[Location] Toherro's Dark Teachings and Prayers

[Minerva]

OOC: So sorry for the delay, and welcome back, Amber!

IC:

Urck and Amber

Their conversation, for what it was, went undisturbed at first. The presence lingering in the room remained hidden, veiled from sight as time continued to pass them by. A few more moments would elapse during which the group would be able to continue exchanging words, uninterrupted apart from the occasional growl or gurgle sounding from within the cloth-draped cage.

Then the surface of the pool of water moved. Or rather, something hidden beneath the surface of the water moved. Only subtle at first, it would have taken an incredibly keen and observant eye to even notice it initially, slight and inadvertent as it was. Gradually, however, and as slowly as a snake uncoiling itself from a particularly enticing length of bark, the ripples swell and grew in fervour, accompanied by a plethora of tiny bubbles which rode the water’s surface like a riptide. Slowly, ever so slowly, a dull grey manifestation of flesh began to reveal itself, its cheerless façade mottled with a series of lines belying scales. Large, cold eyes of an almost sickly white soon rose to join the fray, staring forwards lifelessly as the waters of the pool then broke to accommodate the remainder of the figure’s body.

Muscular and powerful, there was no denying this man’s strength, although he carried it with such an air of apathy that it seemed he did not even care. An extended fin ran from the figure’s eyes and back down along the spine of his back, resulting in an incredibly vague rendition of hair in tones of a darker grey. Without a doubt this creature was a mer, although he was hardly a stereotypical example of his race. The lower half of the male’s body remained concealed beneath the water’s surface, a grey scaled tail which would apparently remain hidden to them.

“So, I am to teach four of you at once?”

His voice was every bit as cold as his appearance, and laced with a hint of contempt that seemed only too natural. His gaze travelling between the various members of the group as he gouged them and judged their relative worths, the mer did not give any of them a chance to respond before speaking again, in what was only a slightly more colloquial tone of voice.

“I am Aribeal…if you are fortunate you will soon know me as Master and teacher. Firstly, however, perhaps you should begin by telling me of your reasons for wanting to learn this Art.”

With that his ashen gaze came to rest upon the form of the fae, the slightest of smiles lifting the corners of too-thin lips as he watched her, almost savouring her appearance before deeming to address her directly, rather than as a mere ‘member of the group.’

“You first, Amber. I’ve never had the pleasure of enlightening one of your kind before. It should be an…interesting experience, I’m sure.”

With that, the mer shot a brief glance towards the orc and humans, before allowing his attentions to fall onto Amber once more. Apparently, they would get their opportunity to speak soon enough. Indeed, as soon as the fae had finished giving her answer, Aribeal’s gaze would be drawn solely unto them, in silent anticipation of what words they had to offer him in turn.

[Amber Brightwing]

As she spoke her last words against the orc, she suddenly turned her head towards the pool. The magic she felt was growing stronger. The master must be approaching them. She peered into the darkness trying to catch a glimpse of who was coming near. Then she suddenly noticed something rising out of the water. Her wings stirred for a moment as she almost flew away, instinctively wanting to hide from the unknown creature appearing before her, even while she knew it was the master that was about to teach her. She had expected that he had hidden himself in the shadows, or maybe made himself invisible or so. But she could have never guessed he would come out of the water. And what was he anyway?

A mer.

Her voice was soft and hardly loud enough for anyone hear. It was a simple statement that she had been able to identify what he was. He had scales and he came out of the water, so he must be a mer. What else? She hadn’t learned about any other sentient being with those characteristics. Before she had come to this city, she had only met elves and humans. Now she had seen an orc, a mer, a halfling, some dracons… This city certainly was an interesting place.

After he had introduced himself Aribeal turned himself toward her. Apparently she would have to tell her reason for being here first. And you couldn’t blame the mer for being curious. How many fearies wanted to learn necromancy? Well, at least one. The question wasn’t that hard to answer. In the last few months she had been thinking about what skills she really needed and there had been little doubt about this.

Well, first of all. Many fae learn arcana. Not only we are generally good at it, but due to our statue it’s almost the only way of making ourselves useful or defending ourselves. And why necromancy? Well as a child I always thought about learning druidism, because of my love for nature. But lately I’ve been thinking more deeply about it, I came to the decision that it would hardly teach me something useful. Although I like the forest, taking care of it is not something I want to spend my whole life doing. I would much rather want to be capable of defending myself, so I can travel safely, and also knowing how to inflict pain and how to kill would come in handy when I would meet others of my race.

She grinned at the mer. A way to have revenge, was certainly one of the main reasons for choosing this sphere. She would need to be much, much more powerful if she ever wanted to make a chance on a decent revenge, but everything started small and this was going to be her first step in that direction. It might sound a little strange that someone who loved nature would choose for such a sphere, but why not? Predators killed as well. And storms, earthquakes and other disasters could wreck serious havoc. And she wasn’t going to use her powers against nature if she didn’t have to. Why would you destroy a tree that gave you the food you needed to survive?

And a more philosophical reason would be that it’s also a nice symbolical way of rejecting everything the faerie race stands for.

It was pretty clear she had hated her race pretty badly. And it would probably be something Urck found interesting.

[Urck]

Urck nodded as Amber replied, allowing a pleased smile to form across his thin features as he took in her next words. This was going even better then he thought, he had expected to have to somehow trick the fae into agreeing to help him but it seemed almost as though she actually wanted to. So what if he had to lie to get her to agree, it didn't really matter to him at all mainly because it was simply the quickest way to get what he wanted. It was not like he had completely lied, he may not exactly work for anybody but he was more then capable in getting someone the positions he had spoke of. He had nearly ruled Riparia at one point; he had powerful contacts in Imperia, and planned on soon making an impact in Vortex as well. "Excellent" he replied, finally turning around to look straight at the fae, manuscript still clutched between a pair of green fingers. "But be aware, I will not forget that offer." he said. He had every intention of sometime contacting the fae, someone with such natural skills could be quite useful to someone like him, the only thing that would stop him from doing it right away would be trying to find the right time to do it. It could be months before he decided to take the fae up on her offer, or it could be tomorrow, he really didn't know.

Suddenly his ears detected the sound of bubbles breaking upon the surface of water. Instinctively his gaze was drawn to the growling jar for that had been the only other source of noise in the room since they had entered besides the sounds of their conversation. Quickly though he caught the sight of the surfacing mer in the corner of his eyes and a different instinct kicked in, one of battle. His arms twitched closer to their respective weapons but his mind told them otherwise. Regaining his composure Urck reminded himself that it was important to remain calm here and properly assess this situation. How foolish he would have looked if he had drawn those weapons when the small fae near him did not do anything more then flutter her wings. Tough and brave orc indeed.

Urck turned his body so that he was now facing the intimidating creature, planting a feigned carefree smile upon his face and appearing completely at ease. He even went so far as to take a step towards the mer who he did not yet know for sure was the teacher to place the manuscript lightly upon the table. It was hard not to draw his blades when he was in the presence of something who appeared so powerful and awe inspiring, he knew if the creature attacked as some part of a cruel test put up by the strange inhabitants of the underground school every second would matter. But at that moment he felt as though he would simply have to trust the people who belonged to this place even though he had only really met two and had annoyed both. First, he would need to have the patience to see what would happen. That patience seemed to have paid off when instead of charging the unnerved orc the mer instead spoke words.

He opened his mouth to respond to the mer's first statement but found himself cut off as the master continued speaking without giving an option for response. A small scowl quickly crossed his face before being replaced by a blank look. He was not used to being spoken down to and not being able to do anything about it because he was not used to being around people who he believed could actually do anything to harm him. At least I'll be leaving shortly He thought, only half listening to what the man said to Amber. An eyebrow was raised at the end though when he heard the fae's last statement. Her choice of words had caught him slightly by surprise. It was not that he thought Amber dumb, it was simply that in the eras he had been alive he'd noticed that the percentage of people that could actually speak proper common was indeed rather low, even he after all his studying was far from an expert. Mix that with the small one's apparent hatred for her race and for Urck that was one very interesting little creature. Suddenly he desperately wished he knew another fae, or even had one as an enemy, checking Amber's sincerity about her desire to have revenge was something he was looking forward to testing very much. But before he could come up with any proper plan, he felt the gaze of the mer fall upon him and he realized that it was his time to speak.

"Three." Urck said, speaking wait he had meant to say before. "You will be training three, for I myself will not have the honor of joining you. I would however request that you speak with me privetly so that we may discuss something important to me." Urck said before the humans replied.

"Well," said Edmund, speaking up for the first time since they had entered the underground complex. "I want this so that I may more easily kill somebody before they kill me." He said, stating the simple blunt truth and finishing with a nod of his head. In other words he wanted to be able to defend himself but the warrior knew that was not entirely true. After all most of the time it would be him initiating the attack rather then using it only as a measure of self-defense. He doubted that this mer would be a quiet pacifist anyways so he saw little problems whit his answer, even though it had not been nearly as long or detailed as Amber's.

Then came Verkan's turn and a slight pause hung in the air as the man thought about the question longer then anyone else in the group. Why did he want to learn necromancy? How was it that a simple peasant who had spent more hours working the dirt then fighting or training could turn into a necromancer anyway? After a short while, the man had his answer. "Why do I want to learn the art? I want to learn it simply because I do not already. I have seen so many fighters fighting with longswords to match my own and so many more sorcerers. I want something different, something to bring the excitement to me rather then me having to hunt for it. That is why I want to learn the art."

[Minerva]

Urck and Amber

After Amber had explained her reasons, she would find herself sharing a grin with the mer. Hate was such a beautiful thing, truly, and a good enough focus for one’s power, one’s drive. Whilst Aribeal could not profess to being a fan of druidism himself, bias alone led him to believe that his sphere was far superior to any other. Those in disagreement usually found themselves on the receiving end of an Acid Blast spell.

“Good…Keep your reasons for being here in mind, remember them well, and they shall provide you with the strength and drive you need to gain power.”

Whilst it did not strike him as particularly strange or shocking that Amber wished death on those of her own kind, it did interest him; greatly. Aribeal’s acquaintances were already few to start off with, but he had known a few of the fae race in his lifetime, and not one of them had been possessive of a soul and spirit quite like this one’s. Fascinating, certainly, although perhaps such a description was a rather substantial understatement considering the fact that Amber was very likely one of kind.

Nodding towards the fairy in acceptance of his words, the mer then turned his attentions unto the three men, expecting to hear of their reasons for being here next. Not receiving anything of the sort from Urck, however, drove a nail of mottled perplexity into the necromancer’s mind, although the initial surprise only lasted but a second before choosing to wear off.

“Very well. Then I shall have but three students to contend with instead.”

With that, the mer turned the line of his gaze unto Edmund, and smiled a wicked smile as the man’s reasons for wanting to learn necromancy were divulged. Simple, blunt, and to the point, although not without a charm of its own. Whilst Verkan’s response to the initial query was not nearly half as straightforward, it was still a good enough reason in Aribeal’s insipid eyes. In fact, there were not a great many incentives for learning that the mer would not have accepted.

“Both are admirable enough reasons. Necromancy is the art of death, and will provide you with a means of becoming a more efficient killer. Likewise, I’m sure the Art will bring you the excitement you so desire.”

Pausing for a moment then, the mer then dragged his gaze from person to person, before finally addressing the group as a whole, with the exclusion of Urck, of course, who had already stated that he would not be joining in with their lessons beforehand.

“Usually I would set a task for you to perform before beginning your tutoring…In this case, however, it might prove to make the task a part of the teaching itself.” His smile widened at that point, although the gesture itself was devoid of any sense of amity or care. More than that, it hinted at a pleasure far removed from anything even remotely enjoyable or congenial in nature. Well, not for the students, at least. “You, orc.” The mer then spoke to Urck, the word ‘orc’ not being intoned as disrespectful, but because Aribeal could apparently not bother to come up with any alternative means of address for him. “Will what you have to discuss with me take long? If not then perhaps we can talk now, before I begin teaching the others. They can wait outside the room until you are finished.”

He stopped there, still looking to Urck as he awaited the orc’s response to his words.

[Amber Brightwing]

It was good to see that the mer approved her choice. He even grinned back at her when she mentioned her desires for a fae genocide.

She was quit surprised at the orcs words. She had actually expected the orc to be the only one to take up training. The two humans had looked like simple body guards. But of course, those had to be trained as well. She did find it a little odd that the two would train in the same sphere. If it would have been her choice, she would have preferred different spheres. Necromancy combined with mysticism, sorcery, elementalism or even thaumaturgy looked much more effective to her. All had there different qualities, and their different weaknesses. Aribeal might consider necromancy to be superior, but she found that every sphere had his advantages. Sure druidism was pretty worthless when it came to fighting, that’s why she hadn’t chosen it, but it had other non-combat related qualities. It was all a matter of what you needed. A gardener or a killer.

As he mentioned the task they would have to fulfil she saw his smile widening. It seemed to have something cruel in it. She wondered if he always smiled that way, or just because he was thinking about the task that was laid before them. In case it was the second, it didn’t predict much good. But what else could be expected of those who’s work was death?

[Dragon]

The Month of Kalendryas in the Season of Autumn,
of Era II of the Celestine Mandate (Current Pattern)
Era XI Post Fractum in the Age of the Darkening, the Mageocracy of Julos the Mad.
Paradigm Shift: The Feeble Pox is cured.

Autumn. A time of change and death. Leaves changed their colours from greens to all kinds of browns. Everything died slowly. Or fast actually for this season had a very strong autumn which lasted for just a month. A season of change and while the change was going to be hard to notice in this particular place it still happened. The hude door. The huge door which stood in the back of the hall. That door opened. Not the bottom, small one, but the whole huge door opened. Slowly. Powerfully. Arcanically. The air in the hall was filled with decay, oldness and death. What was behind it almost no one could see for there was almost unnatural darkness there.

And then an elf walked out from there. An elf that radiated such power and such cold that was hard to endure even if standing metres from him. He had black long hair, falling almost to the floor. Perhaps an ich above it. He wore a dark blue robe, warm, thick and truly well made. His face was pale, a strong contrast to the black hair. His hands were covered by the cloak that hid his entire lithe, pale and thin form. Something, very dead and very powerful had walked out of the depths of the School. Everyone watched the form mesmerized, unable to speak, to walk, finding it hard to even breathe. And then the form was gone. As if it faded into the mist that was not there before.

The huge door closed. Again just as silently and just as quietly. A spell that made everyone forget of what they just saw was placed on everyone by the master of mysticism. Almost everyone. There always there those that were overlooked by an accident. The dragonlich had just left the school. However the school resumed on working just like it did before. No change was visible, no change was known. Only the masters knew what had happened. The dragonlich had just went into a second move...

[Minerva]

Urck and Amber

OOC: It’s been a couple of weeks now, so I’m going to split you two up so no one has to wait on anyone else anymore. Amber, I’ve made a new thread for you here, where we can kick off your training. Urck, when you post a response in here I’ll set up a separate thread for you as well. (:

[Valanthas Quesada]

The vampire descended into the bowels beneath. The incline was not so severe nor the lack of light so disconcerting that Valanthas would be forced to concentrate on his footing. They were after all, just another set of dimly-lit stairs. How many such declensions had the immortal endured? He relished in the darkness found between the candles. Their glum shimmer did little for the mortal eye, he decided. He absently dragged his thin nails across the stone walls as he continued downward. The result was a high-pitched screech, jarring and disarming to the ear. He smiled.

At the base of the stair, his indifference faded. Shock and wonder now came to his preternatural countenance. This display of emotion was, of course, hidden by the depths of his cowl. He stared, wide-eyed, at the darkness where the ceiling should have been. He pondered how high it could be, and looking back at the staircase: how far he had descended. Judging from the mottled group of mortals issuing themselves about the main hall – he had come far. Never before in his necromantic training had he encountered such a group. The cultists were highly organized and must have consisted of a much larger group than he could have first imagined.

His thoughts fluttered about on a cloud, from one to the next. Questions arose to plague him only to be replaced moments later. However, nothing could have prepared him for what he was to lay his immortal eyes upon. At first cursory glance, he had missed the inscriptions on the high stone walls. He would have cursed his lack of concentration and observation were it not for his rapt fascination. The vampire followed their strange runes over and over again, trying in vain to make sense of the confusion. For over a candlemark, he scanned the cryptic scenes before him. If his strange behavior drew glances from the cultists, he did not notice. Returning to what he had decided was the beginning for yet another attempt at translation he was struck with the need to touch the paintings. He was drawing nearer to stroke an inlaid rune when he was interrupted.

”Your name, weakling,” came a voice with an elvish accent.

This greeting did not even warrant a response from Valanthas had he been listening. As it were, he was not. Enraptured with the stories upon the walls – he ignored Spirotyn. The light elf’s cold look and bitter tone were for naught, for they fell upon blind eyes and deaf ears.

[Mevius]

After a long, spiraling walk down the vampire finally found himself standing in the main hall of Toherro's cult. His behaviour did not cause awkward stares from the other cultist. Many of them too had found themselves mystified by the frescos and inscriptions on the walls when they first entered this hall. Almost all of them knew to mind their business.

Except Spirotyn, that is, although it was his business to check new entrants. Valanthas was right to ignore him, the scenes around him far more impressing than the light elf could even dream of being. The mortal even more words, of which the meaning did not even protrude the vampire's mind. He was not stopped though, and could freely walk around the great hall and view the paintings.

Most were age old, picturing Jorel as he was cast down from Aetheria by the pompous Ioanness. The birth of the Cyrexians. A Cyrexian prince eating the heart of a just slain Allerian. Anteldiluvian, the first vampire. Wars, many old wars and blood which red ink was almost gone.

Other frescos were newer. The rape of the Whore, pictures of old heroes such as Lilienne. A dracolich which attacked a grand skyship in the Battle of Vortex. A magnificent piece showed two dracolichs facing eachother. There was even a painting still slightly wet. It portraited the headmistress Laroa of the old necromancy acadamy. And there was still more. Cycles, months could easily be spent within this hall and one would still find new details every tick of the clock.

[Valanthas Quesada]

[OOC: I'm going to take a small liberty here, being that Valanthas has been to Vortex quite a few times in the past years. Please let me know if I've gone too far Mev.]

Viewing the ancient paintings brought him great delight. Their faded lacquer and cobbled color brought to him warmth and a sense of longing. He wanted to capture every detail of their creation. The stories behind them he could only guess. Though he had spent an eternity in the pursuit of mortal observation; history was not his strongest subject. Beyond the exile of Jorel and his minions, the vampire knew little. He gleaned what little he could from the brilliant works, yet without the assistance of an interpreter – he was at a loss. Valanthas made a solemn vow to pursue such support when his training was complete.

The more recent works seemed to leave the vampire stale. He paid them little attention save a few passing glances. These frescoes had little to offer him. He had lived through and could vividly recall the majority of events depicted thereon. In many instances, his own recollection did far more justice than the gaudy and garish brush-strokes of the modern-day masters.

As he quickly perused the contemporary works, he did stop in the section which was obviously painted during the reign of Empress Alyssa Chrysinaria. He could date the pieces due to the central characters depicted within the works. Two characters were repeated throughout this time. Some of the younger cultists may have only heard of them from legend; still others may have never heard their names spoken aloud. Valanthas knew them well. Depicted before him in deep hues of sedate color were the images of Lady Fire Mystia and Wessex De Evile. The piece which fascinated him explicitly portrayed the two archmagi each calling forth a powerful Anti-archonic daemon. The artist had spent considerable time in expressing the powerful force of will which was required to keep the daemons under control. Were the story to continue – it would have illustrated the failure of that will. The creatures had turned upon their masters, as Valanthas recalled. It had taken the loss of many mortal lives to subdue them.

The vampire cast these thoughts aside. They disturbed and angered him. The candlemark was approaching brightening. He had allowed himself to be caught up in the paintings. Even without any external cues, he instinctually knew that his time was limited. He would have to resume his wandering appreciation at a later time. Valanthas looked away from the wall for the first time all evening and shrewdly scanned the hall for Spirotyn. Finding him across the passage, the immortal quickly and gracefully strode to the light elf’s side.

“I am Valanthas Quesada,” he began softly. “My former master was of the Archmage Gregor of Vortex. I seek admittance into Toherro’s Dark Teachings and the opportunity to train with the most brilliant minds in the Empire.”

[Mevius]

OOC: By all means, that sort of was my intent=)

IC: Even as the newer works were painted in much the same style as the older ones, they still did not catch the vampire's heart. Certain things could probably only be appreciated after a century or so. Now they were new, later they would become a memory, then a legend, a myth... and eventually, everything would be forgotten, and a new painting would cover the old and barely visible picture. Such was the eternal cycle.

Wessex was ofcourse not lacking from the score of legendary character along the walls. A powerful necromancer himself, he had done much for the necromantic community of the Empire and especially that of Vortex. If it were not for his existance, the Church of Faith would have exterminated all signs of necromancy long ago. It could be safely said that the current tide was in favor of the dark arts, with the tolerant policies of Archprelate Sarrista. No major prosecution, no crusades. Necromancer historians would look favourably on her in the future.

Lady Fire de Mystia was ofcourse a whole different type of being. Still, the masters had been glad for her reign for it diverted the attention from their practices to her brute designs. As for the Anti-Archons, well, that was just unfortunate and showed how arrogant both had been. Interplanar awareness, the ability to master more than one sphere of arcana; it still did not beat specialistion in one single sphere in it's pure form.

As Valanthas cast his thoughts aside and returned to the receptionist, the lightborn stood waiting for him with a mocking smile. "Ah, so the weakling can speak." If the young elf even knew who archmage Gregor had been, he was not impressed. "Oh yeah? And why do you think you have what it takes to be a Toherran?"

[Valanthas Quesada]

How clichéd, the vampire thought. He had expected such a response. It must be standard reception protocol to pose vague and hackneyed challenges. The immortal sighed a little, choked back the bile rising in his stomach and did his best to mimic a menacing grin. He did so quite convincingly despite his relative distaste.

“For I am the most evil being in all of the land,” he began sarcastically. “My name is whispered in low tones. I hath murdered babes in their peaceful slumber. Dark magiks I hath conjured to lay the land infertile and bring blight on the crops of the common farmer,” he continued derisively, laughing to himself. “Whole villages I hath burned in the night, only to return to defecate upon the ashes. Men, women, children, animals – all I hath abused, tortured, killed and eaten. Why, just before thou didst approach I had frightened a bovine and thus soured her milk for brightenings,” he said, unable to control his smile.

He shook his head, chuckling. It was far too mortal in appearance.

“No, my friend,” he said through pursed lips. “I am no such creature. However, I am a humble servant of Jorel and follower of his teachings. I hath passed the tests long long ago and was unbound. Dost thou even know what it means to be unbound, my young friend? If thou dost think Jorelites and Necromancers are persecuted in this age, thou shouldst reread thine histories. In the past age, just to be unbound in the sphere of necromancy was punishable by a tortuous death. We were hunted like wolves, lightborn. Many suffered and died at the hands of the Prelatine and akin to them,” he said, the smile fading from his lips. “I cannot promise that I wilst be the most loyal and forthcoming cultist. I will, however, follow the instruction and guidance of my master to the best of my ability. This I vow.”

[Mevius]

A few first level toherrans who had overheard Valanthas sarcastic words giggled softly as Spirotyn was being made a fool off. The initiates often suffered from under the lightborns sadistic temper. It was nice to see their bully being bullied for once. Spirotyn's face grew red and he opened his mouth to unleash a stream of words countering those of Valanthas. However, someone was approaching, someone with authority, for when the lightborn spotted the approaching black robe he closed his mouth. A smile of satisfaction now sired his pale face, as he expected this nuisance would be taken of his hands. But, he was wrong.

"Thank you for recieving another new student, Spirotyn." A strong voice came from under the hood of the dark cloaked being. "Ohh and an interesting one at that." There were a few moments of silence, in which Valanthas had the feeling he was subject to close scrutinization. "Follow me." The figure boomed, and he walked towards the end of the hall, expecting the vampire to follow him. Spirotyn was left with a face red of anger, which caused the initiates to disperse swiftly.

The master opened a wooden door at the end of the hall. When he entered, he threw off his robes, revealing the muscled body of a dark skinned mer. The room was spacious, but sparsely filled. A large wooden desk, filled with scattered books and odd necromancy... things, stood at the left of the room. Two simple chairs stood before it. To the right, a large container held secrets Valanthas could only guess at. In the middle of the room, there was a pool with dark water, the natural habitat of the mer. The naked mer turned to his prospective student. "Welcome mister Quesada, to our humble location. I am master Aribeal."

The master necromancer paused, intrigued by the nature of the being standing before, which he was well able to identify. "It has been long since I have met one of your kind. I find it interesting that one such as you, a being of grace and subteness, would seek to gain more proficiency with the rather crude instrument of arcana. Enlighten me." That was an order.

[Valanthas Quesada]

Someone was approaching. Preternatural instinct, cold calculating predation and a century of mortal observation were not required to read Spirotyn’s smile of satisfaction. The light elf displayed the smug expression of a schoolchild awaiting the scathing words of reprimand aimed at an errant peer. The vampire felt a presence over his shoulder and prepared himself to face a new challenge. Words of magic flared in his mind momentarily - only to be dismissed. He had forgotten his current setting. His feeble trappings of arcane would do him no good here. In the presence of dark masters so far beyond him, he could only wait.

The figure’s voice surprised him. It was not with the loathing, scarred and bitter rasp of his previous masters. This was not the tone of one whom was despairing, even devoid of life. No. The man’s voice was strong, deep and thick. There was a trace of an accent that Valanthas could not place. It fascinated and intoxicated him. The immortal had paced the length and breadth of the Empire many times. He had encountered beings ranging from divine benevolence to painfully nondescript to those born of atrocities too hideous to name. His journeys had taken him all the way to the dread river Umblat within the infernal depths of Aeternia. Yet, he could not place the accent. The inflection was unknown to him.

Valanthas followed the figure to the end of the hall. During this time he remained a few paces behind, his own eyes scrutinizing the man whom had only just finished observing him. The strange mystery of the being’s origins weighed heavily on him. He cocked his head from side to side, his thin lips pursed and eyes narrowed.

Closing the wooden door as he entered, the vampire was immediately struck by the thick and alkaline scent of magic. It filled his nose and entered his lungs in deep draughts. The power he felt was inescapable and all-consuming. He had little time to adjust to the swift change in arcane current before the figure disrobed. Like the tumblers of a lock, the puzzle of the man’s accent fell quickly into place. The strong articulation and mysterious intonation belonged to that of a mer; a race of beings that Valanthas admittedly had not encountered on this plane or the next. As quickly as he had made the connection, a myriad of questions flooded his mind. There was no time to voice these inquiries however, as he was soon being interrogated himself.

“Serale, master Aribeal,” the vampire said in response to the mer’s greeting. “May I?” he asked, addressing one of the chairs before the desk. He moved in their direction and sat with a languid and feline-like sanguinity. Smiling, he repressed his own aching desire for more information while Aribeal posed his query. For long moments the immortal paused, a thin smile playing on his seductively pale lips. When he finally spoke, his tone was equal parts saccharine and arsenic. “I am no assassin, master. I have heard, however, that a dagger is considered crude when compared to the quick and irreversible effects of a toxin. The poison is deadly, yes. Yet in times when venom cannot be issued or is not near at hand – the thin bite of the blade is equally so,” he said, his eyes looking over the nude form of Aribeal curiously. Leaning forward, he continued. “Furthermore it is my belief that the combination of keen edge and bitter bane would yield twofold the result. Dost thou not agree?” he asked softly.