Facing Demons & Taking Chances (Faust pls)

[Viskyia Crow]

She was having a surprisingly good time, and found herself saying more than she should have... but warning bells in her mind didn't go off as they normally would have, warning her to cease the discourse, and remain quiet. Not at all. "Kyia please... or Viskyia if you can't stand shorting things..." She said pleasantly. If he wasn't going to require her to use his many honoraries, then she certainly wasn't going to let him get away with calling her Miss Crow. When the subject of the house's previous owner came up and she watched the play of emotions carefully exposed then schooled off his face. Evidently all about the man wasn't pleasant, because he was glad of the subject change. If she ever got to know him better, she'd ask him later... perhaps when he was more comfortable if it ever became any of her business.

"I'd feel very uncomfortable...." She started out, paused, then continued. "Living in a house I wasn't fully sure of where all the passages went to and who might be lurking behind the walls." She said softly, knowing exactly what she was talking about. "The Gha'Nalis Estate is like that... a rats maze behind the walls. No secret was safe and there was no privacy. I'd feel like that here unless I'd explored every inch." She said, meeting his gaze as they continued down the stairway. Once upon the first floor of the library she sat down on a lovely velvet couch tucking one leg under her as Faust touched book spines and roamed. After a moment, she thought about his question and slipped a solid gold ring off her finger. It had initials on it. BC, TC, VC.... "This was given to me by my adopted father. It tells a story in metal, thought no one but a jeweler perhaps would see it. There's three types of gold in this ring, and its ill blended so a jeweler can see that the color matches imperfectly. Titus did it on purpose to remind us that three is often stronger than one." She said, holding out the ring for Faust to examine. "The initials stand for... Daedils Crow, Titusarov Crow and finally Viskyia Crow. Daedils was a monk of the White Crane School and a jeweler. He adopted Titus after he escaped the dark elf city beneath Nexus Prime.. taught him to Jewel Craft... and Titus adopted me, and polished off the skills I already had. It's a leggacy of sorts. We all all martial artists, though Daedils was something of a poet, and Titus was a warrior of Aslan. I haven't yet found my pathway... I need to do things first before that I think... but Titus was amazing. He was the kindest man I've ever known. I didn't know he knew I was a slave... he took me in, let me sleep under his forge rather than on the street in the winter... he taught me how to trust people and how to listen to them. He gave me room to grow and let me walk my own path. He took me to Arium to fight a war there to expose me to violence, and threw me knee deep in Guild politics in Nexus so I knew how cruel people could be openly. There was no finer man... he's died three times, and each time he's come back... his death being a gross exaggeration, but I haven't heard from him in almost a year. I think the Wolves of Jorel finally took him down." She said softly, worried but knowing there was nothing she could do to change Titus' path. She rose then, joining him to retrieve her ring.

"You are wrong if you think I could forget you." She smiled slightly. "Obsidianite doesn't do your skin justice.. it's too flat and monochromatic, and Hemite is more appropriate for your hair in the dark, and silver in the sunlight. You're race is really beautiful." She laughed abruptly. "Handsome... I suppose its an insult to call a man beautiful, no? I'm not flirting, mind you... It's just an artists opinion." Viskyia said softly, laughing slightly. Heaven forbid he think she was flirting. She wanted to tell him she'd only seen his race across from crossed swords but then she'd have to explain the Arium war and all the nasties that went with it.

Her hands followed his, tracing spines and looking at texts. She'd never take a book home... not in a million eras. Books were precious and deserved to be in collections like this, but she thanked him none the same... "Thank you." Viskyia's eyes widened when he claimed to know an Aelyrian. "Really, you know an Aelyrian? I thought they were just... well myths long gone into the past... and no... I don't know the name. I'm sorry.. I don't travel much and am not that well versed in anything other than.. well .. gems." She blushed deep, embarrassed. There were truly a great many things Viskyia was ignorant of. She was learning, but slowly... trying to correct the highly stylized specialized education she'd received growing up. Her education was especially lacking in politics and religion, and she was acutely aware of it. But she said nothing, not wishing to look bad in his eyes.

"I think there are a lot of people like that... competitive and needing motivation. I'm exactly the opposite. I can entertain myself alone for hours just studying something I want to learn about. I don't do really well in complex social situations." She admitted, then glanced around. His offer was amazing, and she could spend a whole era in here and not see all the books that were available. "I might take you up on that... books such as these should be read... thats why they were written." There had to be texts in here that hadn't seen the light of day in ages... perhaps things even libraries didn't have. She'd be curious to explore... very curious indeed. But not now... it wasn't the proper time.

[Faust D'Rinishad]

The dark elf winced noticeably as Viskyia corrected him, obviously ashamed that he’d erred again with formalities. Having been raised in a traditional Vysstichi household, genteelness was embedded in every aspect of his life. The slightest mishap could result in a stinging slap, or worse, even death. Faust knew of several Matron Mothers renowned for their brutality, the likes of which they oftentimes sublimated through beating on lesser Vysstichi males. “I’m sorry about that, Kyia. It’s just one of those habits that I’ll always have a hard time breaking. It won’t happen again, though, I promise.” Nodding assuredly, the Vysstichi Lord continued to listen as Viskyia expressed her concerns about living in a household foreign to her.

As Faust considered the pragmatism of her statement, he realized that her alarm was something that he’d never entertained before. Overconfidence wasn’t the culprit; apathy was. The Prince of Har’oloth simply didn’t come here. It reminded him too much of his past, one wrought of bloodshed and constant death. When he came here he saw his mother, the former Matron of House Kitrye’veresi, not because she had lived here, but because the one who’d claimed her life had. And thus the dark elf’s curiosity peaked when he realized that he hadn’t been hesitant in bringing Viskyia here. For whatever reason, traveling through the mansion with her did not evoke those same horrible memories; it created new, better ones.

“We’ll have to explore every inch then,” Faust said, chuckling lightheartedly, “The mansion is large, but it can’t be that large.” He nodded grimly as he paid attention to the details of the slave master’s estate, a realm that both of them would soon be visiting. It occurred to the dark elf that Viskyia’s information might prove helpful later on, especially if the Esh’lahier Necromancer’s attitude was not conducive to negotiation. Although the Prince of Har’oloth didn’t vocalize it, the prospect of conflict was indeed very real to him. Vysstichi and Esh’lahier simply didn’t get along.

Accepting the ring and handling it like a newborn baby, the dark elf’s crimson eyes roamed its golden surface and the chiseled initials upon it. Viskyia’s tale was remarkable, and the dark elf found himself fixated by the legacy behind each successive carrier of the ring. “I’m sure he was a great man,” Faust agreed. Despite not knowing Titus personally, the fact that he’d raised such a tremendous daughter likely reflected upon his own character as well. “It’s amazing, isn’t it, how a simple act of kindness can go such a long way. People tend to underestimate the power of compassion, considering it weak and unnecessary. It really is too bad.” Shaking his head, Faust carefully handed the ring back to Viskyia, “But I too shall pray for your father’s safety. I’ve no doubt that he is a good man…”

Sighing, the Vysstichi Lord stole a quick, absentminded glance to the domed ceiling. He thought of Fidelis momentarily and the wicked path that the Dark Knight had chosen to walk. Faust was only vaguely familiar with the ones known as the Wolves of Jorel, but he was positive that the human was affiliated with them. Saddened by the notion of his friend’s dismal future, the Vysstichi turned his gaze back to Viskyia as she spoke, his smile shortly reigniting along his features. “I’m flattered that you’ll remember me, but I am absolutely horrified to admit that I don’t know what either of those materials are, or some of your definitions for that matter too.” Faust grinned embarrassedly, eventually breaking into a fit of laughter as she attached the adjective ‘beautiful’ to the Vysstichi race. “Trust me, you’ll have no argument from me settling for simply handsome. I guess I do get that a lot.” Winking sheepishly because of his playful lie, the dark elf could not contain his guffaw any longer. He hadn’t had fun like this in patterns.

“There’s no need to apologize by the way,” he reassured as she confessed that she wasn’t familiar with Aerienne Sarista, “I had thought the very same until I met the Archprelatess herself. She’s a wonderful woman, absolutely wonderful. I’ll never forget her because, despite not knowing me, she deliberately reorganized her schedule to give me counsel and aid in one of the darkest times of my life. From that day forward my opinion of the Church changed forever. There was a time when I thought them all to be hypocrites, but Aerienne dispelled my suspicions the day I met her. I hope you don’t mind me asking, but I’m curious to know if there’s a deity that you personally follow?”

Upon receiving the woman’s answer, the dark elf’s silvery brows mended amusedly, “So you enjoy solitude then? That’s interesting. I too like to get away at times, not when I’m reading, but in general I prefer isolating myself from society on occasion. Some call it escapism, but I believe it more to be common sense. The world is full of too many distractions, most of which aren’t edifying. As a martial artist I assume that you enjoy those times when it’s only you and your mind together.” The dark elf’s smile widened knowingly, “And speaking of martial arts…I believe that you and I have a friendly duel scheduled…”

[Viskyia Crow]

He was complex. Her gentle chastisement about her name affected him more than any of her teasing had. She noted it carefully and made reminded herself internally not to correct him if at all possible. He seemed... somehow sensitive to it without really appearing to be so. Viskyia wasn't aware of Vysstichi culture, her education had gone other routes, though she'd make a point to brush herself up on it before too much longer if at all possible. There was no way to know Faust came from a female dominated society nor that his youth was ruled by Matron's that wouldn't have minded his death nor even made more than a fuss over someone cleaning up the mess. Her life had been totally opposite in every extreme.

"Aye, every inch then... even behind the walls." She affirmed, carefully eyeing the library. She doubted it held such mysteries beings that it was built into the side of the house, spanned two levels, and had outside windows and the dome. It was more likely the servants stairs and runs went up the internal walls from bedrooms to studies from kitchens to workrooms and on down to quarters either in the basement or up to ones in the eves. The half-esh quietly explained this to Faust, then smiled and professed... "From the basement or from the attic will be the easiest way to find the entrances unless your fearsome cook is already aware of them leading off his kitchen, which wouldn't surprise me one bit." She added.

"Don't worry, Faust. No one knows much about my work. It's quite alright. I'm used to not discussing it at all. It would be like me trying to listen to a weaver describe her craft... or a tanner on how to tan hides. I'd probably be lost a tenth of a candlemark into the conversation. Only I suspect the difference is, I wouldn't admit it. You're a far better person than I am. I'd just stand and nod." She confessed with a slight laugh. Then she carefully began to check the doors at the bottom of the library, first two small side ones and a larger double set to see where they lead. "If we don't get out of here soon, I'm going to settle on one of those couches and then you will play havoc trying to get my nose out of a book." She claimed, leading him onward. The course she picked was out through the double doors and into the main part of the house which she assumed he knew of.

She wanted to ask him about the darkest time of his life.... what it was like. But she wasn't sure if it was appropriate or if he'd welcome her questions. "I'm glad she helped you, Faust. It's amazing how just one little act... rearranging ones schedule, can influence someone else's life for the whole of it. I can tell you were deeply moved. But you don't seem like someone who... well forgive me for saying this... but someone who's had ... well 'dark' times.... what happened that you thought it was the lowest point in your life?" She asked quietly, deciding finally to do so because after all, he brought it up.

Once she'd listened to his answer, she'd give one of her own... in regards to his question on religion. "I don't have a close personal relationship with any of the Deities.... I wish I did... but I fought under Aslan's flag, and remembered a time when I was a priestess of some sort... but nothing fit. I have great respect for Carmelya, and even some of the Planetars fascinate me. But so far, none of them have called me. I can understand it though... in a way... I'm just a new person, not someone who's been whole for a long time. Before you can find your faith, I think you need to find yourself. I'm still doing that. But I will let you know if it ever happens. Somehow...." She said softly, smiling slightly. Then she listened to his next question and comment regarding it, and shrugged.

"I don't really know. I do enjoy silence, and being on my own and all of that. But I don't mind being with others either. I can be entertained for hours with almost nothing, and conversely be at home in a room full of strangers entertaining them and acting as hostess. I just... prefer quiet, but don't mind the noise of life. Sometimes I think its just because I haven't found anyone who... well thinks like I do in order to want to spend time with them and go out of my way to do so. Be it friends, or even something more intimate. I think about everything... why government does what it does, why the sky appears as it does... and when I want to know something, I go look it up or go ask someone who can tell me. I'm the worst sort of introvert, I suppose... the curious sort." She said softly with a laugh... a laugh directed straight at herself.

The Jeweler was glad though, when Faust mentioned their dual. She had probably done more talking about herself today than she had the whole of her life. He just made it easy for things to come out, and in doing so.... she found herself talking, and talking, and talking. It was almost embarrassing, and she darkened a bit. "I suppose we did have something scheduled didn't we? When would you like that to happen? As it is, I'm free anytime before dinner and it might be good to take a break from our tour and work up a bit of an appetite." She said, sizing him up once more out of the corner of her eyes. He was going to be a whole lot of fun to fight. While he had height on her, she wondered what sort of formal training he had.... bladework of some sort, probably Zinn'ka as well... but he didn't have claws like her normal sparring partner did, nor did he have overly tough skin. "I'm ready whenever you are. I just need a place to change and a little space to chase you around in." She said, teasingly.

[Faust D'Rinishad]

“Agreed,” Faust said, nodding tacitly as Viskyia suggested the possibility of exploring from the top down or from the bottom up. He was skeptical about Kamal being aware of the entire facility solely because Kamal simply wasn’t a curious person. In all the patterns that the Prince of Har’oloth knew him, Kamal had never requested a single day off let alone entertained the notion of taking a vacation with his family anywhere. What were the chances that the Arakmatian chef had uncovered every square inch of the devious estate? While possible, Faust nevertheless hoped that such an expedition hadn’t ever occurred. He was enjoying himself immensely with Viskyia and their little adventure would have been spoiled if Kamal could simply tour them through the entire place.

Faust smiled as Viskyia laughed, as natural a reaction to him as any. His crimson eyes traced the curvature of her lips, briefly settling on her glistening teeth and then sweeping to the periphery of her long snowy hair. If the dark elf could capture that image and manufacture something tangible of it for keepsake, he would have, but for now he supposed that committing it to memory was his only other option; he did exactly that. “Believe me that it was tempting not to tell you, but I thought that my expression did it for me so I supposed it would be best to come clean,” Shrugging amusedly, the dark elf followed after Viskyia towards the double doors, his flowing black cape sweeping the carpet behind him.

“Is it really havoc?” He asked, blinking in astonishment as he pushed one of the doors open for her, “I’ll have to keep that in mind then, that is, not to disturb you once you settle with a book in hand. I’m the same way when a plate of food is set in front of me. Once I’ve a fork in hand, there’s no disarming me,” the dark elf chuckled grimly, securing the entrance behind him quietly. The main hall opened up into a large study, one composed of two large, leather chairs separated by a circular coffee table and a fire place burrowed into the wall facing the chairs. On the right side were two bookshelves standing abreast and up above was a grand chandelier reflecting light off hundreds of tiny scintillating crystals. Nearby the bookshelves was a cherry wood desk with all of its contents neatly arranged. And mounted on the wall behind it a rectangular painting of a man in gothic plate-mail flanked by a burly woman with tattoos along her muscular arms and opposite her was a petite woman adorned in voluminous robes and adorned with auburn hair.

“It’s alright. For the most part I try to remain upbeat, but it can be difficult at times. When I was a boy growing up in Har’oloth, my siblings and I were never allowed to cry or show weakness. It just wasn’t acceptable.” Faust said finally as Viskyia commented on his ordinarily optimistic demeanor. Meeting her citrine eyes like he had done so many times throughout the evening, his own orbs softened, “My mentor, the previous Lord of House D’Rinishad, Serion D’Rinishad, died many patterns ago. He was like a father to me much like Titus Crow was to you. But he died in front of my very eyes, murdered by some abomination that we encountered on a God-forsaken exploration south of the Empire. When he died I didn’t know what to do for the longest time. Aerienne was one of the many people who helped me through it.”

When he finished as Viskyia answered his question, Faust’s head dipped appreciatively, “Yes, you are more right than you know. The Gods can be ambiguous at times, especially with those they choose to ordain.” Religion could be a difficult topic of discourse for many, and thus the Prince of Har’oloth was candidly grateful for Viskyia’s openness. Even if she’d admitted that she had pledged herself to Jorel himself, Faust’s opinion would not have changed of her, but he was satisfied knowing that she trusted him enough to share such personal things with him.

The woman’s take on silence elicited a snicker from the dark elf who, to contain his laughter, forced his front teeth over his bottom lip. “Please don’t take offense to me saying this, but when I first met you I actually assumed you to be the introvert. Before you told me all that happened in your life, I misinterpreted your caution for you not being a people person. You’ve proven me wrong, of course, but I just found that interesting.” Faust smiled. Viskyia was far more intricate than he’d initially taken her for, and this reality astounded him. Beneath her composed, mature exterior was a woman of multiple facets equally as interesting as the next. Had he been born in another lifetime and under different circumstances, Faust would have reveled at the idea of investigating those aspects of her. He knew that he would still like to now, but a part of him wondered if she was willing to let him. She hardly knew him, after all, and it wouldn’t be unreasonable of her to shy away from him under such circumstances. And he of all people understood the value of privacy.

“Perhaps you’ll share your thoughts with me on all of that one day. I too enjoy reflecting over the big questions of life, but like you, it’s oftentimes hard to find people to talk with about such things…” He genuinely said, but mainly to ‘test the waters’ and see how such a proposition sounded to her. If she was remotely revolted by the idea, at least he would know not to ask about it later on.

Ecstatic that she was excited for their spar, the dark elf nodded, pointedly glancing about the room and determining the appropriateness of the study’s space. Surely it was an unorthodox place for such a duel to commence, but as Faust had embarrassedly admitted before, he hardly knew the mansion let alone a place to run around in. “We could do it now actually. I have an idea…” He said, gesturing her towards one of the chairs while he gathered himself behind the other one. “Help me push these by the fireplace to clear some space.” When and if she complied, he also proceeded to relocate the coffee table by one of the chairs against the back wall, eventually creating a reasonably sized area in the middle of the intellectually designed room.

“If you’d like you could change in the library or even here if you want,” He said, spinning around and cupping his hands over his eyes, “I won’t look. You have my word.” He promised. As he thought about it he realized that he probably looked ridiculous with his hands shielding his eyes, but he held the pose patiently until Viskyia granted him permission to look around again –wherever and whenever she changed.

[Viskyia Crow]

She laughed at his good natured comments... from speaking about her desire to search in a pattern, to his lack of knowledge of her craft, to his liking her reading patterns to his eating patterns. And she was thoroughly charmed. Normally Viskyia never had this reaction to males. She talked with them, worked with them in her jewelry shop, even on occasion socialized with them elsewhere, but she never opened up to them and she never ever had laughed as much as she had in the last brightening with him.

Had it only been part of a brightening? By all the Gods... a shiver went through her and she watched him... trying hard not too seemingly do so and in doing so missing the fact that he in turn was watching her just as openly. The curve of his face, the lithe cat-like dangerous movements of his form... all of it she took in and memorized, etching lines in her memory so she could retrieve the joys of these hours in the future and remember them with deep fondness and she knew... sadness that she'd have to leave eventually, either if Kedrinus' situation turned sour, or to depart for her home in Nexus. It was ... unfortunate, but in a way something she was grateful for. He was.. inaccessible for her and thus she had half a chance to give time and space a way to give her thinking room... and most importantly breathing room.

Had he lived closer, she would have allowed herself none. and she knew it, because though she was honest with herself, she knew her own flaws and new that something sweet like honey that sent joy through her would be something she couldn't deny herself. He definitely fit into that category and that made him very dangerous to her.

At his statement about the Gods and who they ordained, she smiled and asked him a like question. "So, tell me Faust... who you follow if any of them. I've heard such dark and forbidden things about the women and to some extent the men of your race and whom they follow. But it doesn't seem true of you, at least not how the stories tell it... Care to enlighten me if its something you don't mind talking about?" She asked, her voice neutral. She really did want to know.. and it was very important to her. In that, she was firm. Even if a person wasn't religious, she really hoped he was spiritual... and had a deep and abiding faith in something.

While he answered... if he answered... she followed him from the library. His confession about her nature surprised her, but she nodded. "It's odd Faust. I'm not offended you say that. I have a strange... position in the gem shop. I..." Should she tell him? Perhaps he'd laugh, or maybe indeed he'd understand. "I don't get really close to people. One reason is that I want to protect them. But its also true I want to protect myself. But in the gemshop its odd. I hear the strangest stories... and I find people just seem to drop by to... talk. Some want ideas for loved ones... how to sooth over a fight with a special friend and come looking for jewelry... others want to ease their guilt... some want to change the world and save it on city at a time. I talk to them all. And as odd as it sounds, they like to talk to me about things. I'd never tell anyone something someone else said in such confidences, but I find it odd that they do. It's like the gem shop is more of an elite coffee shop or confessional. And because of it, I've really got a good insight into how Nexus works... what the people think... and have a dangerous amount of knowledge as to who is planning what and who is afraid of what. I couldn't be introverted and be like that..... but I will tell you.... I'm oftentimes afraid." She said the last softly, like her own sort of confession. It was true. Fear drove her to play with daggers and fight wars. It drove her to master her body and turn it into a weapon. It drove her to stay safe and keep hiding.

In many ways, fear dominated Viskyia's life.

She stopped for a moment and almost staggered, as if in saying that she had just realized it. The force of the truth of it struck her full on and her citrine orbs widened even as her face paled.

"Thats a terrible way to live." She said finally, before continuing onward. She was silent then for a while, following him and then finally saying... "Yes. I think I understand what people feel and see when they come to the gem shop and just need to talk. I feel like that with you. Its a role reversal for me I think... but I'd be glad to just... share... with you." She said, trailing after him and then catching onto his idea. It was a good one, and it distracted and brightened her mood.

She helped him move the furniture and clear a large enough space for them to spar. Then when he suggested she could change, she nodded, and doubled back around to find the hallway where she'd left her bag and grab it. She was back in a moment, and used a corner of the room behind a tall ornamental panel to slip from her plain traveling clothing to a skin-tight black two-piece bodysuit that hugged her form from chest to shoulders, and then from hips to ankles. She left her feet bare and her though it might be considered indecent, her middrift was exposed as well. Her midsection, though slightly scarred revealed defined hard muscles of someone driven to make their body a weapon. Her legs looked like a runners, well muscled and strong through the calves. A sheath encircled each of her thighs and a wicked looking dwarven steel dagger sprouted from each. Another sheath graced her bare forearm, holding a single brace of throwing daggers. If she turned her back, he'd see a shimmering opalsecent tattoo stretched across the small of her back of a crow in flight. It was stylized and almost tribal, though its feathers were well defined and seemed to hold patterns that almost looked like names. Its outline wasn't black. Instead, it was inked in pale shades of gray, blue, white, pink, and a multitude of other colors that seemed to make it shimmer without light, mimicing pearl on flesh.

She turned to face him, waiting to see if he too chose to change or if he wanted to face her as he was dressed. She wore no armor, nor had anything that might encumber her save for a single pair of thick wrist guards that kept her punches from breaking over and ruining her delicate tendons. "Armed or unarmed?" She asked casually, her eyes glittering with eagerness. Because her training uniform left her arms and shoulders bare, he could see other scars... ugly wounds that had healed over... some obviously from knives, others from claws. Yet she wore them gracefully. They looked like battle wounds, not torture, not deliberate cruelty... won proudly and earned through her own mistakes.

Once he'd answered, she start to stretch. She was meticulous and careful about it, going through her routine and limbering up before even bothering to take a pose that remotely looked like she was on her guard. When he was ready, she'd be a swell... that smile of pleasure still on her face.

[Faust D'Rinishad]

His abrupt silence signaled his unease, something that he rarely displayed on this peculiar brightening; in fact, this was the first time all day that he was hesitant to respond. Religion was a sensitive topic to the Prince of Har’oloth, and he seldom conversed about it even with those who knew him the best. Of course a large part of the reason was probably due to his closest companions being dark elves, but even then this did not discount the fact that his non-Vysstichi comrades knew little of where he stood as far as fealty to the Gods went. And strangely, too, was the reality that he felt comfortable being honest with the half-Esh’lahier, a woman he’d known for only a handful of candlemarks.

“What you’ve heard is probably true too,” Faust confirmed, chuckling ashamedly for his people as he sighed with palpable disappointment, “The dark elves are a cruel breed, sadistic and brutal, and more intent on pleasing Haya even if that means sacrificing the ones that they love most.” the dark elf rolled his eyes resentfully. Haya’s Kiss, as it was called, was the common practice whereby females literally offered their male lovers to Haya via painful death. “There’s a common saying among the peasants of Har’oloth that love is only for those wishing death upon themselves. It’s very close to the truth…”

Faust’s crimson gaze flickered to Viskyia, observing her reaction before he continued in a much more lighthearted tone, “But I am a follower of Carmelya. It’s strange that I tell you this because I haven’t ever told anyone before…but I experienced her supernatural grace a long time ago during my travels through the city of Vers. It’s a long story that I would like to share with you one day if you’re up for hearing it, but simply put, ever since that time I’ve devoted myself to her will and direction…” the dark elf’s obsidian visage metaphorically brightened as he spoke of Carmelya, obviously someone whom he was generally enthusiastic to speak about. Sharing about the Goddess of Fertility and her impact upon his life was something that he would have liked to do so more frequently if only people were interested in hearing him.

As Viskyia shared of her experiences in the gem shop, the dark elf’s stunned expression conveyed his initial ambivalence, most of which eventually dissipated as she admitted about how these experiences had transformed her. “You have a gift then,” the dark elf deduced as if the answer was obvious. A brilliant smile lit his face as he met her citrine gaze understandingly. “Although I’m not surprised to hear about the honesty that you elicit from other people. To be honest, many of the things that I’ve just told you I’ve never actually told anyone before. It’s strange, I know because we only recently met, but I must truthfully admit that I enjoy talking with you about these things. Forgive me if I’m making you uneasy for saying so, but you are, without a doubt, a great listener. My mind hasn’t been this lucid in years.” the dark elf chuckled humorously to himself, a salient indicator that he was being entirely genuine.

“But I do understand your need to protect yourself, and those you love for that matter as well. We live in a brutal world, Viskyia, one that will not always help us despite our attempts to help others. But I applaud you for your generosity to those in need. It’s always encouraging knowing that people like you exist in this dark realm.” Nodding appreciatively, the dark elf led the half-Esh’lahier into the study room. He did pause, though, when she postulated that their roles, her and Faust’s, had ironically been reversed. The Vysstichi Lord would have blushed had his features permitted it, but he deferred to his usual warm smile, one that had been consistently ignited throughout the brightening. “You and I both. It’s strange how two people can learn from one another, no?” He chuckled.

When Viskyia returned from changing, Faust’s gaze, reined into submission, steadied towards her eyes. Although the dark elf’s genteelness inhibited his orbs from roaming elsewhere for very long, his periphery captured the image of her sculptured abs and lithe, alluring build. The former was instinctively subjected to his warrior’s critique, and he noted (with stunning admiration) the lines that defined her abdomen, and as the abdomen was frequently considered to be the focal point of any fighter’s equilibrium, there was no doubt on the dark elf’s mind that Viskyia was, as he’d already suspected, a noteworthy competitor and a serious practitioner of the arts. And yet, the errant facet of the dark elf was fully aware of Viskyia’s womanly curves and her tight figure at all times. He was so conscious of her attractiveness that felt his hot blood churning throughout his veins, and it didn’t help that her attire clung enviously to her like a second skin.

“Unarmed, of course.” Faust said sheepishly, succumbing to discomposure momentarily as he spotted the intricate tattoo decorating her backside. He analyzed it peculiarly, marveling at the crow’s details and also the myriad colors that amalgamated with her skin to highlight the bird’s elegant physique. He considered inquiring of its meaning as most tattoos were symbolic of something -usually a story, a memory, or even a person- but he decided against it as his attention was shortly lost in the arrangement of scars that adorned her nimble body. To his surprise, she was not self-conscious about them as most people might have been; it revealed her sense of confidence, her acceptance of the past, and her courage to brave the future –all traits that he again found himself admiring.

Faust gestured to Viskyia’s weapon, “Besides…we’ll both need our sleep tonight in preparation for our journey tomorrow. I’d rather be able to lay in bed without the fear of reopening an unnecessary wound…” the dark elf winked brightly as his callused hands reached up to unclasp the pin that fastened the cloak around his shoulders. Folding the obsidian cape in an immaculate square, he set the article upon one of the chairs and kicked off his heavy boots, setting them neatly beside Viskyia’s own. Having made no prior arrangements for anything to change into, he merely remained in his silken black tunic which hung loosely about his onyx form, matching the pair of dark pants that were tapered to adorn his legs comfortably.

And then he was beside Viskyia, mimicking her stretch routine almost subserviently and then adding a few exercises of his own. Rotating his arms fully by his sides, he bounced once or twice on the tips of his toes, meanwhile cocking his head from side to side to loosen the tension in his neck. He jabbed the half-Esh’lahier lightly in her slender shoulder when he was finished. “Shall we begin?” He asked with an innocent smile, dancing a few meters away on the balls of his feet before suddenly stagnating into a defensive position, legs spread slightly apart and hands adjusted beneath his chin and several inches above his leading knee.

[Viskyia Crow]

Viskyia watched Faust openly as he discussed his religious views. There was no judgment on her face, and only a soft smile when he said he was a follower of Carmelya. She wondered something then spoke it aloud. "It's amazing that most people don't see it, Faust. You are a very nurturing soul... one I suspect does far more than he has to in a culture of very harsh realities. I can't begin to understand the culture you were born too though. It seems very wasteful and unnecessary, especially towards men. I'd hoped what I heard wasn't true, but its probably much worse in reality. I'm glad you've survived and so seemingly unscathed. Of course I'd like to hear about Carmelya, when your ready to talk about her. I've heard nothing but good about the Goddess of Fertility and the Mother of all Nature." She said quietly, then allowed the conversation to move on.

They talked of her, and a bit more of him, then she changed. When he stated unarmed, she smiled and slowly removed the daggers at her thighs, the one at the small of her back, and the brace strapped to her left arm in easy reach of her right hand. Then she reached up and pulled an even smaller one from where she'd twisted her hair up and held it back from her face. "Old habits. I don't want anyone hurt either. I just spar with a half-orc normally, and I don't let him pull his claws. Its not ... not good to train knowing someone is deliberately not trying to hurt you. When I got into combat, it would have been a shock." She wondered, suddenly, if she should tell him how many of his kind she'd faced... especially out on the Arium plain during the war. They'd been ineffective shock troops, because the sun had been bright and their leadership had provided no shade for their eyes. At night they were far more deadly and turned into extremely dangerous foes... No one had slept well or very long... but it was still, even to this day, a shock to see so much crimson on black flesh. Titus had assured her they were happily dying for a Goddess and God that loved them not at all... that was perhaps the biggest tragedy of that time. Even though they'd lost the war, in the end, they'd stopped the army from marching on Nexus.

One their muscles were warmed... it felt strangely peaceful to be exercising beside him. The half elf was far more dressed down than Faust was, but she didn't mind. Faust had a chance to tangle in his clothing, where she'd not have that risk at all. Most women were modest when it came to fighting, but Viskyia's history of an absolute lack of privacy had made her ignorant of the shyness most women felt. The first time they'd swam by the sea in Nexus, she'd joyfully shed her clothing to do so, shocking the other two ladies who were with her, until she'd coaxed them to do so as well. In the end, they'd had a good time, and no one had bothered them.

But here it was different. She recognized immediately that he knew what he was doing. His motions weren't awkward, nor did he spend much time looking at her, even though he did follow her stretching. His routine seemed well worn, and even involved a few more exercises than hers did. She took note and gave them a try as well. Once they were ready, she received a jab, one that she returned with a child-like grin as they moved out onto the floor and faced each other. Viskyia wondered what style he'd trained in, and asked him outright. "What's your particular style, or do you have one?" She asked as they squared up and she rose on her toes pushing her weight up onto the balls of her feet. "Of course...." She grinned back at him with a mock little bow. This ... was going to be brilliantly painful, sweaty, probably resulting in a few new bruises, and a whole lot of fun.

Her face reflected her pleasure as she struck.

Men always expected a frontal assault, usually, because thats how they approached life. Face forward, grabbing the proverbial bull by the horns. If this had been a student, she'd would danced forward and threw a few experimental jabs at him to see how well he blocked. But Viskyia expected more of Faust. He moved like a cat and grinned like one too, so she expected him... just expected him to know more. So, in a typical feminine fashion, she lead with a false roundhouse kick that was designed to throw her entire body parallel to the floor, drop down, and sweep his legs out from under him as it transmuted into a leg sweep. The roundhouse started out looking like it would catch him in the head, hopefully inciting a duck that would put his body more into a position to be dumped to the ground if he allowed her legs to sweep his out from beneath his. Her artform, Shaasskah, lent itself to that sort of move gracefully and it usually worked on Nydardomond... but then again she was starting to figure out that although the half-orc was a brilliant fighter, Faust had a weapon that the half-orc didn't have... a brilliant mind.

If she succeeded or failed, she'd still roll out of the way and come up on her feet, ready to charge back into any counter he made, dealing with it as it came. If he was quick enough to leap her sweep and they didn't connect, she'd be on her feet all that much faster. Even if he caught her before she recovered her feet, he'd still note that she loved to spar... and it showed in her every move, especially her face.

[Faust D'Rinishad]

“Change must begin somewhere, Viskyia. I may only be one person, but it’s a start.” Although frustration was generally unbecoming of the dark elf’s upbeat disposition, he failed to mask it completely from his countenance. “And while I fear that the day when my people escape from Haya’s rule will not come to pass in my lifetime, I am grateful for those like you who understand what I am doing and why I am doing it. The dark elves are blinded by Haya’s ways; it has been so for millennium.” The dark elf sighed as if toiling under the invisible weight of duty and obligation. Like Serion, he was a visionary, and while some would call him disillusioned for advocating unorthodox practices, he was convinced that the Goddess of Fertility was the answer to all of the entropy that prevented the Vysstichi from becoming anything more than a war-torn nation. “But enough of that dreary subject. You no doubt have much on your mind already, and I don’t want to burden you with my dreams of grandeur, although I would very much enjoy sharing with you about what Carmelya has done in my life one day.”

Faust smiled as he watched Viskyia disarm herself of various instruments of war. There was a time in his life when he’d literally bedecked himself from head to toe with various armaments, but those brightenings were long past. Having arrived at the conclusion that true mastery could only be attained by absolute dedication to a single practice, Faust had shed himself of the other equipment that normally contributed to his repertoire: wristbows, short swords, and daggers. His chosen weapon, the long sword, was an extension of his soul, and thus it was the only protection that he carried nowadays. There was only one person in all of Telath who’d ever disarmed him and that nobleman no longer walked among the living. It was strange to think that although Hannas Darkblade, the one who forced the Vysstichi Lord into that draw, managed to tie against Faust hit for hit, it was he who passed away prematurely from some diabolical ailment. And it was unfortunate too, for as much as the dark elf longed for a victor to emerge between him and the honorable human, he missed his friend more.

“A fine training method,” the dark elf applauded, stepping into the center of the room and across from Viskyia a short distance, “But that is the correct way to practice - no matter how dangerous it might be. Although I disagree with this barbaric approach, you will never find practice weapons in a dark elven household. They believe that growth can only be attained by pitting their own in life or death situations, even at the possible sacrifice of their youth,” Faust sighed regrettably. He too had experienced such an upbringing, one that had forced him to mature prematurely. Strangely, though, it was this barbarism that had enabled him to survive on that gruesome night when House Kitrye’veresi had fallen. The Prince did not say it at the time, but his hands had been stained with the blood of an enemy since he was a little boy.

His crimson orbs settled vigilantly upon Viskyia, studying the angle of her knees and the positioning of her hands. Faust briefly glanced to her chest too, not because he was overwhelmed by the lust to experience what lay underneath (although he was curious), but mainly to examine the pattern of her breathing and the respiratory rhythm specific to all fighters. An amused grin steadily maneuvered across his face as he noted the manner by which her weight shifted from one foot to the other –a true warrior’s dance. “I am a practitioner of Rhingorda,” He said, opting not to elucidate the difference between the Vysstichi-tailored form of Zinn’ka and the form typically practiced by the uppity nobles of Daltina. There was a significant disparity between the two and for good reason; however, as this spar was being conducted on amiable terms, certain techniques that would otherwise be considered dirty and brutal would purposely be withheld. And of course the Prince of Har’oloth hoped the same thing from the dear woman, for he personally cringed at the prospect of going to bed with a broken nose or a busted leg. But then again, he did suppose that –to some extent- the more pain, the more fun.

Viskyia’s entire body transformed into a missile as she launched herself at the Prince of Har’oloth who, not surprisingly, smiled admirably in place as she led with a well-executed roundhouse aligned with his face. Of course the dark elf had no intention of experiencing the brunt of that momentum-powered kick (he didn’t mind a broken nose, but not this early in the duel), and thus he wisely retreated out of range, his left leg pivoting backwards and shortly followed by the relocation of his nimble body. His crimson orbs gleamed vigilantly as he studied Viskyia’s center of gravity, the likes of which shifted low to perform a sweep that most certainly would have taken a lion’s legs out from under it. Backpedaling out of harm’s way, it was then that the dark elf’s fists suddenly snapped upwards, his right hand forward and the left lingering a few inches beneath his tapered black chin.

Rocking forward on the balls of his feet as the half-Esh’lahier impressively recovered to a neutral position, the Vysstichi Lord advanced with the grace of a springing feline. Leading with a quick jab that steadily lowered on its successive return, the dark elf’s left hand then rotated forward as he turned at the hips; however, the feint fell short several inches to mask the low kick that he angled in an attempt to catch her on the inside of her calve muscle.

[Viskyia Crow]

There was so much about him she was learning, even though they'd only known each other the whole of the afternoon. He mentioned things, stories he wanted to tell and never finished them... she'd have loved to have heard what Carmelya had done for him, how the Goddess had infused his life with such joy, but she was unwilling to pry to deeply. It would have been a fine topic while they sparred.... which was something Viskyia was used to doing.

Fighting for her was a social event. She took no pleasure in inflicting pain, bruises, or wounding people. The same was true of receiving such things. Instead it was the contact with others that drove her pleasure. Here, across from him there was no secrets, just his strength and speed against hers... touching, dodging... the pleasure of a well placed block, the reward of being quick enough to duck. It was a very healthy environment for the half-esh who otherwise had virtually no contact with others. And that was why she loved it. Faust perhaps couldn't know or guess the truth, but her eyes were clear and without cruelty... filled with strength of purpose without the twisted anticipation of pain that brought some of his race pleasure.

She couldn't know, either, how hard it was for him growing up nor how his people forced their children to live hard and accepted young death. In fact, she'd be appalled if she knew the truth.

When she faced him she breathed deeply, from the pit of her stomach to the tops of her shoulders using all her breath. There was no self-consciousness about the size of her chest or that his eyes were there. She had an average build, nothing extraordinary and nothing too modest... but it was something she was unaware of because growing up her body was often expo