Questioning Menel

It's not the most pleasant of places. Somewhere down the hall someone is moaning and whining about the conditions of the prison. Which perhaps is not surprising. It's dark, but at least it's dry and it's not so dark that one can not see. There's a prison cell that's open down here, which is better lit by a torch hanging inside the cell itself and which has in fact become the residence of a native of Alexandria. The cot is small, and not very comfortable looking. There are books neatly arranged on a shelf. Most of them seem to be histories of battles or weapons of some kind. There's a small stand which is stuffed with just enough clothing that it pokes out rather than comfortably fitting inside.

Within this cell is a tall man, somewhat over six feet tall and with a shock of pure white hair. His skin tanned, but the color has a natural look to it as though it comes not from long hours under the sun, but rather from nature. He sits on the cot comfortably laying there with a book open, but it's clear that he isn't really reading it. Instead he has the look of a man that wishes he were pacing instead.

The sounds of footfalls around here is hardly unusual - guards on their rounds, plague victims coming and going - but the slow ones that echo down the corridor now are decidedly just a bit different from the ordinary. Slower. Measured. "Two ... three ... four." The words are spoken by a male, young from the sound of it, and with a decided lilting accent that suggests one of the Myrrish kingdoms, most likely the High Kingdom itself.

Seldan's footfalls stop outside Menel's door, and a firm tap on the door asks permission to enter. Although he has left much of his gear upstairs, he wears only shirt and trousers, and a steel pendant bearing the crescent-and-sphere of Eluna hangs around his neck. The only other accoutrement he wears is a wooden ring, on the third finger of his right hand. He looks just a touch uncomfortable, and he pushes a lock of the mop of red-gold hair away from his eyes as he waits for a response.

Menel rises at the sound of the tapping on his door, and when he reaches the doorway there's a brief moment of surprise on his expressive features, then a warm grin slides across his lips. "Welcome." His gaze weighs Seldan for a moment, taking in the warrior's bearing of him and his disposition in a few seconds. Then he steps backwards and motions for Seldan to join him inside. "I don't think we've met, but any company is welcome company when you're living out of a dungeon."

He flashes a hearty grin back at Seldan and motions to a chair while he takes bustles over to a water jug. "I'm afraid all I have to drink is water and tea. Can I make you something?"

"Tea will do well, and you have my thanks for it. You are Menel?" The tall warrior gets the same sort of assessment from the shorter, gymnast-built Elunan in the doorway. The Myrrish-accented man counting in the doorway is definitely Seldan, there can be no doubt, for the accent and voice are the very same. "I am Seldan Padaryn, of Eluna's Silver Guard, and it is my hope that you may be able to aid me." He takes the offered chair, seating himself comfortably enough. "Are you well, down here?"

The swordsman - if the two empty scabbards on his hips are any indication - is built like a quarterback, and the space is really too small for him though not as bad as it might have been if he'd been built larger. His leather armor fits to him, clearly well made and well cared for. In fact he looks like he's about to go out and fight a monster at any moment even though its clear he hasn't been outside in some time. The cell however clean and tidy just has a lived-in feel to it. "Menel Dinmorin. Though it does seem you already know my name." Menel nods poltely to Seldan when he introduces himself and sets the tea pot to boiling over a small makeshift fire in the corner of the cell.

"I've lived in worse." He grins at the words to take the bite out of them and sets himself down in the one other chair in the room. "Tell me though, how can I help you? I had thought you here to give me news of the outside world."

Seldan returns the grin, although its ragged edge suggests an understanding of what was not said in that. "And that I shall do, although I shall assure you that it is a good deal warmer, drier, and quieter than outside. I am pleased to aid where I can." He leans forward just a little in the chair, though. "I have taken on myself the pursuit of this plague, its cure, and the defeat of the demons who set it upon Alexandria. I am given to understand that you may have been in one of the white towers that have manifested in various places, both on Ea and on other planes?"

"Trust me, I do not undervalue this place as my refuge though I find it chaffing to be... trapped here." Menel sighs and settles himself comfortably as Seldan begins to explain his reason for being here. "That is a tall task you set for yourself Seldan. One I would welcome the chance to aid you in."

Still, a low frown settles itself to place on his lips before he talks any more. An expression of deep thought and unhappiness takes root. "Yes, I was a prisoner of one of those towers. Held captive by Her for I don't even know how long." He shifts uncomfortably and looks down at one of his hands. "I'm told that I've only been gone five years."

Briefly, Seldan closes his eyes, a wealth of emotion written across the alabaster features. He is about to dredge up some bad memories, and he knows it. "Nor do I," he agrees. "A tall task, perhaps, and yet do I not undertake it alone. We will find a way, all of us together, and even those who cannot stand and fight may aid us with their knowledge."

He listens, sympathetically, as Menel speaks of his imprisonment. "Five years, as we know time," he answers quietly. "The towers exist outside of our time and space, and thus you may have been held far longer. I cannot say for certain. Were you the only one, so held? Or were there others? And ... how did you come to be so?"

Menel nods. "Far longer. It feels as though it may have been many lifetimes. I feel an old man at times." He diressess, trying to stay on the subject that will most help Seldan. The other man has need of information and Menel is eager to be of aid. Even if it clearly pains him to think of it. His sky-blue eyes darkening with memory and his ready smile fading entirely. "I was not the only one held, I rescued as many as I could from Her. It's hard to say how many but it wasn't enough."

His fingers clench around nothing and he seems haunted by those that he could not save from the prison that he had found himself in. "The story is a complicated one, if you wish to hear it. It begins when I was just a boy, living in the far north. My mother disappeared mysteriously when I was only seven or eight, and I went looking for her. I got lost in the tundra and then She was there." Menel shudders suddenly and shakes his head. "I was her prisoner until I was fully grown, though I don't know how long that took. Then I escaped. Made my way to Alexandria and thought that I had escaped until Her minion Kol picked me up five years ago. Then, I was Her prisoner again."

Always he spoke the words associated with that individual that had captured him with slight emphasis. It was clear to his mind that this 'She' was unique in his mind.

GAME: Seldan rolls 1d20: (9): 9

Seldan's smile has similarly faded, his own paler eyes holding a mix of regret, focus, and determination. He is steeling himself, for the task ahead, even as he listens closely. He blinks suddenly, looks around him, then frowns more deeply before settling back into his chair to listen intently. "Tell me of Her, all that you can remember. You will not bore me, nor will you frighten me. Learning of her may be the key to understanding how to defeat her."

The swordsman's eyes become distant as he thinks on the person that held him captive for so long. "She is small, barely five feet tall if that much. Delicately built. She has long white hair... a bit like mine actually. And piercing eyes. They're blue, but cold as ice. They see right through you. She wears blue dresses every day and moves like She's floating rather than walking. She's like an ice sculpture of a person. Cold and distant." He shudders again and rubs his hands over his bare arms as if he's cold though it's warm enough in here.

"The one who showed herself in Alexandria a few weeks past named herself Yukia. Does that seem familiar?" Seldan simply watches and listens, seeming to have all the patience in the world, his tone sympathetic. "Did you interact much with her, or with Kol?"

"Her name isn't Yukia, I can tell you that much." Menel says this firmly and meets Seldan's gaze. "I guess you could say I interacted with Her all the time. I saw Kol sometimes, but I didn't interact with him much. He's... crazy. Insane. Even She doesn't totally trust him." The swordsman startles slightly at the sound of the tea boiling and quickly rises and seems glad of the excuse to do something, even if its as simple as pouring out some tea. He gives Seldan a cup and pours another for himself before taking his seat again.

Seldan takes the cup, cradling it between his callused hands, thinking on what he has heard so far. "I doubt that she gave a name to you, and certainly not one that might be used against her. My thanks." He takes a sip of the tea, but it is a careful one only, and he pauses in a way that suggests that the tea may need a bit of time to cool a little. "Will you tell me of your interactions with her? What obsessed her mind the most, do you think?"

"I know a name, that's true enough, but I've seen it summon Her so I will not use it." Menel's jaw is tense for a moment, and it's clear that his words are associated with a painful memory. There in fact, seems to be nothing /but/ painful memories in this conversation. "She's... obsessed, but I couldn't tell you with what. She's researching all the time. Experimenting on people, using them like guinea pigs until they're dead or worse. I wish I knew more about magic; I might be able to tell you what she was doing or up to then, but I just don't know."

Both of Seldan's eyebrows vanish beneath the unruly locks of hair that keep falling into his face. "Menel ... if that name summons her, then it is her true name, and it can be used against her. Spoken in this place, it should do nothing, for all magic is blocked here, but I will not risk an error in that, not here. Will you write it for me, instead?" He leans forward, setting the tea gently on the table between them. "Researching ... using people as guinea pigs. Did she ever use you in that way, and what did she do to you?" His gaze is steady, his expression steeled. He hates to ask this question, but feels he has to.

"And if writing Her name summons Her as well? No, I'll not take that risk either. I worry enough that She can use Her magic to see in here in spite of the magic they use to make this place safe." He shakes his head firmly. "I'll not put all these innocent people in danger."

Seldan's next question seems both easier and more difficult for him and he takes a deep breath. "Yes. She... did something. Drew something out of my body and put it back in again. It was... agony. The worst pain I've ever felt, like I was being torn apart. And..." Menel paused and rose to his feet, sighing once and then pulling his leather vest over his head with his blue undershirt he turns around so that Seldan can see his back. He's a muscular man beneath the layers of clothing, but it's not his musculature that draws the eye. It's the huge net of scarring that covers his back. Layers and layers of scars. Some of them are recently healed pink. Some are so old that they're faded away. Most are white and thick and terrible to behold. They take the shape of a massive snowflake from the base of his neck and disappearing into his pants.

GAME: Seldan rolls heal: (7)+10: 17

Seldan involuntarily sucks in a breath at the depth of the scarring, the sheer horror of what Menel describes leaving him in stunned silence, contemplating what this creature is doing. The question of the true name seems entirely forgotten for the moment, as does the tea, but he does not look away, nor does he move. "A whip," he whispers. "Do you remember one?"

"As if I could forget it." Menel shudders again and the scars move with the motion of his body. Those wounds count him lucky to be alive. Particularly the pink ones. It seems that he was fairly recently flayed of nearly all the skin on his back. He pulls his shirt back on, then his vest before turning back around. The man's expression is serious and haunted and he scrubs a hand through his hair uncomfortably. "I'm sorry. I should have warned you before I showed you, but honestly... I'm not sure it would have done much good."

GAME: Seldan rolls knowledge/arcana: (8)+11: 19

Seldan shakes his head, drawing a slow breath to settle himself and picking up his tea again. "There is nothing to forgive. I ... needed to see that, I think." He takes it between his hands again, sipping carefully at first and then with more appreciation, giving them both a moment to collect themselves. "I do not ask you to speak the name, but ... when was it used to summon her, and by whom, or what? Was it but once, or often?" He speaks slowly, choosing his words carefully.

Menel seems to relax a little at Seldan's acceptance of his apology, sitting back down and taking up his own tea though rather than drinking it he warms his fingers on the cup. He also seems glad of the brief silence to collect himself once again before they begin again. When they do, he's ready. "It wasn't often, but it was more than once. Occasionally one of the prisoners would hear it or learn of it and whisper their hate of Her when they thought they were alone. I did it myself once, just once when I was a boy. Then She'd appear and Her punishment would be swift."

Somehow, there's no need to ask what that punishment was, and so Seldan simply nods his understanding. "But none save for the prisoners did so," he muses. "At the least, not that you saw." More silence, and another sip of tea. "What passed between Her and Kol, that leads you to believe that she mistrusts him?"

This the swordsman needs to consider for a moment. "I don't know really, it's not just any one thing. But She's not stupid so I can't imagine that She does. The vampire is... I don't have words for what he is. It's like whatever was human in him died so long ago that he doesn't remember what it's like to be human. You can't predict him." Menel thinks for a moment. "She treats him like a child. Giving him gifts to make him happy and keeping an eye on him at all times."

"He must be useful to her, or she would not so trouble herself." Seldan's statement suggests that he is fairly sure of that point. "She recently sent him to rob the Temple of Vardama. Whether he is loyal to her, none can say, but ... he desecrated a tomb, and stole a body and several artifacts...." He trails off, suddenly, into silence. "If you know nothing of this, I will understand. The tomb he robbed belonged to one Nenarulo Calanalata."

"I suspect that She uses him as... Her hands. Someone to touch the world directly while She keeps Herself above it all. I can't say that the name sounds familiar." Menel shrugs and takes a sip of his tea. "He could be anyone as far as I'm concerned. Maybe he had something She wants, information or something?"

Seldan nods, as if this was the expected response, and seems untroubled, although he remains serious. "That seems likely. Did you ever see any other in the tower, save the two of them and the prisoners?" He takes another long sip of the tea, then simply holds it in both hands as if letting it warm his hands.

"If there were, I never saw them. I wasn't privy to all Her secrets I'm sure." Menel offers a slightly wry smile and takes another drink of his tea. "I really wish I could be of more help. I know that I haven't given you very much to go off of."

"You have given me what you could, and for that, you have my gratitude." Seldan looks up, his smile genuine enough despite the seriousness in his eyes and bearing. "It is not nothing, what you have given me, and I know that such knowledge is hard-won, and harder still to speak of. It may be that I will find other things to ask you of, do I share what I have learned with those who aid me. I am hardly the cleverest among us." He snorts softly, an expression of self-deprecating humor that holds no hint of rancor, only warm respect for whoever it is he thinks of.

"For now, though, you sought news of the outside world, and I shall tell you what I may, although in truth, the city sleeps in the winter, I think. A truly burying snowstorm has yet to happen."

Menel nods appreciatively to Seldan's words. Not everyone would understand just how hard-won Menel's information was, but then... it had been written there on his back in blood once. "You seem to have a good grasp on the situation to me." Menel offers, and nods. "I appreciate anything you can tell me. I daren't leave this place least She find me yet again. Like I said it's good to have company even if most of our discussion has been of a dire topic."

"Let us hope that it is good enough, and that it can be made better still." Seldan nods, finally taking another drink of his tea and setting the cup aside. "Too many within the city are afflicted by the plague, but the Guild still does much, and not all of its doings are so dire as that." He will spend at least an hour, and more if Menel wants it, sharing tidbits regarding outside events and tales from his own doings, although he steers clear of the topic of the plague and Yukia.

"At length, though, he sighs. "I should go, soon. Evensong nears, and I can but pray that the guard has not yet tossed my blade in the Tornmawr in hopes of silencing it."

The swordsman laughs at Seldan's words and rises with him. "Thank you again for coming, and more for staying and sharing some news with me. It has been a pleasure to meet you Seldan." Menel offers his hand to the other man to shake. "If you think of anything else you might need, or if you just want to spend a few hours away from the world I'll welcome your company again."

-End