RP: The Path Home, Promised

Part of the Welcome To The End of Eras Arc

Summary: Another Day, Another Clandestine meeting. That said, it's not long before Quintessa and Kasyrs conversation turns from enchantment, and towards the changelings' exile- and how they might fix it. Perhaps things aren't as broken as they once were between the pair- though, some grim portents yet remain.

Barren Land

Twisted branches make it almost impossible to stand. Gloomy-looking cypress trees surround you, covered in different parasitic vines and other plant life that is slowly killing them. Large, thorny plants have sprouted to the east and west, daring you to try and pass through their grasp. Waves of nearly unbearable heat pass through the area, and the humidity is horrible. To the south, he ground is dried and cracked, while to the north it rolls gently. There is no other way out.

Quintessa is at ease here in the twisted brambles and impassable branches. In the cypress trees and the choking vines, betwixt the thorns and the poisonous nettles. Quintessa found a nice clearing here and idly got to work, producing a small ritual circle of fist-size stones and fallen logs, lashing sticks together with vines still green to fashion tiny effigies to stand vigil around her little ring of rocks- Then the real work began. A piece of crimson chalk, as rich as freshly spilled blood, was produced to add tiny runes to the stones, letters to spell out a greater message- a request. A summoning. In the center of her circle, she places a mithril scalpel, the one that once pierced her flesh in a bout against Kasyr, and the spell circuit was complete. A low humming noise emanated from her ring of stones as magic took hold, patiently awaiting Quintessa’s will to guide it, to complete the ritual that had been started. “Agored.” The simple work snaps open a portal, one that reaches into nothing, the void. “Kasyr.” Now the spell reeled and searched for the Kensai, nostalgic connections probing the land of Vailkrin in the places her memories told it to. “Come to me. Please.” Wherever Kasyr was he’d likely hear her voice echo outward as the other side of the portal opened up for him like a door anywhere close by him, a threshold made only for him and him alone to cross. It beckons him gently without compulsion or invasion, showing Quintessa kneeling in the grass as she eagerly awaits an answer to her request. “We have things to discuss.”

Kasyr was, as ever, amid paperwork- the finer points of which currently entailed matters of an upcoming trial, pre-emptively clearing the paperwork for a potential house heir (and/or the redistribution of funds), foreign affairs for an unstable neighbour, as well as matters of state defence. And there was a journalist in a waiting room, who was currently turning one of his guest rooms into a smokehouse- given that the cloying cigar fumes had by this point escaped into the halls of the castle. This is why, even even though there could no doubt be wards set up around the portal that emerges within the midst of the hall, the swordsman thinks very little of heeding the words which ripple through the air, and echo along the corridors. And how out of place he looks, the fineries of office- black spider silk suit, and a silver and blue tie - in the midst of encroaching thorn, of a sunless grove, though the unpleasant heat makes certain that its presence is still felt. The changeling is regarded in the midst of all this, alongside her myriad preparations, before he finally intones, "Rise, madamoiselle. I can only imagine it's important, if a letter was eschewed. So, what fresh disaster has occurred."

Quintessa rises, her hands dusting off her knees as she does so, the hum of magic in the stones quieting to a dull whisper. “Letters are so old-fashioned.” She says in a deadpan jest. “Besides, this way gives me a chance to practice and show off to you a little.” She offers the man a half-smile, one that betrays the elevated sense of self-esteem that had been floating over her head ever since she helped rescue Mayor Valrae. “So many disasters, and most developed since the last time we spoke.” Quintessa approaches Kasyr, reaching out to intercept the giant orb-weaver that lowered herself down to perch upon his shoulder. The leggy arachnid settles for the changeling’s fingers instead, traversing across them as she turns her hands over endlessly to watch it. “I ought to start out with news of Enchantment. We found the dark fae district, however…” Mismatched eyes flicker away from the orb-weaver to meet Kasyr’s gaze, trying to gauge his reaction when she utters the words, “I do not think Rumiko is being allowed to leave the Unseelie encampment she infiltrated as my kinsmen. She’s not in any danger- least not when I gaze upon her through my looking glass, and she has not called for me to rescue her yet, but I have reason to believe the same magic hiding the encampment from others is also keeping them contained within. That’s why word isn’t getting out… I’m sure Lunalesca will have some justification for this… mass imprisonment, but I doubt the international community will feel the same about her reasoning for doing so if this gets out. In the meantime, Rumiko has not blown her cover and remains embedded. As things continue to develop on that front I’ll keep you informed.”

Kasyrs' expression quirks for a moment, amusement tempered by nostalgia, "I'm sure you'll have more opportunities to impress me, once we resolve some of these quandaries, en fait." It doesn't really falter one way or the other when Quintessa confirms that it's pertaining to trouble, the swordsman's pessimism having prepared him for that moment. Though, perhaps not for the confirmation of what they'd been investigating, "Merde." On some level, as much as he'd expected to relish the opportunity to inconvenience Lunalesca, to undermine her pretenses of a fair and just sovereign - the idea that the encampment was closer to imprisonment is far less palatable than he'd expected. "For someone that showed contempt for Larket, this seems comparable, and on a vastly broader scale. But then, glass houses, et all that." That Rumiko was not in danger, yet, was a cold comfort - but one all the same. "I appreciate it, if we need to extricate her, let moi know. I'd rather not have her- she shouldn't suffer for the errand I sent her on." There was more on the changelings' itinerary, the swordsman was already aware of that- but before she could start in on it, the swordsman figured he ought to share some of the city developments, "Incidentally, I know you expressed concerns about Khitti getting involved in that sort of errand. It's not a problem, anymore. She tendered her resignation, rather promptly -and made it clear she intended to pull the necromancers guild, et very likely every affiliated necromancer, out of Vailkrin." He's doing his best to keep his tone even, to keep the resentment, the ire out of his voice. "Spent several weeks avoiding me, never bothered to ask me a single question to the reason, to the veracity- et lumped me in the same boat as Macon. Before making it very clear that she couldn't give a singular damn if everyone in Vailkrin died, or it scuttled Trist'oths hopes, if it meant inconveniencing me, et especially Macon." And as much as he wants to lean on these bleaker emotions, to cling to something like a contemptuous disgust- there's something unpleasantly vulnerable, the sort of bitterness that only accompanies a profound hurt, " I should have known better than to try et trust them." The changeling offered a rueful smirk at this point, " But then, that es what tends to happen, when I make the mistake of involving others. Why I have so often worked alone. People's trust only extends so long as there's a problem to solve that concerns them. Self-interest es ever the rule of law."

Quintessa remains stoic, her anxiety well-guarded as they speak of Rumiko’s situation. In fact, the changeling was confident instead of anxious, putting trust in the nymph that was not oft afforded to many people. She had granted her the use of the name Blackwell, allowed her to use her crest for her unglamoured form and although it was only a deception, Quintessa still felt that sharp, protective urge to defend her supposed kinsmen from harm. “I promise, when the time comes to extract her you will be among the first to know.” When the subject changes to Khitti, the changeling can’t help but feel uncomfortable regarding the news, unsure what her future within the guild looked like while her loyalties still clung to Vailkrin. Even lacking tangible powers of empathy, Quintessa can still sense the profound feelings of pain these recent slews of betrayals have left him. “Aye, I’ve heard the whispered rumours of a… discussion you three had. Our former allies are distancing themselves… But this is by design, no? You’re protecting them.” There is a curious smile playing upon Quintessa’s black-painted lips now. She’s testing him, searching him for the truth of his self-sabotage. Searching for the reason he was either sending everyone away or offending them to the point of admonishment. “I must admit, the cost has been great but the gambit is paying off. In all this confusion about Vailkrin’s allegiances, it seems our enemies are now Larket’s enemies as well; I’ve gathered some stray reports of some of the undead affiliated with the rebels joining up with the Cenrili forces preparing for war. In an odd way the old wounds and prejudices are being mended as they focus on fighting against a common evil… Which begs a question, Your Grace. What shall I do regarding it? I am still under orders not to kill anyone, which I have obeyed faithfully, so getting involved directly seems impossible. I’d prefer to stay out of it and preserve my relationship with both King Macon and Mayor Valrae if that is possible. This conflict has nothing to do with me.”

Kasyr nods to the changeling, some small solace to be found in her assurances. While Rumiko's allegiance was nascent, she'd already thrown herself into the fray where others had faltered, or balked. She was owed his protection, more than most. That, at least, helps to keep his resolve together, as does the reminder of his actions, "To an extent. I'd avoided adopting Khitti as a vassal to house Azakhaer- the pretext of avoiding Nepotism, but more to ensure she was not bound by the contract I was. After all, she holds a high rank within the warriors guild- et it could hardly be helped were she to avail herself of any records or contracts that came in from Larket." While he could not order her to do anything, access to those resources to act should have sufficed. And then came the matter that ensued, "That said, communication hit a dead end, as I mentioned. And then, when I made a small attempt at temporarily freeing the guild from my control, so it could act independently- the correspondences pertaining to that were intercepted."No doubt destroyed. It was a headache, one that even now he strove to adapt to. "Regardless, I've at least ensured that no one else es going to be dragged into things with the undead, nor put between Larket et Cenril." If, or when, it comes apart at the seams- it would fall on him. "As for the conflict, it sounds like your course of action es already decided. Really, my only investment in that hatchet fight, would be to de-escalate the war machines of both cities." He'd already contacted someone on that front, though whether they arrived was another matter entirely, "Armies run on their stomaches- malnutrition et miserable morale can do a lot to wear down forces. Et a bit of caution can even make it seem like a natural occurrence." Quintessa's comment on the undead finally clicks for the swordsman, and his expression sharpens slightly, "While the redirection of their focus es beneficial- to say things are getting better - there's been incidences. Ones that are apt to hit the paper sooner than later, j'imagine."

Quintessa finds herself frowning just a little bit thinking about Khitti again, “I’ve been in the game long enough to know nepotism is the norm… Even so Khitti would never accept a contract from Larket. We aren’t bound by a strict hierarchy in the Warrior's Guild anyway- we have always been free to act as our conscience dictates and orders are seen as suggestions.” Her frown slowly fades away as her eyes flicker back to the spider that now crawled up her forearm. Quintessa holds it up higher, between Kasyr and herself as she parts her lips to continue speaking. “I’ll talk to her. Communication need not be completely cut off, though I know she has made up her mind. I cannot convince her of anything, but she is still my mother. She’ll listen to me.” The subject of the Cenril-Larketian War snaps her attention away from the spider once more, who finally manages to spin a long thread to repel down to the humming rocks below. “Well, I cannot be caught engaging in any sort of sabotage, if that’s what you are implying. My goals are a little more… constructive. I still owe Valrae a magical barrier, and I will help her build it. Larket, in the meantime, still enjoys a trade agreement with House Blackwell. Should King Macon require magical weapons or spider silk I have no reason not to supply them, especially given my destitute situation.” Involuntarily a spike of homesickness floods through her, forming a hard knot in her throat that causes her to stop speaking abruptly. Now the question lingered on her mind; How much longer would she have to remain exiled? How could she prove she’d learned her lesson? “Though it need not be so destitute…”

Kasyr expression looks amused for the briefest of moments, "Accepting it? Non. But there's a lot that can be done with the details of a request, including what targets are considered high priority, or even where forces are, when being asked to support something. Nor could the misuse of that information be- halted, were it to be taken up. As you said, the Warrior's guild isn't the strictest hierarchy" He shakes his head, his expression drained of the mischief that had creeped up. "But I would not trust her to ascertain the intention, at this juncture. Not after all this- nor to have the will to see it through, given her final statements." As Quintessa offers to serve as a go-between the swordsman can't help but sharply interject, "Don't. The last we spoke, she was more than keen to throw around what we had needed to do to stop Xicotl- laying the whole of the blame at my doorstep like it was anything but necessity. I would not put it past her to make things worse, at this juncture. The last thing I need es for the Warriors Guild to fracture about due to her. ...Much the same reason I've been maintaining my distance, en fait. My absence serves it better, than any guidance in this moment." And then things return to the matter of Cenril, and Larket. It was a dangerous game- to retain amicable relations with the two city-states, and if anyone tracked the changelings' activities- things could become problematic quickly. "The trial should be imminent. It's been held up by matters of a succession I'll need to trace out- et the papers." And there was now the matter of everything that the dead city needed. So many small problems adding up. "Anyways- Non, I'm not asking you to partake in any active bits of sabotage. That will fall on someone else, with much the same orders you have- to do no harm, beyond whatever means can be used to hamper supplies."

Quintessa finds herself shrugging at the prospect of leaked army locations and other such details that might be extracted from a Larketian contract. “Maybe so, but that would speak more on King Macon’s mishandling of sensitive information as opposed to any sort of corruption in our ranks. He should know better than to outsource anything like that to his former combatants, the Warrior's Guild. It was less than half a decade ago when Lionel led them to fight and die at the Battle of the Bridge. Macon should know better… and if he doesn’t it is not as if Larket is lacking for manpower; The curse of Vakmatharas’ Jar has provided ample fodder for the coming war. Hiring mercenaries would be redundant and costly.” Quintessa shrugs again, this time at his attempt to stop her from speaking to Khitti regarding anything related to Vailkrin. “Of course,” she sighs, as if she has picked up something very heavy. “But I’m still going to ask her opinion regarding the matter. I want to know what she’s thinking. I want to understand her position.” That was all the changeling wanted to add regarding her mother figure, instead preferring to focus on the matter of the Larketian-Cenrili War, though the subject of the trial causes her attention to flutter to that instead. “Yes, the trial, one long awaited… Is there anything I can do to expedite it? And what exactly will be my role there… I will be allowed back into the Kingdom for it, yes?” Quintessa adds, desperately clinging to any reason to return home, even for a little while.

Kasyr nods slightly at the changelings' assertion, "However, that was under Lionels' leadership, and when it was associated with Frostmaw. Rather than, me et what I represent." There might be a profound grimace there. "All the more reason to wait things out. What's more- it's not so much manpower that was the consideration. Currently, Larket could be considered just in this incident, at least in regards to how this has been precipitated. Maintaining a high ground, at least officially, could likely serve to stop other regions from interfering as heavily. Or to meddle with their efforts indirectly. Though, that would depend on just how rash his actions become. Et given Valrae es involved-" That might have provoked an awkward cough. " My only hope is that if the war becomes costly enough to both sides, it might lead to an armistice, however uneasy. Or at least mitigate what they might wreak if left unchecked." Though, obviously, as clandestinely as possible, so Vailkrin can retain the pretense of a neutral party. "I suppose the only thing left to expedite it, beyond the current paper, would be to contact that Nasarite you asked to be spared, to see if she'd be willing to testify. I'd ask myself, but, I feel doing so would put her in the uncomfortable position of feeling pressured to say whatever I please, rather than the truth. Or to simply disappear- whether it be an escape, or interference by another party." But that's not the answer Quintessa's looking for, and he's more than aware, "You'd be a witness in the matter, so your presence would be- well, it would less be a request, et more a mandate for as long as the trial proceeded- but I'm sure you wouldn't be contrary to that. And the resolution would certainly serve adequately to redirect some attention from you, et make a more official appointment far more palatable."

Quintessa gives Kasyr an expression that can only be described as uncertain. “Larket is technically in the right but… It doesn’t seem the international community agrees with this fact. Public support for Cenril is surprisingly high- some even are so bold to suggest that Cenril should have attacked Larket sooner. It’s simple, blind hatred and I’m not sure that Valrae’s involvement would have made a difference; People have been waiting for the spark to light this powder keg since Lionel’s Disgrace those several years ago. Khitti, Radlinde, Mathollak, Krice, Penelope… Everyone associated with the Warrior’s Guild hates Macon, save for the two of us. It’s really no surprise to me that things have grown so polarized. Maintaining our neutrality will prove difficult, but I expect none to blame us for not getting involved officially. Vailkrin is still recovering from our latest disaster, after all.” When the subject returns to the trial, Quintessa finds her back stiffening slightly when she thinks about reaching out to contact Blaire, not at all certain where she would even find the Nasarite. “Am I to assume she will be offered some sort of plea deal? I’ll search for her of course but any specifics would help me convince her to act in our favor. I am trying to spare her the same fate as the rest of her house. I would expect her to appreciate that fact.” Whatever feelings of mercy Quintessa had experienced the first time she asked for Blaire to be spared were distinctly absent, instead replaced by callous indifference. A much more potent emotion floods her senses however, when Kasyr mentions that Quintessa will be compelled to attend as a material witness. “Oh my,” she says, the corner of her mouth twisting up into a flirtatious smirk as she holds her arms up together, as if awaiting shackles to be clamped around her wrists. “I will submit to any mandate you give me, Your Grace. I am forever your loyal servant.”

Kasyr remains quiet during Quintessas' assertions about Larket, before he finally feels compelled to reply, "I think, in truth, Valrae makes all the difference. Macons' rage against her is deeply personal - which es part of why he's so immutable in regards to his reactions to her. Why he rises to every provocation, et extends them in turn. To the point that whatever hostility he holds towards witches, " There is definitely air quotes there, " es no doubt maintained by her presence. After all, you call yourself one- but he's more than amenable towards you. To the extent that, were you to offer something suitable, I feel you could even request what few witches he may have in custody. Perhaps pose it as 'rehabilitation, to be beholden to you, et exiled to Vailkrin under your care once restored. I imagine, short of those personally belonging to Valrae's group, you'd have decent odds. Especially were we to offer some of our own criminals, who would otherwise be slated for death. He's made his stance clear on returning individuals to Vakmatharas' embrace more than a few times." That was the extent of what the swordsman wanted to address on the matter, however- "Still recovering from one, et managing another. Whilst I'd avoided mentioning it as of yet- that newspaper article es in part to address the fact that they'd gone so far as to murder an entire construction crew, in their efforts to sabotage the restoration of the necropolis, while continually laying the blame that I've not done enough. The stories have been suppressed asofar, until we could properly gather details, and ascertain an adequate way to compensate the afflicted houses, et families- so all hell didn't break loose." But that was that, and this, "A plea, and whether she wanted to inherit that house, and all it's enemies with only herself to guard it et keep it aloft. I imagine, without any friends, she'll be more inclined to take the secondary offer- vassaldom to my house. You mentioned she was talented- et I've need of necromancers now more than ever." Especially if he was going to attempt to force a local replacement. Still, she hardly seemed interested, only truly perking up when the opportunity she was hoping for was finally laid out. "Eager as ever. But then, given everything that's occurred, I am appreciative for your dedicated enthusiasm." What was a careless extension of his hand shifts mid-motion to take hold of one of her wrists, to tug her forward. In that same motion, the arm was raised, shifted to turn her as though it were a dance, her caught arm then lowered to trap her close, "That said, you ought to to be careful about how freely you'd submit- I imagine you're keener to slake certain appetites of mine than others, but there always es the temptation to see you squirm." Just as quickly as it had begun, his hold on her releases- to bring an end to whatever brief moment of vulnerability that may have evoked.

Quintessa thinks for a moment and then nods her head in agreement. “Hmm, yes, you are probably right. Valrae was there at the start of this vendetta. Without her involved there is no retribution to be gained, no reason to fight a war against Larket. His prejudice against witches begins with her and ends with all those she calls allies it appears. Especially after the little fight Valrae and I had, I have indeed been content to allow the Rage King to believe whatever he wants to believe about me, though I’m hesitant to indulge his hospitality too much. It feels like a trap- a honeyed deception… Perhaps it's time to test it, especially now given that he will be looking for support. Extracting the ‘rehabilitated’ witches falls well within my plans, though I hope he does not ask for much in return.” When more news of Vailkrin and the murders of construction crews reaches her ears, the changeling shakes her head in disappointment. “Senselessness. Why must the rebels continue to fight against their own self-interest? Let us see how long they keep it up when the Black Witch returns to Vailkrin. Even bound by my promise to not to kill them, my presence can still be quite persuasive. At least you are halting the papers to look into their stories a bit closer. Letting them control the narrative is a dangerous prospect should you expect to maintain control.” Quintessa mentally notes the details of the bargain she was meant to offer Blaire but before she can think of a response she finds herself whisked away, brought closer to Kasyr in an intimate dance, one in which the changeling relaxes instinctively. She places a pale hand on his chest, a gasp caught in her throat, mismatched eyes gazing at him as she hangs on his every word. Then the moment passes. She gives the vampire a soft smile, a genuine smile, before she steps away, her fingertips lingering on his body up until the moment he is out of reach again. “Like a little worm on a big hook- Though I’d prefer not to be kept squirming… Or to get too distracted. Certain appetites will have to wait, unfortunately.”

Kasyrs' expression is wry as the changeling draws back, that brief interlude from all those miserable updates, "Oh, I imagine there will be plenty of distractions as it is, though, likely none so welcome." Still, there's something beneath that brief playful exchange, a hungry undercurrent that lies coiled in his guts - a dire reminder of his nature that has only intensified day by day, sharpened by each fresh complication. She smiles fondly, and his jaw briefly clenches, a reflexive effort to bury down that bleaker impulse - resting beneath the partial smile he offers in return, "You're correct, though. It would not do to leave you focused on a different chase." It helps to have the familiar refuge of words, that careful back and forth they'd refined for so long - "Did you have anything else you needed, Mademoiselle?"

Quintessa reflects the wryness in Kasrys’ expression in her own, a dangerous flash in her pointed grin that would betray her thoughts even if Kasyr’s powers of empathy didn’t already do that. How she longed to be his young student again, submerging herself in unstinted and unmeasured profusion, wasting her time idly frittering about Larewen Dragana’s mansion where her only concern in life was indulging in the distraction the Kensai welcomed. To hear him mention it was still welcomed, even in jest, made her heartbeat quicken in tempo, yet something holds her back. Mismatched eyes flicker upward, curious what angle Karasu might be watching from, if she is even watching at all. This particular betrayal, giving in to this specific temptation, was too much for even Quintessa to actually commit, but knowing it would be wrong made the changeling imagine it tasting even sweeter for it. “Gods preserve me.” She exhales in a husky whisper, letting the tension built up in her chest release unsatisfyingly. “I need a great deal many things, but I’m not certain you can provide them.” She holds out her left hand, turning her palm upward and drawing back the sleeve of her cloak to show Kasyr the scar that cut from hand to elbow. “I need to replace this.” Her index finger traces down it and back up, resting on her wrist where most of the pain resided. “The bones here are fused together- barely functional. My swordsmanship has suffered because of it. You don’t happen to have a spare arm laying around that I can use, do you?” Quintessa was clearly making a joke, but she was still curious to see if Kasyr had any good solutions to her problem.

Kasyr looks rather thoughtful at the changelings question, though he needs to resist the urge to lean back, due to the everpresent thicket that encircles them. "I've seen solutions, though not without their fair share of risks." Still, she was no stranger to risks- and the academic side of her would no doubt be fascinated by the various tactics which people had used to resolve this issues. "An undead I worked with once replaced a missing arm with a facsimile crafted from dragon bone. A display I've seen repeated by a number of necromancers et the like. While I'm certain there's risks involved- they do seem less grotesque than those associated with living substitutions." There's a pause, before the swordsman continues, "That said, There are options beyond replacement. One was crafted by a now missing member of house Azakhaer. Runic inscriptions on the bones to force a limb to work, et even push it past it's limits. Unfortunately, it was detrimental in the long term- which es part of why they sought the regeneration of a vampire, to grant some reprieve so the degradation would never become...terminal." Markos' absence had always been a curious thing. Amongst the first members to go missing, with no fanfare one way or the other. "Enchanting something with magic meant to fortify the body could be used similarly- to reinforce the limb et mitigate the damage. Adjusting your fighting style to compensate, et searching for the openings that a perceived weakness might create. But, that would be a last resort, j'pense." It seemed doubtful, at least currently, that she could abide her body failing her. "I'd say your best option, would possibly be to find someone to skillfully break it anew, et stitch together the tattered parts. I can't imagine it will be pleasant, et would no doubt require someone with a keen understanding of the mortal form- but." He shrugs there, "Really the only thing I'd caution against, es the sort of regeneration provided by vampirism, lycanthropy, or the ilk. Whilst exceptions have occurred- they mostly serve to create a... baseline, je suppose. A static point that the individual returns to." And even that had its limits, in certain cases.

Quintessa listens to Kasyr, nodding her head along slowly as her right hand bends and manipulates her wrist, wincing a tiny bit whenever it moves beyond the range of motion that she could typically achieve. “An undead, huh? It seems most of the solutions I’ve come across aren’t too dissimilar… Most require me to become undead in some form or another, yet I’m not ready to tread that path. So far I’ve been experimenting with transformation potions, allowing me to temporarily polymorph my arm into an undamaged variant, but it is very temporary. Mitigating the issues is well and good, but I want to eliminate this imperfection…” Her gaze narrows as she thinks, staring off into nothing as she idly rubs the pain away. “If that is to be my fate… Protoflesh is always a solution to negate the baseline issue.” Sapphire and Topaz eyes focus on Kasyr, studying him, not as a person but clinically, viewing him as a revenant vampire specimen simply part of some unspoken experiment. “Would you do it? If there is no other way, will you turn me? After I adjust to that new existence I could further evolve- Become an empusai. *Your* empusai. Such a creature sired by a vampire revenant…” She shakes her head, fearing the creation of such a being. “Should not be allowed.” She nods her head at Kasyr, finally finding herself agreeing with his final warning in the end. “Yes. I’ll have to find another way- But I’ll have you know, it isn’t just me who is seeking to shed my cocoon and leave behind my broken and shattered form; Karasu too seeks metamorphosis, and I fear a dark path lies ahead for her that I cannot steer her from.”

Kasyr shrugs a bit, "Undead, Carnomancy, a healer with a very flexible morality insofar as a willingness to harm their patient- and enough finesse to avoid making the situation worse. Because shattering things to fix it could tear up a fair amount. Rupture things that should be touched, and put an abrupt end to you." When she poises the hypothetical, existence as an empusai- he can't help but look perturbed, "Perhaps. In regards to proto-flesh- I do not know what it would do to your sense of self, who you are. I knew of one. Perhaps a second, were the rumours true - but they were already twisted to begin with. I could not tell you what would lie in wait for you along that path. The only thing I could warn, es that in and of itself, my bloodline- though potent, es a mire in and of itself. Even as a revenant, I'm an aberration, though I imagine you may have caught a glimpse of that when you returned me to what I was." And it would not restore her, by all accounts, simply conserve her- if he was able to properly turn her. When the conversation redirects to Karasu, the Kensai cannot help but frown, "Considering the routes we just discussed, I can only imagine what you would consider a dark path. ...Et I can only imagine the motivation, too- given what we last discussed." Disappointment. That's what's tinging his voice right now, "There was potential there. Something untapped that I briefly tried to ignite during the encounter with Xicotl. I can only imagine it will fall to the wayside before it ever really gets harnessed. Power often tends to lead to more sloven applications of might." A large part of why he so often strayed away from what he could muster as a revenant. "A monster. I do wonder if that's what she'll reduce herself to. What will be left of her, in the end." It's a tragedy, in a twisted sense of the word - a sentiment echoed in how bleak his voie sounds, "You know. I'd considered, at one point, that teaching you both would serve as a means of preparing for the day I lose myself. That I could impart the skills, the cleverness et perserverence to contend with that, et other problems. Much in the same way as Caluss was dealt with, en fait." Instead, "I can't imagine there will be a happy ending to this, for anyone involved. Least of all you, Mademoiselle."

Quintessa finds herself wrapping her arms around her body to comfort herself, an unshakeable dread lingering just at the edge of her peripherals. “I know. I know what it did Joliette Thorne and I fear what it might do to me too… but if it were you? Yes, I sensed your essence… Tasted it on my tongue, felt the harsh waves of necrotic energy sear my flesh. An aberration. Something I could never reduce to a mere calculation and yet…” She doesn’t finish. There’s no reason to continue flirting with an experiment that’ll likely never be performed. She instead finds herself frowning at the idea of Karasu becoming a monster, helpless to do anything but wonder what sort of monster she’ll become. “It’s my fault,” Quintessa laments, her voice sorrowful but firm. “She was good before she met me. She wanted to be a hero. Wanted to make her elders proud. Now all she does is dream of revenge and becoming strong enough to inflict it. Perhaps there will come a day you do lose yourself and she gets her chance to destroy you… In some strange way maybe you’ll both get what you desire.” But not what Quintessa desired. Her heart still yearned for unity between the three of them, yearned for her teenage fantasy of possessing them both. Greedy for their touch. Greedy for their love. She clings tightly to herself now, a lonesome sigh escaping her lips as she imagines her future without either of them someday. Her inevitable future. “I have contingencies for you both,” She admits, her voice shallow, “And some are worse than death, so I hope it does not come down to that. Hope, however, cannot stave away our unhappy ending. I understand in some way- in some horrible cosmic joke that it is my duty to learn from you with the specific purpose of destroying you, though I do not wish to shoulder this burden. Worse yet will be having to bring harm to Karasu should her thirst for destruction not be curbed to benefit Lithyrdel… My lot in all this will be unhappy indeed.”

Kasyrs' only reply to Quintessas' musing is a more final, "Only if it was a last resort. I know how much trouble would follow that decision- and every bit of responsibility I would bear." That very same sense of responsibility that so often weighed him down, alongside an unpleasant resignation that had him emphasize with her current position. He allows her the time to lay judgment against herself, to elaborate her sins as though she were penitent, and he, priest. Even at the admission of her own preparations, he does not breach the silence- until her words come full circle, and she once more underlines that terrible outcome. "She needs something more. And one beyond me. Because she'll either be left hollow et unrecognizable once her quest is over, dead, or consumed by a purpose denied." It's not an assertion. There's a conviction there, a certainty that comes from witnessing, from experiencing. "I do not expect it to be easy. Nor quick. But, so long as you lay claim to her- you should do everything you can to pull her back from the brink." Kasyr tries to deny the melancholy which threatens to seize him, his attention instead focusing upon a letter opener he procures from his pocket- a totem he can use to pick at that heavy hanging space, "You both ought to do better than me, rather than following in my footsteps."

Quintessa is silent as she thoughtfully considers all that was spoken between them, detached and disassociating from her tangled emotions, observing them from the outside instead of allowing the waves to consume her. “Aye, she needs something more.” There is a pain there now, the pain that she might not recognize her lover Karasu anymore, that she had changed so much in the last year that she might not even know her heart anymore. This whole time Quintessa had been careful not to influence her partner’s motivations and desires, believing that to honour her individuality and autonomy was most important to allow her to find her own way, but now she was starting to realize she had an obligation and responsibility to lead Karasu down a better path. “She’s mine. I have to take care of her.” It had never occurred to Quintessa before that a relationship was much more than two individuals working together, more than just a conjoining of efforts and resources. More than raw carnal desire and fierce passions that kept her up long into the night. There was something she was missing and it was her duty to develop it. “And if you find me following in your footsteps? Do not fret, I’m not intending to follow you… My own personal journey has just taken me down that route by coincidence.” Perhaps not entirely by coincidence, though Quintessa denies it, she still looked up to Kasyr and was subconsciously following his example.

Kasyrs' letter opener has started to catch in the seam of reality, and yet, he pauses as she speaks- his eyes flickering over her appraisingly. "It won't be easy, but if you can hold the course, you might be able to save her. Despite herself." Wasn't that always the way, though. It's on that note that the rift finally starts to open, the Kensai shearing a portal open with a casual downward motion, "Still, all of this has served as an adequate reminder that we've both a surplus of things to attend to. So, unless there's anything more we ought to discuss- a bien tot, je pense. Perhaps in better climes, and with better news." And lest there's anything else she has to say, he wholly intends on stepping away.

Quintessa watches the letter opener curiously as Kasyr uses it, but she doesn’t attempt to halt his departure even though she doesn’t want their time together to be over yet. “Indeed,” is all the changeling manages to add, letting the Kenasi step away as the rocks begin to hum a new spell song, one reacting to the magics causing the rift to form in the first place. “Oh…” She thinks of saying something in the last second, something less pressing and not at all important in the grand scheme of things. ”And when we get a chance? We should spar again sometime, just for old times' sake. No business. No politics. Just practice.” And with that said Quintessa would finally let him go, having already gobbled up as much time as she could.