it an elemental nearly well over a year ago--had left her be. But it had not, it had merely hidden itself better. Hidden and watched. And waited. It had sensed the surge in the redhead’s magic and tensed, but when it felt the even larger wave of power coming from that which Lanlan had been guarding, it acted. The other entity--a shade--traveled through the shadows, twisting and winding its way through the forest and Quintessa’s fortress, searching and searching until it found Khitti’s walls of shadow magic and melded into it and emerged on the other side as Lanlan screamed to contain the creature the group sought to fuse with Kasyr. “Didn’t you learn anything from when we were fused together, Red?” The voice hissed out from the shadows that made up the shade, but there was no time to respond as the shade flew into Khitti, just as it had before during the ritual to speak to Brenwyn’s spirit. But instead of just knocking her off her feet out of annoyance, the creature flew into Khitti’s body and took hold of it for its own. Precious moments passed as the shade oriented itself in Khitti’s body, but it soon got to work. The walls of shadow started to close in around the room and the shadowflames roared to life, as shadow-ice creeped along the walls, thickening over time. The black lightning that Khitti had been seeking access to again crackled as the shade drew power from Vailkrin itself. Static electricity filled the air, as did the scent of ozone, as the veins just beneath Khitti’s skin started to shift to black and her eyes from its natural olive-green to a glowing purple. The lightning danced dangerously around the room, striking the tendril that managed to escape Lan’s magic, and any others that threatened the others in the room.

Quintessa glances over her shoulder at Kanna’s news that she was also out of essence of nightshade, a frown tugging at the corners of her mouth as her mood shifts yet again- this time to one of melancholy. “I could have sworn I… Oh no matter. Kanna, I think I might be working myself literally to death. I’d become a dullahan if my head wasn’t attached to my shoulders.” Her gaze, now filled with a sudden clarity, flashes over to Valrae when she questions Quintessa’s views on life and death. “Of course I don’t think death is an essential part of life- why must it be? Because someone a long time ago said it was? Caluss might be an abomination but so am I. That has to count for something, right?” She turns back to her work, mixing some sort of bitter power in a small vessel on her tray. ”After all, haven't most of us in this room defied death in one way or another? It feels unnatural for me to start drawing lines here or there- Hypocritical even, but Kasyr is right; This is not the time for a theological debate, as much as I’d love to have one with any of you in this room.” Mismatched eyes narrow momentarily as the Kensai in question spews up the medicine Kanna had just administered, a brow raising slightly as her attention fixated on them. “Don’t tell me the subje-… the patient is rejecting anestitation. Kas, it’s not like you to be such a teetotaler. You’ve changed.” The warlock shakes her head in fained judgment, a smile tugging at her lips as she turns to her workstation yet again, but before Quintessa can bask in her own humor Lanlan approaches with the entity and her attention is suddenly needed. As it resists going into the changeling’s vessel she curses under her breath, dropping what she is doing to hold her hands up to her device and begin uttering a containment spell. “Tywyllwch tragywyddoldeb, yr wyf yn erfyn arnoch i ildio!” The runes along the alchemic glass transfer tube glow at the behest of Quintessa’s magic, a faint green light tracing the intricate etchings as her dark fae magic attempts to draw it in and direct it into Kasyr instead of anyone else in the room. Like a vacuum it tugs at the unliving slime, each repetition of her phrase empowering the suction of her incantation, but even as her focus is directed at this singular task something creeps on the back of her neck like an unseen centipede. Her magic defenses in her fortress could alert her and her vassals to a physical intruder in time for them to stop it, but nothing could hinder the trespasses of the shade that currently hunted Quintessa’s halls for Khitti. Even before it spoke, however, Quintessa could sense its presence among them, her head jerking to the side to seek it out before she snapped back to refocus on her spell before her connection broke. “Elazul’s bite- like things weren’t already complicated!” she growls under her breath, an errant lightning strike shattering a set of glass vials across the room. “I’ve already got my hands full with this so I hope we can use this new development to our advantage…” From the way the lightning seemed to be directed at the tentacles, she was betting on that being the case.

Kanna winces as the anesthetic is immediately rejected by Kasyr’s body, but barely has time to react to it before Lanlan steps forward to hold the real jar over the dying man’s body. Even with magical protection, the sickening aura radiating from behind the runic cloth is palpable. As the cloth falls away painstakingly slowly, Kanna wonders to herself if the others could sense the concentrated necromantic energy that had been absent from the fake version. As the sinister liquid starts to stir, a sense of unease rattles Kanna’s soul to its core. “Stop--!” But it is too late, and the ebon starburst has begun its violent radiance. A blackened tendril darts out, aiming for the weak spot that is Kanna’s direction for the moments that she is still stunned, trying to comprehend what it is she is seeing. Just a hair’s breadth from impaling her eye, the undead woman is ripped backwards so that her back is against the shadow-ice. In her hands, a familiar wooden case has materialized in a flash of faerie lights. Two wooden hands encompass Kanna’s own, with delicate strings of pale-pink flower petals hanging from its arms. A voice that the woman has not heard in years whispers to her, “Your ancestors were granted the flesh of our mother’s body for calamities like these.” A frightened sound escapes from Kanna’s throat, confusion surging through her mind as her fellow necromancers work to contain the violent matter, trying to make sense of what was happening. Another tendril lashes out and is repelled by the light of her musical instrument. The floral scent overpowers that of bile and alcohol as the dryad leans into Kanna, bark brushing against her ear. “Vakmatharas and Selene predestined our fates for this purpose. Now quell the beast.” A memory resurfaces of Kanna playing a melody for a being that refused to adhere to the rules of death and undeath, fueled only by its anger by its captors, and how the melody allowed the being to find peace and ascend to the next world. As the shadow-ice continues to grow and push Kanna closer to the center of the calamity, as the bright green light erupts from Quintessa’s very being with the power of her own necromantic powers, as Lanlan spins the lavender threads like a net, and as Valrae raises her crystal skull and wand, Kanna begins to play. With the dryad’s visage having faded, Kanna calls out over the crackle of thunder, “Just let me try this, I know it's strange, but trust me.” Deft fingers on her right pluck the thirteen strings in practiced form as her left hand holds certain strings down at the notched intervals of the zither. Another black tendril stops just short of Kanna’s head as it attempts once more to strike her. To those who may be watching, a curious thing occurs, as the tendril slowly droops and recedes black into the black supernova. Kanna’s eyes stay closed as she focuses on playing the only song she was taught by her mother to play. As she does, the foxglove petals made of pearl on the sides of the instrument light up in tandem with her playing. Tendrils that lash out towards the others begin to exhibit the same pattern of drooping and receding as the melody is repeated. So long as her concentration on this instrumental is maintained, it would seem that her heirloom has some sort of calming effect on the concentrated death’s wrath.

Valrae feels a tug of pity in her chest as Kasyr becomes sick on the potion Kanna had made him. She moves without thinking, even as he brushes the clothing away from him, to carry them off to a bin. Quintessa’s words bowed her lips into a deep frown but before she could reply, Kas interrupted. She waves a hand at them both as he dismisses the small argument over Caluss and death’s natural order. “I know, I know,” Her tone was apologetic though. Her dark eyes slide to Lan at the mention of possible disaster. “Don’t sneeze.” The witch flinched at the anguish in Khitti’s voice, looking toward the other woman for a moment as sadness crept into her chest and sank into her heart like a stone. She returns to the table, emerald skull clutched tightly to her chest, just as Lanlan begins to unlock the protections he’d placed onto the jar. The witch hadn’t expected things to go easily, but even still she was surprised by how quickly it all slid out of control. Glass shatters. Time slows. The skull in her arms comes alive, reacting to the black mass that writhed above Kasyr, a green light seeping out of it and calling towards it yearningly, as if it were welcoming a dear friend. The darkness pulsed around and through her, mirroring the hunger that seeped from the damned blackness. Lan was shouting but Valrae hardly heard the words. Spells tumble from her lips, power seeping from the crystal and deep into her bones as her will wrestles with that of the emerald skull. Finally, and with only a heartbeat to spare, the light spreads forming a shield wall between her and the dark tendrils that reach out in search of a host. Chartreuse fire sparks where the darkness touches, only a moment reaching from her nose. The humming of the skull turned to screams inside of the witch’s mind as Lan’s lavender threads spread and shadowflame rose around them. Valrae’s long hair whipped back, snapping around her like tangled golden ribbons as the room spun out of control, the air crackling with the power that filled the room so thickly that nearly choked her. The wand that she’d forgotten to use slips from her hands and falls to the ground. Quintessa’s voice rose above the noise, the words she spoke a confusion to her ears even as more energy slammed into the lab. Another barbed tendril snaps toward her and she’s pushed back by the burst of fire that responds. And then it… Drops and falls back. Kanna’s music fills her head, the beauty of it in stark juxtaposition to the scene of chaos and ugliness that was centered above Kasyr. Centering herself, Valrae plants her feet and focuses on the black mass, flames rolling out to herd it toward Kas, joining the effort of those around her.

Kasyr may have braced himself, but he needed only a moment after Lanlan opened the jar to realize just how futile his attempt at bracing was, in the face of that unhallowed incarnation of voracity. His chest aches at the sight of that primordial nuclear chaos, dread anxiety sending knots through his guts just as readily as it's form coils and mutates with every blink of the eye. Worst of all, however, is not the nightmarish doom coiling in the midst of the room, as it's tendrils flail out and collide with his allies defense. For the Kensai came into this experiment already blighted, his chest riddled with leftover corruption from his first encounter- which now began it's grotesque progression through his form at a vastly accelerated rate. It's not just a hole in his chest, anymore, but a blackened crater whose devastation shows no signs of slowing down. An excrutiating, waking hell- that leaves his body contorting in the same manner as one of the tendrils struck by Amarrah's lightning. Words flicker in his mind- Incoherant fragments of a prayer that fail to find form, the very concept of salvation starting to drift further away moment by moment. That is, until he's provided a rhythm- a tune to hum his plea to Daedria, courtesy of Kanna. For just a fleeting moment, he can feel his strength start to return to him, imbuing him with a sense of confidence and divine purpose. The likes of which lasts just long enough for him to lean forward and take hold of that deathly mass of energy. . . . . As the flesh on his fingers begin to peel and fleck away, he can't be sure if the dissonant scream that rings through the air belongs to that vile essence, or if that sound, disembodied and alien as it is- came from his own throat. The only thing he is aware of, is that his body, the intended vessel for this essence, isn't apt to hold out long, now that he's trying to greedily pull it to himself. A macabre display that only seems to grow moreso, as blood both freshly spilled, and priorly contained begin to gravitate towards their location- drawn towards that ravenous nexus.

Lanlan is only vaguely aware of another trespasser, he can’t allow his focus to lapse or else he and everyone else will die. Also if the interloper is hostile they will probably all die. Spitefully, he chooses to die to the mysterious stranger than anything that was ever connected to Kasyr. If it came to that. At this critical point, wrangling the horror was the most important thing. The only thing. Glances he gambles with fate to take console him, everyone else is struggling to beat back and resist the long lashes of death that twist and writhe and stretch to consume them. It would take a single touch. But their efforts, even combined, seem to do little to stop it. Lightning courses through it, burning whole tendrils and evaporating black ooze to dust. Fire burns hot enough to melt the cold dark fingers of death, sizzling them until they pop. Music even seems to calm it, and the whole entity seems to slide deeper into the containment device Tessa manipulates. But it gains its second wind and explodes outward again. That’s when Lanlan realizes, it’s unstoppable. It begins to break through his net and ooze toward him. No Lanlan, -you’re- unstoppable, his inner voice tells him. A dainty little spool bounces over his web and reinforces the weakness, and throws a tether to the floor, anchoring the black tentacle. See Lanlan? Death can’t -touch- you. Amazed at his own ingenuity, Lanlan rejoins the effort, breathing magic into his hand and releasing quintuple tiny magenta spirits of energy fly from his hands. They fly happily through the air, laughing all the while as they choose what form their corporeal bodies will be. Dusty pink trails follow them as they dive into inanimate objects strewn about the room. These objects vibrate with energy before coming quickly to life and knowing their purpose. A pair of scissors, now enormous and blades covered with rip-tearing teeth, snatches a tendril under the barbed spear tip, two triangular shards of glass grow into long crystal clear swords and puncture it, a bonesaw stretches, snaps, and twists its blade into a sharktoothed corkscrew that violently bores a hole through the black tar. All of them combine to bring the tentacles down and pin it to the table. It would hopefully slow down its consumption of Kasyr, because as of now it was being deteriorated much faster than Lanlan expected. When the deathly black tar was fought back so far that it couldn’t reach anyone, it seemed to begin pulling Kasyr toward it. Tearing him up by his very soul, that seemed to be tenaciously holding on to the body that kept it. Lanlan saw the flesh separating from his sinew (gross), the blood raining upward (disgusting), and shouts the obvious. “He’s dying!” What an unforeseeable setback! And an annoying one. “Is that it Kasyr!? Gnat!? You’re dying -already- when all of us are trying so hard to save you?” When they fought that one time, hatred seemed to fuel him beyond the reaches of death, at least for a while. And maybe that’s why Lanlan was putting salt in his wound. He looks to the rest of the party. “Don’t let him die! Even if he wants to!” Then he quickly adds, “Like a coward!”

The shade’s sheer power ate away at Khitti’s form slowly as its own magic through her, melding with hers, and sending it out into the room. It started small, burns here and there from the lightning and the flames and the cold, but it soon shifted to bruising, despite the redhead seemingly taking no hits. Khitt railed against the suffocating darkness that clouded their shared mind, shouting, begging for it to stop because it pained him too. He had not felt anything like it before--he had never experienced this for himself. It was the very thing that caused Khitti to turn to vampirism in the first place. He knew it wasn’t what she wanted--hell, he didn’t want that for himself--but the shade continued, forcing more of its power onto the entity that wanted to devour the lot of them whole. The bruises turned to lesions and the blood flowed freely as more and more cuts opened up, pale skin flaying apart to allow more of that sanguine life force to drip unwillingly. No sooner does it trail down Khitti’s pale flesh does the blood get swept up away from her and thrown into the hungry nexus. The shade’s magic--and Khitti’s--wanes as the redhead’s blood was stolen from her, the vortex working to pull it straight from her body, not even allowing it the luxury to drip now. The shadows, in all the elements, falter and die away, leaving the outside of the room unprotected. The shade is forced from Khitti’s body, her screams filling the laboratory as she finally registered the damage done to her. The shade lingered, unsure of what to do before finally wrapping itself around Khitti like a cocoon, leaving her to bleed out within, but keeping her lifeforce safe from the nexus.

Quintessa was glad to be in the company of those around her today. As she takes a slow breath to repeat her incantation she glances at her allies and what they were capable of, a feeling of strange, inappropriate relief in the midst of the chaos. Blue and hazel eyes refocus on the device meant to aid Kasyr’s transition before she steadies herself and creates a large pulse of mana that radiates from her body and causes the runes etched on the glass to vibrate rapidly. A low, eerie hum echoes throughout the room as this happens, the alchemically reinforced glass singing like crystal as a choir behind Kanna’s music. The effort was not for show, however, as the spell Quintessa was casting moved into the next phase, attempting to trap and subdue the essence of the Dark Immortals while her companions fought to keep it inside. A bead of sweat drips from the changeling’s brow and then her breathing stutters; Something wasn’t right. A mistranslation in her research perhaps? As Quintessa empowers the spell with mana it feeds from something else as well; Her very lifeforce was being sapped and added to the mystic power of the necromantic spell, an expected hazard for dealing with things as powerful as Elazul and Khasad. Punishment for her hubris in thinking it was a possible thing to replicate. It was far too late to stop now, however, Quintessa knows this just by taking a glance down at Kasyr. She would have to trust her friends and risk her life to maintain the link for just a little while longer. If she was lucky she’d only lose a few years, nothing major. Nothing she couldn’t try to make up later, but if Kasyr dies here and the transfer was unsuccessful, it’ll all be for nothing. “Lan’s right,” Quintessa chimes in, trying to hide the weakness in her voice, “You can’t die now- not after I scooped your melted ass up in Tris’toth and stuck you in a metal bin. If you could survive that you can survive this too, I-” Even as she spoke Khitti was making her own sacrifice, her screams cutting Quintessa as the shade feed her blood to the nexus, a series of unfortunate events that made the hexblade’s already swimming mind buckle under the trauma of what she was witnessing. Her own life being used as a fuel source, Quintessa's mind did what it needed to do to get this job done; She simply denied the severity of what Khitti was going through. This must have been part of her plan somehow, she just couldn’t see it yet. Khitti would be fine. Nothing could kill Khitti. The wave of agony Quintessa wanted to feel for Khitti in that moment, to rush to her and make sure she was okay, it was frozen in place, buried under the burden of duty. “Gods damn it this better frakking work or I’ll resurrect you just to kill you all over again!” The weakness that was present in the changeling’s voice before was long gone now.

Kanna tries to will her eyes to remain shut. Some naive remnant of her human life tries to reassure her that so long as she does not look, the horrors unfolding before her cannot be allowed to leave yet another scar on the psyche she works so hard to present as unwarped. Her mind’s eye traces the sheet music to the end of the arpeggio where it would loop back to the beginning, Lanlan’s call interrupts, “He’s dying!” Followed by the sound of flesh smacking against the polished floor. Like Quintessa’s stutter, Kanna plucks the eighth string instead of the seventh, and the discordant note forces her eyes open to the unfolding nightmare. Bits of blackened ash burst forth from the starburst, staining the skin of those still well enough to remain standing. The ash lands on her fingers, which Kanna only now realizes has also been peeled away from plucking the strings without the ivory picks to protect her flesh, forcing her to play with exposed bones. The ghoul plays again, ignoring the fact that the wires are slowly chipping away at her soft bones as well; there was no time for her to find the protective gear needed to play. Like a dormant rune now awoken from its slumber, the thirteen-stringed dragon zither glows alight as Kanna adds a soft vocalization to the melody, completing the choir of strings, percussion from Lanlan’s inanimations, and the singing crystals of Quintessa’s equipment. The mother of pearl foxglove petals and amber stems glow a bright white with ferocity to match that of the inverted starburst above Kasyr. The unusual magic coalesces around Kanna’s form for a moment as she continues the ritual, until it hovers just above the bardess’ head. The black starburst seems to react to the presence of the white nova, spiked tendrils lashing out from between Kasyr’s arms to strike at the interloper. The strikes increase with fervent intensity as the white starburst floats closer and closer to the concentrated death. Kanna’s voice rises to a high coloratura to resonate with the screams echoing around the room, the effort of maintaining the show of divinely calming energy starting to wear her thin. Soon the bardess would have not even stumps of fingers to continue the melody with or vocal chords to maintain the spell with, but as the music crescendos, the entire room becomes engulfed in light. Only when it fades would it be clear if her ability was able to calm the necrotic energy long enough for it to be safely absorbed into Kasyr’s body.

Valrae watches in horror as Kasyr reaches out and skin peels back and falls away. Lanlan’s magically enchanted tools flew around them, blood and screams joined the symphony of fire and song. There was no time to think, no room for anything but fear now. Fear for Khitti, fear for Kasyr, fear that she would watch them die before the black and endlessly hungry thing devoured them all. Quintessa’s voice sounded very far away to her now, even underneath the screaming. Her body moved before she’d made the decision, her eyes deadlocked on the gruesome scene unfolding before them. If they lived through this, she’d never have an answer for the choice she made next. She might blame the magic, or Lanlan himself for screaming out the obvious as Kasyr faded before their eyes. But whatever the reason, with one hand on the crystal skull, the other flies out to Lan. Her strength neared supernatural in the rush of adrenaline and panic as she pulled him with her. Stumbling, the witch yanks them both toward Kasyr. Black ash rains down, stinging her eyes and blurring her vision as tears stream down her face and leave twin trails over her cheeks. “My blood, your blood, our blood.” Her words were a repeated whisper under the chaos and the rising crescendo of Kanna’s song but magic tumbled from her lips, from her fingertips. Twin lines appeared on her palm and on Lan’s, the blood pouring out as she pressed both of their hands down on Kasyr. His own was already flowing freely now. It moved with purpose, her blood running down Lanlan’s hand and mingling with his own before it moved into Kasyr. The magic took over then, bursting through her and around her with a force that might have knocked them back if it hadn’t also locked them there together. Her eyes were alight with the emerald light of the skull as it cracked loudly, a line forming between the hollow sockets of the eyes. Time stopped again as a silver cord bound them together, knotting around their hands in a shining cord that sent the sensation of a firebrand and screaming pain down to the very bone. The words that fell from her lips were no longer in common tongue as she bound the three of them together in fate and life. Or death. And then Kanna’s magic exploded and Valrae saw nothing but white, blinding light.

Kasyr s' form is on the verge of collapse- his blighted flesh growing more ashen with every moment he struggles to keep hold of that grotesque essence. Somewhere, over the roar of oblivion, his name is being shouted- but the details are drowned out, drawn into the void that he's grasping. Which has taken hold of him. Even as parts of it spill down into his chest, and find refuge within the expanding cavity in his chest- he can feel himself being drawn further into it, as it endeavours to pull him within it's event horizon. That he's even alive at this juncture is a twisted miracle- the culmination of his companions attempts to cheat death, and stymie the wanton devastation they'd unleashed. And perhaps, even, to provide salvation- as necromanctic arts and bardic ballads conspire to leash that hungering essence, and coax it into the Kensai's diminishing husk. As the mass finishes slithering into his hollowing frame, the frightful cacophony is laid to rest- replaced by a deathly silence. There are no glib words on Kasyrs parts, no bitter complaints, nor agonized shudders. Instead, those gathered are simply provided the ghastly sight of the brief convulsions of his body, before it goes still, surrounded by an evergrowing pool of gore. And for Lanlan & Valrae? That finely woven thread of fate finds itself plucked with an intensity that would rival Kanna's most desperate song- the ferocity poised to abruptly cut their silver cords short.

Lanlan alternated his gaze quickly to each of his colleagues. Khitti was battling bravely, and dying pointlessly, it looked to him. Her flesh opened and little rivulets of her blood wormed out of her and flow toward Kasyr’s handsomer half. He saw Quintessa, still struggling with her containment device, to the point that her own magic wasn’t enough. Her spirit was demanded to compensate. He could see her spirit fighting to resist the pull of the ravenous spirit, even as she subdues it. It was horrifying. Grotesque. He could hardly look away, until an unseemly twang disrupts the mellifluous melody Kanna strummed and summons his attention sharply. Her fingers flayed themselves bare as she opened her eyes only reluctantly, and suffering for what she was forced to see. Khitti decaying, Tessa’s essence being drained, Kanna excoriating herself for the song, to battle this monster. To make Kasyr into this monster. And why? It made no sense to him. These people had no idea where and when to draw the line. But he did. It was right here, before they all died. Failure was imminent. Go Lanlan! Go! Before it’s too late! His inner voice told him. He activated his failsafe, and just behind him, a seam opened in thin air, and it ripped itself open wide, to a visage of a castle made of coral. 1 Reverie Court. He offers Kasyr a look. Disappointment. Relief. Remorse. He steps through… But before he can grace the familiar loneliness of his castle, a vice wraps around his wrist and clamps down, before reeling him once again toward the looming death. “No! No! No!” Somehow, he must’ve neglected to notice an errant tendril of hunger honing in on him amid the pandemonium in the lab. No one can save him and he knows it. When its Valrae he sees, he’s nearly heartbroken. But is it even her? The countenance is not of someone he recognizes. “Valrae, stop,” he commands worthlessly. He’s dragged, wholly against his will, toward the heart of life’s end. “What the–what are you doing!?” He wraps his fingers around hers, trying to pry them off. Trying to break them off. But its more than muscle that binds him, and his palm lands on Kasyr and opens up. “You’re going to kill us both!” But his cries are drowned out by Kasyr’s, by Khitti’s, by the music, by the humming glass. Vials and bottles pop abruptly, forced by the blood samples kept within and the irresistible lure that summons it to the center. The many streams of blood spiral and flow into the insatiable entity beckoning Kasyr’s body. A silver thread wraps around he, Valrae, and Kasyr, binding them together. “What–” The sun rises mere yards away from him and he’s forced to brace his eyes against its brilliance. He doesn’t see the monster swim into the open wound on the withering body of Kasyr. But when the lights dim, he sees only the man. Lying there. He hears his lungs go to rest. Feels his heart beat one final time. And then he feels his own palpitate. But the missed beat was only the first of many. He reaches for Valrae with a clawing hand, grasping for her in confused, pained, vengeance. He mouths the question, “What is this?” And the floor and the walls tumble away. The last thing he feels is pain in his head as the ceiling shrinks. When it all turns black, his glowing red eyes dim and confess to a dull woodsy green.

Valrae felt as if she were standing outside of herself. She’d drawn in too much magic and had been consumed with it, the desire of powers far older than she winning the battle of wills that had begun the moment Lanlan had opened the jar and unleashed hell. The room was a tempest of blood around them. The witch hadn’t responded to Lan’s futile attempts to escape, they were beyond escape now. She thought that death had already come, in her place beyond it all, when Kanna’s white light bathed the room and burned away the horrors unfolding before her eyes. But Kasyr was there, in her gradually returning vision, and his body was convulsing. The stillness that followed told Valrae they had been death throes, even as the string of fate that now bound them responded. It felt like a thunderclap, the sudden absence of Kasyr’s life reverberating in a newly awakened awareness. “No.” Her voice croaked, tears still streaming down her ash covered face as the light from the emerald skull faded away. Lanlan reached for her, his fist closing around the tangles of her hair and pitching her sideways with him as he fell. Her eyes were torn away from Kasyr then, locked onto Lanlan’s own as the light faded from them and the shuddering awareness of death brushed over her soul again. Equal measures of grief and guilt forced a strangled cry to fall beyond her lips. There was no more room for fear in the aching chasm that had opened in her chest, an emotional mirror to the physical wound that had been ripped into Kasyr. The floor rose up to meet the witch as she fell with Lanlan, the lifeless green of his eyes the last thing she saw before her heart took its final, shuddering beat.

“Why do you seek to torment me still?” Khitti’s voice was naught but a whisper, going unheard amongst the chaos outside of the shade’s protection. The shade did not respond and Khitti could only sigh weakly. “I can feel them dying… Slowly, one after the other. Is this feeling because of you?” The shade hesitated, but eventually gave an answer. “It’s because of your magic. That which used to be mine. The Umbrawisp are soul herders. It is their souls you feel, leaving them, retreating from whatever holds them. My presence only enhances that feeling, like it enhances your magic.” Khitti pushed herself up into a sitting position, watching through the shade’s cocoon-like state as silvery wisps carefully left Kasyr, and Lanlan, and eventually even Valrae’s emerald skull. She saw the spirits that clung mercilessly to Kanna’s form, ever trying to bring her low with the weight of sins she had not even the choice in making. She saw Quintessa’s soul as she continued to fight, silver meshed with gold thanks to the fae blood that coursed through her veins. Khitti didn’t watch long before she started to heal herself with her light magic. The shade stirred a little with each healing glow, the holy magic causing it pain, yet it still continued to shield her from further harm. “We’re doing this together this time,” she said, standing despite the pain within her. “No more possession.” The shade released her from its protection and slithered its way up her left arm. The purple glow returned to Khitti’s eyes, but the blackened veins did not. Khitti’s left hand shot out in Kanna’s direction, ice and coalesced shadows seeking to restore her hands temporarily, as Khitti had restored one of Emilia’s, while also healing it slowly over time if the bard would allow it. “Kanna, keep playing! Quintessa, the resurrection spell--do it now!” The static electricity soon returned, the hair on Khitti’s neck standing on end as she gathered the shadows and drew on its power, as well as the shade’s, to bring back the black lightning. Cracked and bloodied lips parted, the redhead taking a breath before starting a song of her own, mixed with her necromantic magic, in an attempt to keep Kasyr, Lanlan, and Valrae’s souls from scurrying off elsewhere. ♫ Where do I take this pain of mine? I run, but it stays right by my side. So tear me open, pour me out, there’s things inside that scream and shout and the pain still hates me, so hold me until it sleeps.♫ Khitti unwillingly paused in her singing as blood welled up in her throat from the lesions that still remained on the inside of her body, but she soon spat as much of it out as she could then continued. ♫Just like the curse, just like the stray--you feed it once and now it stays… Now it stays! So tear me open but beware, there’s things inside without a care! And the dirt still stains me, so wash me until I’m clean! It grips you, so hold me! It stains you, so hold me! It hates you, so hold me! It holds you, so hold me--until it sleeps…♫ When Quintessa was ready, bolts of electricity would shock the illusionist, the witch, and the kensai once every thirty to forty seconds as Khitti continued to sing. ♫So tell me why you’ve chosen me… Don’t want your grip! Don’t want your greed! Don’t want it! I’ll tear me open, make you gone! No more can you hurt anyone! And the fear still shakes me, so hold me until it sleeps. It grips you, so hold me… It stains you, so hold me… It hates you, so hold me… It holds you, holds you, holds you… Until it sleeps.♫ Regardless of whether or not it worked, more of the black lightning was directed towards the vortex. If all else failed, Khitti would probably have to resort to her holy magic, and likely blow the whole of Quintessa’s lab up like she had blown up Haladavar.

As Quintessa pours everything she has into this spell she feels abnormally placid, her mind shutting off her negative emotions, but this seems to limit the dark fae’s magical potential. Stifled, just as her feelings for her adoptive mother had been a moment prior, Quintessa was not quite useless but at the same time she was not pushing back against the violent entity as much as she could have been, she was merely holding a place and her allies were suffering for it. She watches Kanna as she plays her instrument with exposed, bloody bone, watches as Valrae yields to the mysterious powers of her crystal skull and succumbs to the agony it bestows. And Kasyr, the one they were doing this for, would he even be the same should this experimental ritual prove successful? They had all put their trust in Quintessa and she was failing them- letting them all die here in her very laboratory. Unfortunately the warlock was stuck in hesitation, her lifeforce being stolen from her and her mind rejecting the reality of her situation. Then it happens, like a rope finally snapping from the strain of its burden, Quintessa finds herself alone and in the dark, time slowed to a crawl as she listens to a familiar voice in the back of her mind whisper, “Don’t hold it back, girl. Did you resist your pain when you finally rid yourself of your tormentor not half a decade ago?” It was her mother’s call. Her biological mother. “Embrace your pain. Embrace your emotions. Only through agony will you find enlightenment, my dear Quintessa. Do it. Now!” With perfect timing Khitti shouts out to use the resurrection spell and reality all snaps into place in an instant amongst the chaos and blood, mismatched eyes flickering to Khitti and then back to the Dark Immortal essence struggling against them. Like a tidal wave, Quintessa unleashes the emotions she was holding back, tears streaming down her face as she screams at the entity, the sound reverberating with enough unhallowed energy that some of the remaining glass vials and tubes shattered around the room. Fueled by her negative emotions, Quintessa’s dark aura fills the entire room, empowering her allies’ magic while trying to choke, restrain, and force the vampiric essence back into Kasyr’s body, with or without the device. It didn’t matter at this point- Quintessa was done seeing her friends get hurt. The changeling’s lips part and each word she cries carries the ancestral magic of her people, the Night Hags, “Byddwch yn gwrando arnaf, llysnafedd! Tywyllwch ildio, gwaed fy ngwaed. Gorffennwch y gwallgofrwydd hwn a dewch yn gyfan eto! Codwch y meirw!” Each new word adds exponential force to her vacuum spell, each spoken syllable dimming the visible light, each letter passing her lips causing the very foundation of her castle to shiver in anticipation. With the last word spoken the spell implodes with necrotic energy, entrapping the entity along with Kasyr in a egg-shaped capsule of hardened mana, held up delicately by a series of Quintessa’s own shadow-tentacles that jut from the floor just below Kasyr’s bed. “Just! Get! Inside!” Screaming these three words adds a second wave of maleficent energy throughout the room, burning up even more of her mana to aid the ritual. Quintessa was finished playing around with this thing.

The room is still for a moment as the light fades and the living and unliving take in the sight of death before them. The voice of Sagaribana distorts, silky laughs turning throaty and malicious. The bark-like hands covering Kanna’s own elongate and crack until blackened insectlike prongs caress her exposed bone and flesh. “Now, sweet harbinger, your ancestors’ melodies have prevented their corporeal bodies from fading away, but you can still bring their souls back should you bestow upon them your kiss of undeath.” The lull in music causes that horrible feeling Kanna felt as the jar’s contents were awakened to resurge; the orchestra of horrors was about to begin again if she did not decide now. Shadows and black-violet ice wrap around her hands, forcing Caluss’ inlaid magic to awaken and begin its restorative process. “No, I don’t want this.” Kanna whispers defiantly. Antennae dances across Kanna’s face in anger as the pointed appendages dig into the undead woman’s wrists. “Do not defy me again, you with the scornful eyes of Calliope.” It hisses, making the bardic necrobotanist flinch. So the story was true. Shaken back to reality by the crack of lightning and the deafening boom, Kanna turns her head down to focus on the music. ♫I don't want it, I don't want it! Want it, want it, no, woah-woah!♫ Her soprano voice harmonizes with Khitti’s own lyrical mezzo-soprano and Quintessa’s alto screams, her voice rising with the volume of her stringed instrument and percussion of lab equipment shattering in time with the thunder claps. The silvery souls hover in place as Kanna continues her song, stopping their ascension out of Quintessa’s laboratory where they might then be lost forever. To Khitti’s relief, the souls begin to sink downwards towards their respective bodies as Quintessa’s unleashed magic works to contain the entity. ♫I don't want it, I don't want it! Want it, want it, no, woah-woah!♫ The runes lining the ceiling to provide protection and light begin to burst one by one, raining stone upon the group as the necromantic concert crescendos into a fervent finale.

Kasyr drifts, a sense of serenity possessing his spirit, carried to him in the same manner he was being inexonerably drawn back Daedrias bosom. His prior moments had been defined by pain, drawn out into an artificial eternity - and yet, that sensation already felt like a distant memory. And yet- as much as there's a sense of relief from the seeming inevitability of his return, something lingers in his mind. It's not merely the seeming futility of their respective sacrifices- though the scale of their losses does grate. Nor is it even at the sense of uncertainty as to what he'll be reborn as- Mortal or vampire. No, what galls the Kensai is something astoundingly simple- The work was far from over. Even now, some phantasmal vestige of his empathic senses let him know that some of his companions still lived- still struggled to make that horrific situation somehow right, to not just survive, but to save him. And not just him, but to save those vast numbers who would otherwise fall, To Xicotl, To Caluss, To Gospel. The work was seemingly endless, and yet, he drifts. A light ripples through the ethereal haze his spirit languishes in- its existence brief, yet brilliant. And with it, there comes something else- a wave of feeling and sensation, that cut through his otherwise insensate existence- and help him to hear the way back. 'Daedria. Wait.'His essence flails, struggling to push back against the stream, to grasp hold of the empathic strands that might guide him home. 'Please.' Another familiar bolt courses through him, bringing with it a fresh sense of anguish- and with it, a renewed sense of stubborn resolve. They -could- guide the way. 'Please. Just a bit longer.' The more he felt himself return, the more he could feel his senses coming awake- the whole of his existence alight in suffering, and confined within the blackened tomb of his own form. Elsewhere, a crimson tide was rising, every droplet of free-flowing blood within the keep rushing towards the lab as though possessed, Prisoners, left to their own devices, violently exsanguinate, their fluids mingling freely with the pools formed by those ruptured bloody experiments. Moving with Disquieting purpose, the sanguine amalgam finds any way it can to ripple towards the lab, if only so it can sweep past those fatebound companions, and hurl itself at Quintessas arcane barrier with dreadful purpose. In and of itself, the accumulated gore lacks the means of breaking through the shell- and yet, it doen't need to, as something on the inside desperately lashes out cracking the shell just enough that it can begin to first slide in, and then flood in, tinging that otherwise midnight surface with swirls of vermillion, and shadows of tangled flesh and scale.

Lanlan awakens, as if from the most restful sleep, in an expansive white room. Rising to his feet, he dusts himself free of some clingy sand that stuck from the floor to his clothes. He’s surrounded. Joyfully, he recognizes himself. Again, and again, and again. Statues of him, erected in pristine marble with excruciating detail. Various poses, objects, moods, but it’s all Lanlan. It’s like he woke up in a museum dedicated to himself. He’s beaming as he goes from pedestal to pedestal, admiring himself. “Wonder what I was doing there!” He says, but there’s no scenery, no context to give him a clue to what doubtlessly amazing act he performed that deserved to be monumentalized. There’s a doorway in the North wall. He walks through, his footprints tracking over golden grains of mysterious sand. It’s another room, open wide with blank white marble filling the floor, walls, ceilings. And more Lanlans. Just like the room before. In one corner, sand trickles from a hairline crack in a wall. The statues here don’t reveal anything to him. Amused but perplexed, now, “Is it finished? It’s not like I was alone when I did that, was I? At least fill out a plaque. Another door, another room. He’s vaguely aware of some singing, though it’s so soft and he knows its so far away, he’ll likely never reach the source. Besides, who would ever want to leave this place? Room by room he goes, tirelessly, through infinite corridors, seeing infine Lanlans. Each has a floor dusted with a thin layer of sand, and sometimes a small pile of it. Trickling in through a fault in the wall or ceiling. “Why is it, that so often people with talent have no sense in how to use it? They should’ve consulted with me.” By the thousandth Lanlan, alone, cold, and stuck, he’s had enough. He finds himself lying on a pedestal, apparently sleeping, and slides his back up next to it. Little spoon. He’d sleep out of boredom then, and he closes his eyes. BANG. A monstrous noise shatters his peace, and sends jagged cracks through the house. Ominous red light spills through seams in the ceiling, as do the voices, almost familiar. Time to go. Now. Before the whole places collapses on him. With miraculous speed, he flies through massive showrooms, each of them crumbling like the one before. The singing getting louder with every rumble of the foundations. Crack. That one was so loud it hurt the back of his head. In fact it hurt his entire body, and he cradles it, as blocks and wedges, meters thick and thousands of pounds, fall from the sky around him. Then one stops him. Pinning him in place by some unseen force. He crouches to his ankle, and finds a thin silver cord, once buried in the sand and now taut in his hand. The red sun above the broken ceiling oppresses him, forces closed his eyes. But the singing feels like a blessing. “Kanna!” He cries. “Khitti! Quintessa! Help me! I don’t want to be here!” Lightning courses through his convulsing body and his eyes open to a pit. A dark and hopeless place filled with blood and the stench of death. And everybody he sees hates him. His instincts fuel his magic, his magic pulls him upright and back, scraping on his heels until he’s flat against the wall behind him. Overwhelmed by his short and peaceful rest, and his violent rise, he can’t find the words nor the wits. He roughly slides his outstretched arm and splayed fingers on the wall behind him as he inches, inches, inches on his heels. Until he finds the edge. He flees around it and out of the basement.

“Damn,” Valrae reached for the paint stained cloth to her left, blotting at the watery blue that ran down the canvas in front of her. The half finished scene was a cheery impression of Cenril’s cove. She tossed the cloth back down on a sigh, standing from her chair to cross the sunlit room. The windows leading to her back yard were wide and long, filled with slanting sunlight on a perfect afternoon day. Wildflowers danced in an ocean of sweet grass that grew hip-high and the joyful sound of a child laughing floated in on a warm summer breeze. She should make fresh bread for supper, she thought, and floated toward the kitchen. Maude was already there, peeling potatoes to roast. Valrae smiled, love and affection swelling in her chest. It was strange, the feeling as if she were seeing the older woman’s face after a very long absence. Her eyes suddenly stung with unshed tears. The witch crossed to the cupboard and pulled down the flour, a large mixing bowl. “I thought I could make some bread,” She says to Maude, pulling out the salt. “It will go well with supper, don’t you think?” When the other woman doesn’t answer, Valrae frowns but continues with her task. “Could you hand me a measuring cup?” When Maude ignores her again, the witch turns. “Hello? Are you angry with me?” But the other woman doesn’t look up from her task. “Maude?” Valrae stands next to her, reaches out and shakes her shoulder, but she only gathers up the potatoes and tosses them into a bowl. “Why are you ignoring me?” Her voice sounded small and sad, even to her own ears. Muade’s endlessly dark eyes finally look into her own. “It’s not time.” Her old voice croaks, “You shouldn’t be here.” Pain flooded the witch’s chest. “But I want to stay,” She protests as the front door opens and the sound of little feet on hardwood follows. She turns, catching a glimpse of curling brown hair as the child presses his face into her skirts. “You have to go.” Her fingers tangled into the mess of the boy’s hair even as the kitchen darkened. “Please, I want to stay. I want-” Thunder rattled the windows, lighting cracked and flashed as the sound of rain suddenly beat down around them. “Please,” She was kneeling now, holding the boy to her chest even as pain gripped her. Real, physical pain. “I love you, I love you.” The witch pressed kisses to the round cheeks of the child she’d never met, her heart tearing open as her world again faded to black and a shining silver cord pulled her down and down…

It was like being on the pyre again, only the burning came from the inside. A moan fell from her lips, impossible to hear herself because of the unbearably loud ringing in her ears. She didn’t even notice that Lanlan had still been clutching a fist full of her hair when he started to scramble away or the blood that dripped from her nose, her ears. The witch was face down, one arm reaching out to where she’d had a hold of Lan before he’d made his exit. When Valrae found the strength to open her eyes, she was greeted with the sight of the skull. It seemed to be grinning at her, laying in front of her turned on it’s side, hollow eyes dark and taunting. Slowly, the sound of the three women still locked in battle returned to her but there was nothing left for her to give. Weakly, she pushed herself forward, just enough so that the tips of her fingers brushed across the emerald skull. But even that small movement was too much and pain flooded all of her senses. Her vision faded again. Closing her eyes, Valrae slipped back into the blackness. This time though, her heart continued its irregular beating.

The thunderous booms of the lightning subsided just before the spirits of Kasyr, Lanlan, and Valrae returned to their bodies (or in the witch’s case, the emerald skull). As Lanlan bolted away and Valrae awoke only to pass out again, Khitti turned to look at the oncoming storm of blood as it started to flood the entire room. For a moment, she put a hand out to summon up a wall of ice to try to block it, but no magic was used as Khitti eyed the situation. Her line of sight shifted from the blood to where Kasyr lay beneath Quintessa’s shield, olive-green eyes squinting in thought. And then she did nothing, beyond conjuring up a wall that would, instead of blocking the rushing red liquid entirely, it would allow a much smaller flow of blood to enter, in an attempt to keep them from being fully overwhelmed by it. She’d even put a slab of ice beneath Valrae so she’d float, instead of choking on the blood and dying, again. “Don’t stop it.” That’s the only instruction she gave. As the only other person in the room to have been a vampire, she was acting on gut instinct now, and if somehow she was wrong and things went sideways (even moreso than it had already), she’d be prepared to do what was needed in order to finish this, one way or another. With a heavy sigh, Khitti reached into her satchel and retrieved the silverlight planisphere. It lifted off of her hand and floated in the air next to her. With a wave of her other hand, large stars began to form in a circle around Quintessa’s mana shield, twinkling like silvery prisms in the air. As the blood continued to flow into the shield, Khitti watched and waited.

Quintessa is still a proverbial maelstrom of raw mana and necrotic energy, her dark aura continuing to swirl around her like a cyclone of ebon fog, forming phantasmal tentacles that fade in and out of existence whilst mimicking the changeling’s magical gestures she makes with her hands. By now the warlock’s voice has grown hoarse and ragged, her screams of magical words bordering on feral as she tries with all her might to put everything where it belonged. At this point it seems to her all their lives depend on it; Failure now is unacceptable. What will she do should this fail? She’d escape, of course, everyone knew the risks after all, leaving them to die would be unfortunate but Quintessa knew deep down she’d have to shoulder the burdens they left behind. She’d have to, at the very least, to atone for their deaths. With any luck they might escape too, and it was uncertain whether or not Kanna would at all suffer from the Dark Immortal proto-spawn’s power when it lashed out in the very end. Valrae might have some method of returning to life, she’d done it before, and Lanlan had avoided death plenty of times under circumstances his demise was far more deserved and justifiable- he’d be fine. Khitti, however, had offered to take the majority of the curse head-on, and it didn’t seem she was in the position to do so anymore. Her loss would strike Quintessa the hardest, hurt the most. Already the thought was bringing more tears to her eyes, a hard lump forming in her throat making her incantations harder to squeeze out. No, she would not let that happen. This new wave of emotion strengthens both her magic and her resolve, causing Quintessa’s transmutation of hardened darkness to morph in reaction. What was once like an egg, cracked by the vermillion invader, now liquefies in suspended motion, allowing the gore to freely flow inside while the density keeps everything trapped within the molten shadow, which now ripples in protest against the entity it contained. In essence it was an extremely short range one-way portal, allowing things in but not back out, but it could only sustain so much before it shattered and ruined everything. Quintessa only hopes she can hold out long enough for the spell to finish… For now the changeling was far too focused to take notice of Lanlan’s departure or Valrae struggling on the floor, nor of the blood that seemed to be pooling around her ankles. Everything was just the sound of chaos in a duet with Kanna, crescendos of thunder echoing throughout, the soft humming of her magical glass that still refused to yield to the destruction in the room. The others still present might notice that as Quintessa’s shadow grows behind her, to six feet, then to eight, then nine, that as the lightning illuminates it in small flashes it could easily be mistaken for an extremely tall woman with long dark hair. Then, as the shadow lurches closer to Quintessa, a plaid face with ice-blue eyes and a permanent scowl could be seen for a split second whispering something into Quintessa’s ear before it vanished, just a regular shadow that could be confused for an optical illusion yet again. The apparition would not appear again and Quintessa would give no indication she heard anything, just raise both hands as she added the last word to the spell she was casting. “Cyfyngu.” Slowly the oval-shaped barrier that Quintessa had conjured swells before compressing, like a giant lung taking one last breath in before it exhales all the excess space, shrinking down to in an effort to compact Kasyr and the Dark Immortal essence into a single being.

The room’s chaos was deafening between Khitti’s singing, Quintessa’s chanting, the cracks of thunder that have now shattered everything glass within the laboratory, and the roar of the necromantic energy fighting against the spells attempting to tame it. Even still, the cacophony was not enough to stop Kanna from hearing the soul-chilling hisses in her ears. If she did not act now, Kasyr would die, the voice taunts. She could stop the energy from becoming loose unto the world by turning him into a member of the undead, the superior undead that the curses of vampirism could never replicate. Still, if Kanna did go forward and stop the song, the chaotic energies just barely being contained between herself and Quintessa would destroy them, then everyone in Vailkrin. But if a God intervened… “My song is combining bardic and necromantic magic to keep his vessel intact.” Kanna answers her patron, her voice barely a drop in the ocean of caterwauling. The bard can feel her heart tearing in two as she averts her eyes from the chaos. Guilt threatens to spill from the cracks in her heart that bubble in her throat as she proposes, “Surely a God with idle hands can effortlessly convert him the way you converted me.” The shadows hover for a moment, considering her soft rejection, then move away. “I’m so sorry, Kasyr.” Kanna whispers as the inky tendrils encroach on the barrier Quintessa compresses. It seems as though the other conscious persons do not take heed of the insect-like phalanges wrapping themselves around the barrier; surely this was not a trick of Kanna’s mind, right? As the nightmarish amalgamation continues to flow through Khitti’s spell, the blood and gore travels through the inside of the barrier, meshing with the blackened liquid and starting to take shape, into something more humanoid. Then the phalanges create spiderweb cracks along the surface, four on either side of the space where Kasyr’s head would be. ♫I don't want this, I don't want this, no, no, no…♫

Kasyrs' trapped- his consciousness once more tethered to the devastated husk within that arcane shell. Within his veins, that primordial darkness flows- forcing a semblance of sensation through ravaged flesh, granting him a halting parody of movement that can only be expressed through furious blows unleashed upon his prison. Each moment is an agonized eternity- as the grotesque transformation continues, unhallowed power and blood fueling what can only be described as an autopsy in reverse. Tracks of devastated muscle begin to layer themselves with fresh sinew, molten anguish accompanying each new detail. Skin, once cracked and blemished, is stretched taut like a canvas, straining until broken- only to be replaced by a fresh layer as the old sloughs off. This time, when the Kensais hand draws back and slams against the barrier, it's with hunger rather then blind hatred.. Once more, those carefully crafted spellworks shudder- allowing a fresh deluge of fodder to slip through. And yet- that chalice is tainted- for something else slips within that scarlet cascade- a deathly chill that halts Kasyrs breath. A dreadful proximity, and one whose sheer proximity forces the Kensais gaze to focus upon it- even as an unnatural spread of sanguine flecks blossom within the swordsman iris. Within that gory maelstrom, carapaced phalanges draw closer, pushing their way through the cracks within the barrier, forcing it wider as it moves to take in a new subject. Only, it's a moment too late. Even as that dread force sets about the inexorable purpose of dismantling those arcane defenses, Kasyr's fist is hurtling towards the barrier. No longer is it the pained flailing of a beast in the midst of transformation, nor the desperation of an aberration in dire need of a meal. Though far from sated, what lays cocooned is no longer a writhing caricature of a man, but Vailkrins former King, reborn. The barrier's cessation is abrupt but violent- raw eldritch force and unnatural violence rending it asunder - and vaporizing the pools of residual gore that had bunched about it's outside. Wreathed within this carmine mist, that nigh imperceptible touch lingers- poised, and yet . . . That spectral grasp draws no closer. They twist upon themselves, arcing and clenching in a ghastly pantomime of frustration- before merely fading into the mist. The opportunity has passed.

It was done then. No sooner had the dust settled was Khitti moving to check on the Red Witch, crouching down beside her.. “Valrae? Val…” She shook her a little to no avail, but thankfully Valrae was at least breathing. Khitti sighed heavily, exhausted from the whole ordeal, though she knew her work was far from over. It was unknown whether or not it was actually comforting to the witch, but Khitti brushed a few strands of hair from Valrae’s face and eyed her for a moment. After the moment passed, Khitti summoned up a small healing patch of light magic and placed it on her forehead. It wouldn’t be even close to enough to heal up all her wounds, but it would hopefully soothe her as she slept and took away some of the pain. “I need to get her to bed. And that idiot needs to be found before he gets himself killed -again-.” She, of course, meant Lanlan. “I will be back to help clean this up…” With another sigh, she stood up, and slowly hoisted Valrae up with one of her arms around Khitti’s shoulders. She took a step and then the two of them were gone, as Khitti took Valrae to one of the guest rooms in Quintessa’s fort, muttering apologies to Valrae along the way and obscenities directed towards Lanlan. Meanwhile, the shade slithered off of Khitti’s arm and retreated into the darkness, to return to the Shadow Plane. It too needed rest… and to ponder its own existence.

As the dust settles, smoke dissipates, and magical darkness fades away, Quintessa stares forward, her arms still flexed and held aloft even after her spell is completed. Her mind is drained, body exhausted, and emotions dragged through the rocks and stretched to their limits. So many times before Quintessa had snapped under this same strain but this time she prevailed; She kept hold of her sanity through a procedure that could have easily driven her mad. The humming glass yielded its song now that its magic had been cut off from it, the changeling only having a small pool of mana left to cast from that could not be wasted- no, there was a newly reformed revenant in her fortress and thus Quintessa would want to save that magic to fight him off should he turn his attention on the party to sate his bloodlust. Tense, on edge, paranoid, Quintessa does not relax until after Kasyr has left the room, and even then she immediately turns to wave at the runic formations on her wall, the changing colors of the runes indicating that she was sending silent orders to her undead servants throughout the citadel. Soon this entire room would be filled with vampiric maids sent to clean this mess up while their mistress tries to rediscover her bearings, moving only to check Odhranos’ tank and make sure it was undamaged. Luckily it had been built well enough to withstand the magical onslaught her laboratory had withstood, and once the warlock had confirmed this for herself would she finally allow herself to break down, falling to her knees in a fit of hysterical laughter mixed with bouts of uncontrollable sobbing. Even as a gaggle of maids clean and organize around her she does not relent until Stewardess Saorsa appears in the threshold of the room, and she only pauses long enough to give the seneschal orders to see to their new guests before resuming her mental breakdown on the glass covered floor. The changeling had no doubt been helpful in the mission to restore Kasyr to his former vampiric glory but for now Quintessa would be no help to anybody for a while.

Kanna had tried to resolve herself to keep her eyes averted, to not look as the ghastly deep green shadows tainted Kasyr with the same curse that had wracked her for these years. When the cocoon is shattered, though, the resolve fails, and her eyes lift to meet the sanguine red eyes of Kasyr. The God of Undeath had failed? Her eyes shift to the left, following the receding shadows. As the shadows dissipate, a stack of Quintessa’s letters are swept to the floor by some unseen wind. Landing in front of Kanna’s pearl-laden instrument is a flier for a warrior’s tournament in the northern cities. The ghoul picks up the paper with her shadowfire-bandaged hands and glances back to where the shadows had been, only to glimpse jade scleras pointed back at her. Quintessa shakily makes her way through the shadows, oblivious to the patron that would soon come for her as well. Once her body has moved, the shadows and eyes are gone from the corner. This flier’s placement was no accident; it was a silent command, and Kanna was in no position to refuse. Khitti moves to take Valrae to safety, surely her sister would have already sent for the Healer’s Guild if she were in the fortress, and Lanlan was nowhere to be seen. Black viscera pools at Kanna’s eyes where tears should form. She wanted to do good, she wanted to be of help to those around her instead of continuing to carry out the will of the being that had decided on a whim to make her its toy. Fat droplets of blackened rot roll down her face and onto the instrument as Quintessa’s laughs devolve into wails. “How much longer do we have to live like this…?” Kanna murmurs as the familiar embrace of despair closes around her form. With her vision obstructed by the undead tears, the bardess does not see the instrument appearing to absorb the rot-tears that fall upon its perfectly lacquered surface, nor the hope that Kasyr’s resurrection was supposed to have brought.

Kasyr can feel the breath lodged within his lungs- trapped more from habit than necessity. Slowly, he allows it to release- trying his best to center himself, even as a familiar sensation begins to settle deep within his guts. It's not pain, this time, but rather that familiar emptiness- a hunger which his revival had only begun to slake- courtesy of a year long starvation his very essence had suffered. A soul-deep famine that twists his features into something that seems altogether foreign for the kensai - as though he were a butcher taking the measure of whether a ewe was fit for slaughter. And yet, as his feet find purchase upon the ground- some measure of himself still remains, forcing him to avert his eyes from those that remain and towards the laboratory door. He needed to leave. The crimson mist responds to that desire, congealing about the swordsman to form a grim mantle- perfect for his intended flight from that place. "Thank you." The words take effort to say, and even then- he's unsure if he truly means them. But there's no more time for regrets- all he's left with now, is the grim necessity that carries him to the door, and out into Valkrin everlasting night.

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RP:Until It Sleeps, We Must Push Through

The Black Spire

The Misshapen Fortress