In which there are Questions and Answers

When Zeke returns to the Temple of Eluna to find Seldan, the place is a hive of activity. Thankfully, it appears to be normal and happy activity, for moonrise is nearing and the clergy and faithful gather for the evening services that Seldan often refers to as evensong. Seldan, however, is nowhere to be seen, and asking around gets varied answers. He's around here somewhere, but not everyone knows or is inclined to say where.

Finally, one of the younger acolytes, gazing up in wide-eyed awe, leads him to a very quiet back of the Temple, a tiny room down a back corridor among the living quarters that looks like a typical small room for the resident faithful. Dark and windowless, it has a cot, a stool, a writing desk and chair, and an armor rack, and not much more than that. Seldan's gear is piled unceremoniously in a corner, and about the only thought that has been given to anything is to separate the tattered and bloodstained white shirt from everything else. The only light in a room is a small mana lamp on the writing desk, carefully shielded to not be visible from the cot, and it illuminates a healer's kit and several packets of herbs of some kind.

Seldan himself is in the cot, and it is hard to tell at a glance if he is awake or not, although the beginning strains of the evensong service go up as Zeke walks through the door.

At first, the blue-scaled sith hesitates at the doorway. Being that it is difficult to tell if the man is awake or not, Zeke is loathe to interrupt him if he has managed to find some rest. He hovers by the door, silent as a shadow until the first notes of the evening song rise up in the distance. This, then is something he knows that Seldan would not miss. The paladin himself said that evensong was something that he was looking forward to, and so the sith lets out a low lying murmur of a hum, a sound of gentle concern before he murmurs a few words. Quite enough that if Seldan were truly sleeping they might not disturb, but loud enough to be heard if the man is awake. "You will misss evensssong like thisss."

There's movement in the cot, and a hiss, one of the sounds that softskins commonly make when in pain. Seldan moves to prop himself up on one elbow, and in the near-darkness, he can clearly see the clawmarks and bite marks where Cryosanthia hit him, covered but only in the most cursory of fashion, in the way of a healer who means to use spells and does not expect the patient to move in the meantime. He smells of blood, but not the acrid stink of plague-ooze - he's had some help, at least. "Am I summoned?" The Myrrish-accented voice holds a good bit of pain - he's hurting, that much is clear.

The sound of pain draws Zeke closer by instinct if nothing else. He is a healer first and foremost, and the scent of Seldan's blood follows on the wake of the man's movements. He knew that the man was injured, but not how badly, and the sight of the half-wrought bandages makes a pensive line form in Zeke's brow. He moves forward, slowing near the man's bed and lowering himself to kneel there. "Thisss one did not think that you would wisssh to misss sssuch, but you are wounded. Let thisss one heal you."

Seldan simply closes his eyes, and relaxes back into the cot, not looking at the Sunguard. "Zeke. I had not expected you." A very slow, very careful shake of the head, a softskin negation. "I am of little consequence. The error was mine, and it is right that I pay the price. Is she all right? What of Sabina?"

Zeke watches Seldan carefully, but makes no move to heal the man against his will. "Thissss one wassss worried about you. Am worried. You are important to thisss one Ssseldan, and it isss not right that you ssshould bear thisss pain." Zeke shakes his head, mirroring Seldan. How unsithlike of him, but then Zeke is unusual for a sith-makar in so many ways. "They are resssting. All of them. No permanent harm wassss done kin."

Seldan lets out a sound that sounds very much like a sigh of relief. "I should have but released it ere it completed," he mutters very quietly. "I knew it was wrong, but did not wish to waste the attempt...I thought I could pull it back, realign it ... I would ask her forgiveness, and yours." The man is pretty obviously upset with himself. "I ... would ask your forgiveness, but I do not think that I should try again just now. I ... I think it backlashed on me as well."

"Thisss one did not come to asssk you to try again sso ssoon." Zeke looks at the paladin with just a touch of surprise. "You did what you could Sseldan, ssso there isss no-thing to forgive. Thisss plague, we knew it would not allow usss to cure it ssso eassily. The godsss have blesssed usss that ssso many have been cured already." The sith-makar settles where he has knelt, a bit uncomfortable this is clear, but unwilling to give up his spot beside the paladin. "Thiss one hasss come to attend to /you/ Sseldan."

Seldan closes his eyes one more time. "At times do I think I do not deserve your friendship, Zeke. Thank you." The voice is still strained. "The claws are not so bad as that ... the bite is quite deep, and I am unsure that it is properly cleaned." A signal that he will allow Zeke to help. "You will find a chair ... and a kit upon the desk." He doesn't move much, though. "Would you have a light?"

Footfalls in the hall behind Zeke. Two sets -- one of the elder priests, a middle-aged man with salt-and-pepper hair, and Malik, walking alongside him in seemingly no hurry. They talk among themselves in hushed tones, though both of their expressions are amicable -- entities known to one another, it seems. Malik stops a few paces short of Zeke, leaning against the wall as he catches the end of the conversation, the small note held between his fingers getting slipped into his bag for the moment.

The other priest gives a nod, excusing himself, and Malik turns back to Zeke -- though he raises his voice enough that Seldan can surely here. "Should I give you two a moment?" the wizard asks, this time apparently sincerely, given the lack of jest in his tone.

"Ssssa." Zeke shakes his head at the very thought that Seldan does not 'deserve' his friendship. "We are kin." This is, it seems enough for the sith-makar, and he - with effort - rises to his feet.

Quietly he pads to the desk, quietly moving the stool in the corner to Seldan's side rather than the chair. and then moving the kit over as well. This takes only a few seconds. "Thisss one can sssee well enough, and doesss not wissh to upssset your head."

He notes immediately Malik's arrival and seems to actually seriously consider the man's question before motioning him inside. "Come, thisss one thinksss that Ssseldan might find comfort in your pressence. He hasss woundsss for thisss one to attend to, but you can sssit here at hisss ssside while thisss one worksss." Zeke quietly moves the chair to Seldan's side as well. It will put them all in quite close proximity, and Zeke steels himself for this. Shoving the small tingle of fear that the thought sends through him down into a corner of his belly.

"So we are," Seldan murmurs, but at Malik's voice, opens his eyes, wincing. "Backlash, Mal. The dispel went sideways, it hurt her so badly she attacked me. Ooze at least is gone, hope ... it is not in the wound." A swift, pained explanation between two who know each other well. Malik will know what that means, among them _come in and close the door_. "I would clean my gear..." The strains of evensong are audible towards the temple sanctuary, but he makes no move to join.

Malik gives Zeke a bit of a nod, listening to the sith's explanation. "As seems to be the case frequently these days," the wizard sighs, stepping inside after Zeke and pulling the door closed before moving over to Seldan's side. "Hello, my love," he greets the paladin, leaning in to kiss the man's forehead as usual. Sitting down on the bed, he listens to the rest of the explanation, shaking his head. "Gear later. Right now there are other things that need attending more."

Zeke nods in agreement with Malik. "Thisss one hasss sssome ssmall healing remaining. Thisss one will begin with that." Very small indeed, as Zeke has spent the entire day hard at work, which has left him with only a few small healing spells to offer the paladin. Still, he touches the ginger-blonde man with his crystal claw gently, and sends enough healing energy into him to heal the worst of the bite. Its not perfect, not as much as Zeke would like, but with that done the sith can begin to properly bind the wounds that remain.

Seldan smiles wanly at the kiss on the forehead. "Never did I claim that association with such as I ... would be an easy thing, Mal. I fear myself quite troublesome, does one wish a quiet life." He pauses, his words still pained, although the healing sent through him does help him relax. "Fear not for me. I will call upon her, once ... I have rested."

He stills himself, letting Zeke do what is needful and apparently resigned to the process. Malik may not be able to see clearly in the dimness of the room, but Zeke will be able to tell that the set of claws running from his shoulder across the collarbone and down his chest are long, but fairly shallow, but the bite was as he says quite deep, and a bigger creature could well have bitten his arm off, such was the placement. The healing at least negates the need to clean the bite, and deals with the worst of it, making this a much easier process.

"You spoke of approaching the Draco Solis, for answers, Zeke." The paladin's eyes are closed as he brings up the topic.

Malik lets Zeke handle most of the heavy lifting. But that doesn't mean that the wizard is simply idle. He gives Seldan a half smile, reaching into his bag and removing that note once more -- along with a tea cup, a small bottle of water, and another smaller pouch. Reading over the note once more, he responds to Seldan while working, voice somewhat absent. "If I wanted a boring life," he counters, both of them knowing it's the furthest thing from the truth. He pours the water into the cup, heating it up with a simple spell, then dumps the contents of the pouch into the steaming water, wrinkling his nose as the powerful floral smell attempts to cover the stringent, medicinal herbs in the mixture -- the tea that priests of all faiths use to help rebalance backlash victims. He holds it out to Seldan, nodding, watching as Zeke's magic works to close at least the worst of the wounds.

It's clear that tending to wounds is something that Zeke does often. His movements are built by rote. He is careful, in his way, to touch Seldan as little as possible and always with his crystal claw. It's no commentary on Seldan of course, but is habit that Zeke has long had. He nods to the cup of tea that Malik offers to Seldan, shifting away from the paladin as his work is completed. "Thisss one hasss done ssso. Quesstioning the Dragonfather's ssservantsss isss a lengthy, difficult processs, but thisss one had many quessstionsss for sssuch." Zeke carefully cleans up after himself, returning the bag to where it belongs and then moving his stool somewhat away so that the two men have space to be close to one another. "You ssshould relax though."

That smell is familiar enough, and Seldan props himself up on one elbow, the side with the mostly-healed bite, to take the teacup. He'd made no comment throughout the process of tending the wounds, moving as little as he can manage - he, too, seems to be accustomed to this! and makes no comment on the quick withdrawal from close contact. He sips the tea carefully, wrinkling his nose and making a face, but drinks it as quickly as the heat will let him, which isn't particularly quickly. "I would know as much as I may, while few are around to eavesdrop," he murmurs. "So many more seek my aid." He closes his eyes.

"It doesn't have to be all on you," Malik reminds Seldan at the latter part of the comment, raising an eyebrow at the man. "You are not the only one with knowledge of the spell, or the skill to cast it as such." Though he makes no further comment on it past that for now. To Zeke, though, he merely offers a small grin. "You might as well tell a child to take a nap after telling him his nameday gifts have arrived. There is simply no chance of that happening until his curiosity is sated." Still, Malik's tone is warm, and the light in his eyes speaks volumes about his affection for the paladin.

"Thisss one agreesss with Malik. Thisss one too hasss sssuch ssspellsss. There are othersss. You do not do thisss work alone." He wraps his tail around his legs and nods to Malik. They are it seems in complete agreement. "Thissss one will tell you what thisss one hass learned then. Though sssome of it isss ill tidingssss." He shifts his weight and his gaze goes slightly distant as he recalls his answers back to memory.

"Thesse ssso-called True Death weaponsss can kill the one you named yessss, but none in Alexandria or among the ssildanari know the making of sssuch. Other thingsss may alssso be usssed to bring her death, but thisss one doess not know what they might be." Here Zeke pauses and looks down. "The sservantsss of the Dragonfather tell thisss one that sssshe hasss... sssome power over thosse that bear her mark beyond what we know now. Though, again not what that power might be - though that connection might yet be broken. Nor hasss ssshe broken sssome rule that we might ssend her kin after her. It ssseemss that the tower ssshe controlsss might be wressted from her, and that..."

Zeke stops again, finally lifting his gaze to look at Seldan. There's sorrow there in the sith's eyes, and not just from the knowledge which he has already given. "Thisss one asssked if thossse that were taken mossst rescently sstill live. Thisss one... isss sssorry to sssay that only ssome do."

GAME: Seldan rolls wisdom: (20)+3: 23

Seldan hands the teacup back to Malik, laughing quietly at him. "You are no better." That affection is returned and shared, it seems, but the smile fades as well as he listens. "Other weapons might bring her death as well. I had guessed that she yet held some other power, one need but consider ...." He stops himself, and listens to the rest, a stricken look suffusing the features as their sense sinks in. "Even so soon?" Worry lances through the words, and he moves to sit up -

- much too fast, and winces visibly as that ice pick of pure evil lances from temple to temple again. "But the tower may be wrested from her. That ... would be a beginning, and a boon for those who suffer and die within it." The words choke up. "The tower may be wrested from her," he repeats.

Malik listens to Zeke's appraisal, nodding quietly. "I've always heard that cold iron works well on the fae, though I could not tell you whether it would work on one as powerful as her. Nor do I know anything of what a 'True Death' weapon is, I'm afraid." The frown deepens at the last part, and a hand goes out as if to stop Seldan from rising, though the pain in the paladin's head seems to do just fine on its own.

Instead, the wizard simply reaches out, taking the cup from Seldan and setting it to the side. He's quiet a moment, seeming to calculate what words he wants to use, or whether to speak at all. Eventually, though, he breaks his silence. "I doubt your mother is one of the ones that have died," Malik offers. "You've wounded this fae queen too greatly. Knowing that your mother was beyond her reach would give you too clear a mind on the matter. She won't have her fun with you ended so soon, I think." He looks to Seldan. "It's not what my mother would do, after all, were she so slighted. So. There is hope."

Zeke moves instinctively to stop Seldan from rising, but Malik is closer and Seldan's head keeps him from doing anything more foolhardy than making a brief effort to rise. He settles back in his seat and sighs softly. "Thisss one will asssk after your nessst-mother directly on the morrow." He seems to not know what else to say. The assurances that he might offer he can not say because they might well be little more than lies. But he can do this much for his kin. "Thisss one wisshess there were better newsss."

"Agh." Although Seldan's expression is positively fraught with a gamut of emotion, chief among them worry and pain, he lies back down as quickly as he'd sat up, squeezing his eyes shut. Malik's words are cold comfort indeed. "Does one wrest the tower from her ... to where will she run?" He gets the question out between gritted teeth. "Will simple cold iron weapons bring about her death, or must they be enchanted as well?" He reaches for the light blanket, as if interested in pulling it up.

Malik gives a shrug. "Not questions that I can answer, I believe," he tells the paladin. "Not without research. The fae are creatures outside of my typical domain. That would be a question better addressed to the Green Word. Though I'll see what I can discover. As to where she will run -- she is an immortal creature, one assumes. Or nearly so, compared to our lifespans. She may run to places that we can only imagine, and wait until such a time as those who remember her have faded from the world to try again." The wizard, for all his practicality, might not be the most helpful voice in the room right now. But he still reaches for the blanket, pulling it up around Seldan as he looks to Zeke, asking, "Who else is looking into those answers? Are any known to you?"

"Mikilossss." Answers Zeke simply, rising slowly to his feet "He hasss been looking into the fae and ssuch thingsss for sssome time now, though thisss one knowsss little on the matter. Cryosssanthia ass well, hass done much to learn more about the fae. Thisss one hass done sssome resssearch ass well, but there iss much lore and not much to tell what isss true and what isss falssse. Thisss one can but try again. Perhapsss sseek the Dragonfather for sssuch anssswersss. For now though, thiss one will leave you in peasssce. Ressst Sseldan. That isss what isss needed now."

Seldan's eyes remain closed, and the strains of evensong continue in the main part of the temple, but begin to draw to a close. "I know not ... if she will attempt me again, do I approach her." A pause. "I will approach Master Mithralla. Mother cannot afford for me to wait." He seems to be fighting a battle with himself.

Malik shakes his head. "No," he tells Seldan, offering him the note from earlier. "/I/ will go approach Master Mithralla. Or at least one of his assistants. /You/ need rest. Preferably sleep. I'll be back shortly." He stands up off the bed, nodding to Zeke. "Thank you for your help. I -- appreciate it more than I can put into easy words." He gives the sith a slight bow. "If there is anything you need, ever, you need but ask."

Zek nods low to Malik, a subservient motion of old origin. "Thisss one doesss what on can. There isss no need for sssuch. He is kin." As if this explains it all, and perhaps to a sith it does. He glances once more at the paladin, as if to be certain that the man will /sleep/, and then heads for the door. He pauses there briefly and then looks back at Malik. "Asss hissss mate, it iss asss you sssay. If there isss ever any-thing you need. You have but to asssk." And then he is gone.

Reading anything in the dim state of the room is pretty hopeless right now, and Seldan does not even try, only sighing as the medicinals within the tea take hold. He knows better than to argue, with either of them at this point, "You had best tell me what he has to say," he murmurs, but the two can tell that it will not be long before he slides into sleep.

-End