Sasa
Log Info
- Title: Sasa
- Emitter: Menel
- Characters: Seldan, Cryosanthia, Menel
- Place: Roleplay Nexus: Arcanists' Guild Dungeons
- Time: Monday, March 30, 2020, 4:54 PM
- Summary: Seldan takes Cryosanthia to the Arcanist's Guild Dungeons to meet his friend, Menel, who is hiding in the anti-magic environment. The two are stripped of all magic items, which completely strips Cryosanthia as well as her sole clothing item were her AnyGarment sleeves. She seems indifferent to being on display and is covered in intricate, pale patterns. The two go to Menel's cell, where he lovingly recognizes Cryosanthia and moves to embrace her. She recognizes something. Cryo and Menel seem calm enough and ready to get down to remembering without distractions, so Seldan leaves to fulfill Cryo's request for a glass of water. As he is most of the way down the hall, he hears a loud and mournful sith-makar wailing, the sound of a mother in grief. He rushes back to the room in time to see Cryosanthia ripping into Menel like a killing machine, crying despair as she does. He attempts to get her off him, but she proves too wriggly and focused, and he is injured in the process. Realizing that he is running out of luck and Menel is running out of time, Seldan attempts to distract her, to snap her out of it. Mundane appeals are ineffective, but in a moment of tension Seldan recognizes her markings are those of ancient sith-makar and she may now have similar ties to her ancestors as he does. He calls on her, to find them, and it evokes a memory from blood. A vision, of Melen as a young child in a cell and Cryosanthia caring for him as one of her own, shocks both of them. Cryos becomes present enough to beg Seldan to stop her, she's unable to stop himself. The paladin manages to throw her into a cell and lock it, and she appears to come out of whatever gripped her, although she remains in shock. Menel is healed and Cryo remains in the cell.
-=--=--=--=--=-<* Roleplay Nexus: Arcanists' Guild Dungeons *>--=--=--=--=--=-
Getting here requires passing a number of checkpoints, scans, and security checks. Once arrived, however, ones senses feel stifled and full, as though the mouth and ears were filled with cotton. This feeling will not leave until one exits.
The dungeons consist of a series of long halls, among which there are many rooms. Here, magic is blocked--thanks to heavy symbols engraved in wrought iron. These iron symbols lay resting into stone, itself carved. Nethercite, that terrifying legend of ages, lays placed into the walls. Guards may be found on regular patrols.
Here, the Guild takes no chances. Here, the most dangerous of mages await trial--or face imprisonment. And lately; willing plague victims. Along one particular hall, a door lies open. Outside it are a set of sith-makar guards. Past that and inside the room is a small table, with cards on it. A few dice. A set of chairs and some bare cots. Buckets labeled SOAPY WATER.
-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-
-=-=-=- Appearing, in Order =-=-=-= Seldan 5'11" 187 Lb Human Male Red-blonde Eldanar man wearing Eluna's colors and symbol. Cryosanthia 6'9" 267 Lb Sith-Makar Female A dashingly tall, elegant white-scaled lizard woman. Menel 6'2" 187 Lb Human Male A tall tanned man with white hair and blue eyes. -=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=
Seldan does not immediately explain why, when he returns to the Temple of Daeus, he wears full armor and adventuring gear, but looks both lighter than he did the previous evening and, if not pleased, at least satisfied. Whatever outcome he'd had from speaking to his contact must have been a positive one, but he leads Cryosanthia from the temple district to the arcanist's guild. "Another who shares some of your experiences is known to me," he explains quietly, moving at her pace. "Once we arrive, I will tell you more, but I dare not speak here, not yet."
It's not until he leads her to a checkpoint, where the guards seem to at least know who he is. The pair are asked to divest themselves of all weapons, armor, and magical items - this takes Seldan a while - and in the process of doing so, he removes that thin silver headband he always wears. As he does so, it turns into a red velvet hat with arcane markings picked out in silver along the brim, and his skin abruptly turns stark, matte black, except for hair and eyes. He does not look at Cryosanthia while he is doing this, merely finishes divesting himself until all that is left is shirt, trousers, and simple leather boots, and his holy symbol. A deep breath, and finally, he looks up at her, waiting. For something.
Cryosanthia follows along. In movement she is healthy enough, her strides powerful, her bearing purposeful and regal. She is efficient and minimal, walking as if she owns everything and seemingly content to go wherever Seldan is leading her. She wears a simple, layered Mage robe, as white as her scales with a few pale blue accents, that also match her highlight scales.
At the checkpoint, she stares quietly at the guards for a moment when they make their request. Without any further action on her part, the robes disappear completely, turning into sleeves on her forearms. Sleeves made out of a white satin material. She removes them, folds them, there is a tiny manufacturer's mark as well as her own sewn in. Her white-scale gloves are next, placed delicately on top. She wears nothing else. Her body is on full display, she has many markings which invite some closer examination. This disrobing is performed without any hesitation, as if it's a familiar and practiced routine. She has a small bag on a silver chain around her neck, and gold ring.
"I haven't taken this ring off in decades. I move it from finger to finger. It shields my mind from demons and is magical. Do you want it removed also?" She touches the bag that hangs close to her heart, "These are the scales of dead friends. I'll allow you to examine them, but I don't wish to part with them either. There is no magic to them."
After this, her head turns and she examines Seldan. Her expressions are typically hard to read and she has none now, her face seems relaxed, her posture casual while still very formal. Her head pans as she looks over his skin, from head to toe. Finally there's a hint of a smile, the edges of her mouth curling.
"Heck of a sunburn you got there."
The guard looks at the magical item for a long moment then holds the box out sternly. "It won't work in there anyways. And if it's magical... it goes in the box." There seems there's no arguing this point.
"A sunburn to end all sunburns," Seldan agrees with a ghost of a smile, nodding with the guard. "Where we go, magic cannot reach, and that is why we go there," he tells her. He seems to have done this before. "They will keep them safe. It is not comfortable, but it is safe."
"Well, it's not as if my head isn't a mess already." Cryosanthia says, sounding disinterested and monotone. She removes the ring slowly, hesitating with it at the tip of her finger. She separates her hands. It is removed. The ring goes in the box. She's motionless for a moment, as if listening to something. "Interesting."
The white-scale sith nods once, "Hopefully I won't fall apart."
"I will not leave you," Seldan says simply, waiting for the guards' motion to proceed before turning to continue down the halls. He seems to be holding himself very, very still, waiting for something, and once they are clear of the final checkpoint, he goes on. "Menel lives down here, where magic cannot reach him. Kol and his mistress yet hunt him, and once already have we stopped them from taking him. He shares some of your experiences, and when I spoke of you, he knew your name, and more. I would have you meet him, in hopes that it may help you make sense of what has happened." His words echo down the hallway, faintly, as do his footfalls.
"What had you concerned with those guards?" Cryosanthia asks, following with determined steps. She holds her right hand out, ringless, and stares at it wordlessly, then puts her other beside it and gazes at her snowflake brand. Her hands drop to her sides and sway minimally with her movements. Her tail barely moves behind her.
"Menel?" The sith-makar straightens just a little in her stride. "He knows me? That... will be a conversation. I would like to harmonize my memories with my self. It's too confusing to know so much time has past and still think like a late-youngling."
She is silent for a little more. This time she's got a bit of a grin, her eyelids down just a touch, and her voice is teasing. "I see Elly got much more reaction. You didn't need to go to all this effort to get my clothes off."
Seldan does not laugh, not at first. "It was not the guards for whom I had concern," he answers, quietly and with eyes turned ahead where they are going. The joke about Elleandra, however, draws a light chuckle. "I do not make the rules, but there is but one person in Alexandria whom I willingly undress, and he willingly undresses himself at every opportunity."
"Oh ho hooo! Malik? The rumour is true!" Cryosanthia sounds quite amused, and her very distinguished posture breaks for her to wriggle about, her tail curing, like she might have days ago. The brief break subsides and her contained self returns.
"I'll try not to blab it everywhere. You know how I am. Before we go in, this Menel, how should I act? Is he timid, confident? What diplomatic strategies should I use?"
In this moment, it is probably a good thing for all that Seldan's skin is stark black, because utter embarrassment is written in every line of his bearing, in the set of his shoulders, in the look he carefully does not give Cryosanthia. It takes him a minute to regain his composure enough to answer, "Er ... be yourself. There is no diplomacy required, nor need you fear him. He can aid you, for he remembers far more than you. Nothing is being sought of you, here. I will stay, or wait outside, as the two of you prefer." He pushes that lock of hair out of his eyes, clamping his mouth shut.
"I... don't know."
Cryosanthia halts. She watches him move his hair, examines his lips. She inhales, clearly seeking a scent off him, but sith cues are not available and human ones remain mysterious. She looks at the door. Her tail is quite still. "Should I live here too? Kol... well he must have had access if I was with his mistress, but there are other things likely still seeking me."
Cryo turns her head to look at Seldan, reaching out to touch his arm. When she sees the snowflake on her hand, she halts the gesture and withdraws it. "Come in with me please, for now. I may ask you to leave, if he reveals it might be... unpleasant to be known. I worry about what I can't remember."
"That is for you to decide. It will not be forced upon you." Seldan nears the end of the hall, and pauses for a moment. "If you choose to live above, I will defend you. You need but ask." The astute mind might connect his full adventuring gear - a thing he does not normally do in the city - and that statement.
On the matter of staying or leaving, he simply nods. "I understand. The choice is yours." With that, he steps forward, approaching the end of a particular hallway.
Cryosanthia waits a moment, then moves forward with confidence. She nods to Seldan, "Might as well dive in."
The area that Seldan leads Cryosanthia into is not particularly plesant. It's a jail. Bars line the hall and there are people inside. Some of them are prisoners, and they chitter to themselves as the pair walks by. A few reach out hands as if they might try to snag, but most keep their distance. Others are the ill. Those with the plague who have saught refuge here.
At the end of this hall there is an open cell and it is to here that the pair go. Inside is a man, sitting on a stool reading a book which seems to be on the history of magical weapons or something of the sort. He has white hair, blue eyes, and a sun-kissed complexion that suggests a life outdoors but is his natural skin color. He looks up at the sound of footsteps and immediately smiles at the sight of Seldan. He rises to his feet. "Seldan! Good to see you again!..." He trails off as he notices Cryosathia behind him and immediately moves toward her, clearly meaning to embrace her as if she's a fond friend whom he hasn't seen in years. "Cryosanthia!"
Seldan simply steps aside, although he smiles at the greeting. "It is good to see you again," he greets, but the paladin is not who Menel wants to see, and he knows it. "She may not remember you, Menel. Her memories are yet hazy," he warns quietly.
Cryosanthia is keeping apace with Seldan. She displayed no reaction to the prisoners reaching for her, the plague victims in sacntuary, the scent and gloom of the place. She drifted along beside him like a heavy ghost, indifferent and inactive towards the environment. She follows him in, and when he steps aside she moves into the place he stood. She freezes, her pupils dilate, spreading wider. A sign of high emotion recognizeable to those who know her. Typically, it's fear. Then her pupils return to normal, black slits on her sapphire eyes.
"Menel?" Her posture relaxes, slightly, she sinks from standing at attention to something more casual. Her tail doesn't move. She looks and sounds confused. There is a delay before she thinks to raise her arms for a hug, although she seems willing to do so, "They... are. Quite Hazy."
The swordsman stops at Seldan's words, close to the sith but uncertain now of his welcome, trouble brews on his brow and he nods to Seldan, looking at the other man sadly. Only to startle at the sight of the darkness covering Seldan's skin. The discoloration is something Menel has never seen before, and is clearly unnatural. "Sorry. It was kinda... habit." He smiles a little and steps back. "Are you alright Seldan? Did something happen?"
"I am well." Seldan pushes that unruly lock of hair out of his face, ice-blue eyes startling against the matte black. "Though I did not turn to her, or to Eclavdran, for healing, the plague leaves none that it touches unchanged," he explains, although the simple words belie a pose that is ... waiting. For those with human cues, it is as one waiting for a hammer to fall. "You see me as I am beneath the light of Draco Solis. As we speak, it will fade." His eyes lower. "It is not only for others that I fight this."
When he does look up, it is over at Cryosanthia. "What do you remember, and how do you feel?"
"Melen, the... event that brought me to Salina, happened a few days ago. Obviously. I would have told you. I think I would have. Seldan and others are still unhappy, at themselves during it and my choices..." Cryosanthia says, her head turning as she watches Seldan and his reactions. Her body language remains minimal, as sterile as she can keep it. It is the fae-queen's, not her own as Seldan knows it, but it might be as Melen did. "Draco Solis?" She asks, then touches her head at the base of a horn, rubs, "No, this is a distraction."
She looks to Melen again, "May I? Your scent may recall things, associate things." She waits for something resembling permission then carefully leans with her neck to bring her snout closer. She closes her eyes and inhales deeply, breathing Melen's odor, tasting it, listening internally for anything. Her hands remain clasped and low on her front, resting against her belly scales.
Menel's blue eyes darken a touch, nodding mostly to himself. "I see." He does. That the plague has touched Seldan like this and changed him as its changed so many others. "We have a lot of reasons to fight Her don't we?" As always there's a slight emphasis on the word 'her' when speaking about the one that they are discussing. Cryosanthia draws his attention as she leans in to take his scent and he holds very still. Seems as though he wants to move toward her, but holds himself still instead. He coughs when she's done, looking embarassed. "I probably smell different than I did when we knew one another."
"I have reasons without end to see Her stopped, Menel," Seldan says quietly. "For my mother. For myself. For all those who suffer under her hand. For all those who suffer from the plague. Because Eluna calls me to see abuse of Her gifts punished." There is a quiet, steely determination under Seldan's tone, but he subsides as he watches Cryosanthia. "I would not intrude. If perhaps you speak to her of what you have shared, it might trigger a memory," he suggests. "I would not intrude."
Even though Menel does smell differe, he smells... familiar. Like a nestling. Someone she's supposed to protect. The scent wars with what she knows she must do.
Cryosanthia jolts her head back, eyes opening. Her pupils are wide. There is a hint of some scent coming off her, then it passes. She remains still, no part of her moving as her eyes slowly return to normal. When that passes, she rubs at her ring. Where her ring was, her trying to roll something that has been there for years and now isn't.
The white-scale sith woman exhales, a small smile forms, "We do. I probably smell. They took my gloves, I can't wipe down like she wanted."
Cryo gazes about the room for chairs, "Should we sit? Seldan, could you get me a glass of water?"
Menel nods again to Seldan, acknowledging the warrior's words. The swordsman moves back into the cell, motioning toward the stools that he has inside. It's not a lot of space, and it'll be crowded with all three of them in here... Although Cryosanthia asks for some water and Menel flashes a smile at Cryosanthia. "You don't have to clean stuff anymore Sasa."
The white-scaled sith makar barely reacts to the name. The reaction is like the one before, muted, controlled. Her pupils widen briefly, it barely lasts long enough to notice. No strange scents this time.
She smiles at the paladin, "Safe water. Actually, Can the oozes exist here? What if you piped the water through this place." She stops speaking suddenly, "No. That's a Distraction. I think we'll be ok, things are... things are... coming back."
She moves to take a stool near Menel, reaching out her hands, palms up, waiting for him to take them.
"Of course." Seldan immediately stands, but pauses at the door and shakes his head. "They are inert here, but exist, for they are living beings as any other. The temples now create water for the ill, and I shall bring you safe water." He does not wait for a reply, but turns and takes himself up the hallway, his footfalls swift and purposeful.
Menel nods to Seldan in farewell and gratitude for the man collecting the water. Then, gently takes his seat before Cryosanthia, holding his hands out toward her gently. He is clearly glad to touch her scales, holding her hands in a familiar way. As if they've done this before. "It's been so long since I last saw you. I thought I'd never see you again. Time works so strangely there I didn't know... Did you say She took you recently?"
Halfway up the hallway, Seldan hears a sound. Everyone nearby hears it. It's another one of those strange lizard noises the sith-makar make. One that's rare, very unfamiliar, but instantly recognizeable in Am'shere. It's sound of mother, finding her nest destroyed. Her eggs broken. Her hatchlings torn apart, destroyed, lifeless bodies, gone. It says, I am inconsolable with this loss. Even to a non-sith, it's recognizeable grief, and loud.
Menel receives the start of this wail as the response to the question. Her hands turn to claws. The white-scale's pupils spread so wide her eyes become black and she launches at him, tearing at his chest and throat with clinical precision.
Menel says, "Cryo's attack is a unexpected thing so she gets a suprise action. Roll attack roll Cryo?" GAME: Cryosanthia rolls melee: (20)+6: 26 (THREAT) GAME: Cryosanthia rolls melee: (20)+6: 26 (THREAT) Cryosanthia says, "threat, confirmed, and 2nd nat attack" GAME: Cryosanthia rolls melee: (15)+6: 21 GAME: Cryosanthia rolls 2d4+4: (7)+4: 11 GAME: Cryosanthia rolls 1d4+2: (2)+2: 4
Seldan is about halfway down the hall when that wail goes up, echoing ear-shatteringly through the stone walls and iron bars of otherwise mostly-empty chambers. He turns around, and booted footfalls come at the run, but she'd been crafty, and he barely reaches the door in time to see the sith-makar nearly tear his friend apart.
It's all Menel can do to get his arms up in front of himself. His chest is in ribbons, his throat slashed so that he's spilling blood down his front. His leather armor is /stained/ crimson in a matter of moments. He tries to speak but he can barely whisper. "Sasa?" It's all he can manage, his blue eyes wide with shock and his whole demenor screaming that he couldn't attack her if he wanted to.
<OOC> Seldan says, "Grapple. I'll take the AoO." <OOC> Cryosanthia says, "right, ignoring you" <OOC> Menel laughs. Okay so she doesn't AOO you because she's LASER FOCUSED GAME: Seldan rolls cmb: (9)+13: 22 GAME: Cryosanthia rolls Escape Artist: (17)+9: 26
"Cryosanthia, NO!" Seldan's own shout is loud enough to echo down the halls in its own right, a bellow that the usually gracious paladin seldom uses. Lunging for her, he grabs her by the neck, trying to pull her off of Menel, utterly uncaring about anything small details like claws. "Menel, run! Get the guards!"
The white-scale sith-makar is laser focused on Menel, ignoring the noises behind her. Already, her claws are red, she wears Menel's blood like bracers on her forearms. Her eyes are black. Everything about her is efficient, deadly, and directed at her friend.
Her wail continues, until she and it are interrupted by a grab from behind. However, this sith is wriggly, difficult to hold and she squirms free. Landing and chasing her target, moving up next to him. Seldan has drawn her attention though, she's ready for him also.
Menel moves backwards from the sith-makar, his own blood making him cough, sending waves of pain through his body. He keeps his arms up to keep her from attacking him again. He keeps his defesnive posture, but doesn't make a break for the door past Cryosanthia and the paladin. "They'll kill her." It's a hoarse croak, barely words at all but he can't... His blue eyes look so endlessly sad. He knows if he tries to run past them that she'll do her best to kill him, and dying at her hands might kill what remains of Cryosanthia.
Cryosanthia says, "Using Charmed life, 1st of 3" GAME: Cryosanthia rolls will+3: (2)+4+3: 9 Cryosanthia nods, "Aoo everything!" GAME: Seldan rolls weapon0: (6)+13: 19 GAME: Seldan rolls weapon0-5: (2)+13+-5: 10 GAME: Cryosanthia spends TWO points of PANACHE. (3 remaining) GAME: Cryosanthia rolls melee: (5)+6: 11 GAME: Cryosanthia rolls melee: (14)+6: 20 Cryosanthia says, "one gets through, one parried, if parried I get a counterattack" GAME: Cryosanthia rolls melee: (12)+6: 18 GAME: Cryosanthia rolls 1d4+2: (4)+2: 6 GAME: Seldan rolls 1d3+3: (2)+3: 5
Seeing the sith-makar gracefully slither out of his grip, Seldan decides to go for a different approach. Draw her attention. Take the claws. And eventually, knock her out. The first fist lands, but she easily shoves aside a second, poorly placed blow, raking claws across his shoulder for his trouble.
GAME: Cryosanthia rolls melee: (7)+6: 13 GAME: Cryosanthia rolls melee: (12)+6: 18 GAME: Cryosanthia rolls 1d4+2: (2)+2: 4 <OOC> Menel says, "Okay! Menel goes down! But... >.> MIGHT STILL BE BREATHING"
She's being attacked, that's a distraction. The white-scaled sith-makar devotes enough attention to fend off Seldan, then returns her claws to Menel. Her first swipe goes wild, her second though, rips into the man's flesh. More blood is drawn and sprayed.
Her wailing starts up again. Her children are dead! My heart is broken.
Menel hits the floor before he realizes that its even coming, consiousness drifting before his eyes in black spots. He can barely make out Cryosanthia, covered in his blood. Beyond her he knows is Seldan, but he can't see the other man. His lips move. "Sasa..." He's crying for her, weakly. Dying. He knows the sensation like a cold blanket drawing over him. He reaches out, but his hand only twitches toward her. /Don't hurt her./ But there's no words leaving his lips anymore.
<OOC> Seldan says, "try the grapple again, and a different form of distraction." <OOC> Cryosanthia says, "op&r" GAME: Seldan rolls cmb: (11)+13: 24 GAME: Cryosanthia spends ONE point of PANACHE. (2 remaining) GAME: Cryosanthia rolls melee: (7)+6: 13
"Eluna, Seeress of all, grant me Your wisdom now." Seldan's mind scrambles desperately for a distraction, something, anything, to bring her back to herself, even as he murmurs that prayer, lunging for her with a grip that is sufficient to hold her fast, stop her from tearing him further. "Cryosanthia, shall I write to the Crimson Pen? Shall I tell them of an innocent man, murdered in cold blood by his jealous lover? Of the demon that guided her hand, that stole her children away?"
GAME: Cryosanthia rolls Escape Artist: (20)+9: 29
Stop me. Stop me. Stop me. Cryo is a passenger in this performance. Apart. Watching herself.
The sith-makar moves with machine precision, focused on a task. Kill Menel. All her skills and abilities in play. When Seldan grabs her, she is held back, for a brief second before she twists and wriggles free. The leverage on the bones, the rotation, angle of push, perfect to break the hold. The human blood making her scales slippery, a cruel icing to this cake.
She rounds on the unconscious man, going for him, ready to remove him from this earth.
All the while her wailing continues. A terrible sound, anguish beyond belief. I am destroyed.
GAME: Menel rolls fortitude: (4)+4: 8
The last thing he sees before Menel's consiousness fades is Cryosanthia wrestling herself free of Seldan for a second time. There's so much he would tell them if he could, but the darkness picks him up and sweeps him off before he can manage to form a single word.
A moment of high adrenaline emphasizes a detail in the fight. Cryosanthia looks amazing. Her markings have changed. Gone are deeply gouged tattoos with their baleful green glow. At some point in her time away her hide was restored to fullness. Unnoticed when she disrobed, it's clearer now, her patterns in palest blues highlighting across her scales. The markings of ancient sith-makar. The markings of dragons.
As she wriggles free, Seldan is caught, for a moment. Stunned - by the beauty of the killer before him. And then it hits him - something is different. In a good way. "Cryosanthia. Cryosanthia." Heedless of raging claws, he shoulders himself between Menel and Cryosanthia. "Listen to me. Your ancestors did not let their pain destroy them, and you will not, either. Nor did they let their pain destroy others. Think, Cryosanthia. You know your ancestors, better than most. You are one of them. Your scales show it. Do not let your pain destroy you, if you would not shame them."
As Seldan's words ring in the air the very air before Cryosanthia vibrates. Then suddenly an image takes form there. A memory. A memory of Cryosanthia walking into a room very much like this one. All stone and harshness. Cold and without pity. She looks tired. Beaten and bloodied. Her eyes are dull. Yet there's a boy in this room as well. A small boy, no more than eight or nine and small for his age. He jumps to his feet at the sight of her and runs to her. "Sasa!"
He hugs the white-scaled sith-makar. This little boy with bright blue eyes and pale white hair. He trusts her implicitly that much is clear and she bends so that she can hug him. Hold him. This little boy is the only comfort she has. This much is clear by how she holds him. He looks up at her in adoration and the image dissapears like a mirage.
<OOC> Cryosanthia says, "Well.... I'd like to think it's distracting enough <OOC> Menel thinks that it'd be distracting enough! And I also think a will save is warrented. GAME: Cryosanthia rolls will+3: (7)+4+3: 14 <OOC> Cryosanthia says, "sure, spend 3RPP Reroll, I have enough." GAME: Cryosanthia rolls will+3: (14)+4+3: 21
The sith-makar is a beautiful killing machine, pristine hide, powerful, patterned in highlights with the markings of her ancestors. A pleasing and aesthetic aspect that hints at a deep, powerful bond with the past.
The words of the paladin sink in. Cryo hears them. The machine does not. The machine continues, she will work around Seldan. He is a Distraction, her target is there. The machine keeps wailing grief.
Then, the vision appears. Her Youngling! Her Friend! Her only comfort. It's a visual jolt to the core of her being. A memory, an important and beloved one, slots back into place. She is a nest-mother, she protects! Her body completely rebels.
Cryosanthia's anguished wail turns into words. "Nooooooooo! Seldan save him. Save him. Stop me. Stop me. I can't."
"Then I shall." Indeed, every ounce of Seldan's mind, body, and soul is given over to doing just that, right now. So focused is he that he has not noticed that the stark, matte blackness of his skin has begun to dissipate, but not as a simple fade. Nothing so simple as that. No, it is beginning to crumble, in patches over patches of gray and black, the alabaster-fair skin he normally has beginning to peek through at the edges. A creepy effect, to be sure, but one that closely resembles ... the effect that Cryosanthia saw on his wings, the very first time she saw them. Only, that was more white and less black, but the patching and mottling effect is the same.
He doesn't pay that any heed, though, moving to shove/guide her from the room, with every ounce of focus and strength he has, and with a quick thrust, shove her into the nearest open jail cell and, if he can, slamming the door behind her.
<OOC> Cryosanthia says, "acrobatics to escape before he closes the door?"
<OOC> Menel says, "That'd be an EA check I think."
GAME: Cryosanthia rolls 1d6: (1): 1
GAME: Cryosanthia rolls escape artist+1: (16)+9+1: 26
<OOC> Menel says, "Seldan roll me a CMB ROLL WELL. :("
GAME: Seldan rolls cmb: (15)+13: 28
Cryosanthia is carried. Her eyes are still black. She stinks, a hard odor. Distress. She's panting hard, fighting to stay in control, to stay limp. She's curled around Seldan with her tail dragging. The curious mottling patterns changing on Seldan's skin are distracting. Enough to watch, a few more seconds. Too much of a struggle to even to speak.
Her moaning starts again, the fae queen did excellent work. The sith-makar starts to struggle again, squirming to break free. She is powerful and hard to hold onto, and when she's not helping, surprisingly heavy. She is thrown into the cell and immediately is rebounding to come out of it. The man is barely able to slam the door on her much abused nose, keeping her in. She reaches through the bars after him, still on the attack.
As her claws swipe in the air, they turn into grasping hands.
<OOC> Cryosanthia says, "Okay, she's going to grapple you. What's your CMD?" GAME: Cryosanthia rolls 1d20+6: (2)+6: 8
It takes a shoulder into the bars and a grunt of all-out efforts, but Seldan slams the jail cell door on the white sith-makar, expecting those claws to shred his flesh - and he starts, snapping away from the bars at the all-too-human touch, staring in disbelief. Later, he'll be deeply grateful for the hours spent training with no magic at all. A little less later, he'll feel the fire and blood that her claws drew from his flesh. For right now, with adrenaline flooding him, he can only stare at those hands, then turn and run back into Menel's cell, quickly assessing the man's state and doing what he can for him with no magic, murmuring a fervent prayer that he isn't too late.
GAME: Seldan rolls heal: (6)+9: 15
Her grabbing hands, grab all they can, which is empty air. The white-scaled sith-makar is left, contained, as the man runs to tend to the other. Slowly, her arms are withdrawn into the cell. She gazes at the blood on them, head bowed. Staring. Her breathing becomes nicely regular although it remains deep from her exertion. She stands, statuesque, symmetrical, staring at her bloody hands, wondering what she's done.
He isn't too late. Menel is somehow, miraciously alive. He's quickly bandaged with the closest available cloth to stem the blood he's still bleeding out on the bed. He looks horribly discolored from the lack of blood. But alive and that's what matters.
The guards enter the scene a moment later, utterly confused by what they find. A sith-makar that doesn't belong in one of their cells and one under their care greviously wounded. One of the guard steps toward Seldan. "Sir... What happened here?"
The other steps toward Cryosanthia. "Are you alright? We heard your... call."
Seldan himself is wearing more than his fair share of blood, and from the torn shirt, some of it is his. More of it is Menel's. "The sith-makar ... is ill," he begins to explain, drawing deep breaths as he realizes that Menel will make it. "She does not entirely know herself. I had thought to aid her, to seek help for her ... she turned on him, and sought to kill him. I know not what held - holds - her mind."
As the adrenaline begins to fade, he starts to shake, just a little. "I can ... heal him, but I must take him from here to do so. To protect him, I would do so in total darkness, for I need no light to call upon Eluna's aid."
The sith-makar is looking at her hands, still. The shadows and her position perhaps hide some the blood, but she is literally caught, red handed, in the cage. Still, the question sparks something, and she looks up, her expression imploring, her voice in a panic.
"HE ATTACKED MENEL AND LOCKED ME IN THIS CAGE!"
The guards look at one another, and then Seldan and Cryosanthia. It's clear that they don't know /who/ to believe. "Sir Seldan, why don't you move away from Menel. We can tend to him. As for you..." The other guard moves carefully toward the door, clearly intending to unlock it and free her. "We'll get you out of there, but you'll need to come upstairs with us."
GAME: Seldan rolls diplomacy+5: (18)+15+5: 38
"Do not release her, please." Seldan nods and stands, backing away as ordered, but looks out into the hallway. "I would not see her harmed, but she is ill, and does not know herself. We do not yet know the full truth of what was done to her, and until we do, she may harm anyone, at will." He shakes his head. "He will live. I have done that much, and will do more if you permit it." Even as he speaks, he grits his teeth. It's a shallow set of clawmarks to be sure, but they are there, and visible, far lesser versions of the wounds Menel sports. "Menel is my friend, and an inspiration. I would help him, as he has helped me."
GAME: Cryosanthia rolls diplomacy: (12)+8: 20 <OOC> Cryosanthia has to be somewhat convincing. bleh. <OOC> Seldan says, "You want to know the best part, Cryosanthia?" <OOC> Seldan says, "Seldan gets to explain himself to Zeke."
"This is true, but listen to me, please." Cryosanthia steps back, away from the bars in the hopes that will help her case. "He needs that man dead, but he is too well guarded. Everyone knows I'm not well, that 'Cryo did it' will be easily believed. Look at me, I have no weapons, the blood was everywhere. He's infected with the plague and it has given him strange powers, you've see how his skin changes. He manifested claws."
"Menel is my... is my..." Her voice chokes, she squeezes her hands tight. "He's my friend, my best friend. I've known him since he was a child. I raised him in that tower. I'd never... I'd never... don't let him die, please, please don't. Keep Seldan away from him, always his visits with a guard. If I must stay here I will, but he is exploiting his connections. I have no proof to show but I know it to be true."
Seldan's words are utterly convincing to the two men, so they ignore the sith-makar in her cage and nod to him. "Of course Silver Guard. We're at your disposal sir. How can we help?" One of the two men actually salutes Seldan while the other eyes his comrade as if wondering what's gotten into him. But he doesn't question it, not right now. There's more important things at hand. The guard that didn't salute side-eyes Cryosanthia.
GAME: Seldan rolls knowledge/arcana: (18)+10: 28
Seldan's eyes lower, just a little, but not in guilt. In sadness. "I manifest wings, not claws, Cryosanthia, and Eluna would turn Her face from me for any such act, and deservedly so. I would ...." He stops, and sighs. "Although I would aid him ... he is truly safest where he is. I dare not suggest he be brought where magic may reach him, unless I did so in complete darkness, and even that might not suffice, for She who would slay him." He looks down at Menel on the bed. "Perhaps it is best if I leave." _Much though I hate to do it,_ his tone says. "I am passable as a healer, but others are more skilled."
Cryosanthia watches the guard side-eyeing her with an expression that might be horror. sith-makar are hard to read. It's clear by the way her head follows them that she's unhappy, worried that she wasn't believed. "He is not safe here either Seldan, but you have the guards ears. Hopefully they have the healers and do their jobs. You are right that magic would expose him too much and I don't want him to die. I don't. My words don't matter, so this one will be silent."
She stops speaking. She remains standing there until they are gone.
Almost. Almost perfect. Almost isn't good enough.
She looks around the room, pushes the bed into the corner she likes and pulls a bedsheet off of it. She cleans herself. Menel was wrong, she still has to clean. Blood gets everywhere. It's hard to remove, it seeps under the scales and even a spot stands out on her bright white ones. She misses her Apprentice Cheat Gloves already. She stinks, of far too many different sith emotions she knows all too well. That stink can't be cleaned off either. When she is done she wads the sheet up and throws it out of the cell.
Cryo moves over to the bed. She lies down on her back, and stares up at the ceiling. She is in the middle with her tail straight. Silently, she stares upwards. She stares for a long time.
The guards look a little uncomfortable. "You want that we should leave him here? In this condition?" They sound doubtful. "You're the best person to help him Sir Seldan. The nearest healers are far away. We'll just take him up to the entrance and you can heal him there." The guard who says this looks at his companion who nods in agreement. They don't want to be responsible for this.
"Very well." Seldan nods immediate agreement - and looks more than a little relieved, although his next words hold both sadness and steel. "The only true safety he will find is in the defeat of the one responsible for all of this. Come, do you wish to carry him, or shall I? I can." He looks out of the room, again, at Cryosanthia. "I shall have to explain myself to her caretakers in the Draco Solis' Temple," he adds, his words fairly screaming that he isn't looking forward to that. Ice-blue eyes look between the guards, questioningly.
The guards nod. "I'll carry him for you sir." The guard moves forward to just that, carefully picking Menel up and carrying him out of the cell. It doesn't take long to leave Cryosanthia behind and the guards glance back at her several times as if making sure she's okay before they do so. "She can't stay down there you know. She's not a criminal. I mean she might be if she attacked Menel like you say she did, but even you admit that she's not herself. So we can't keep her here."
"I understand," Seldan nods, trailing the others up. "I will consult with her caretakers in the Draco Solis' Temple." He uses the Myrrish term for Daeus, which fits with the Myrrish accent. "I intended only to keep her away from him long enough for her wits to return," he explains. "It is not my place to punish, save for those of evil. I will seek to have an answer for you by evensong. Is that acceptable?"
It's enough. The guards leave Menel in Seldan's care once they reach the upstairs, watching over him but only idly. If the paladin can heal... well then that more than proves that Seldan is trustworthy.
Dramatis Personae
Seldan
There is something about him, if one is human.
It is not easy to pin down exactly what, though. He is not the biggest man, despite a warrior's physique, just shy of six feet tall with a frame more closely resembling that of a gymnast than that of a brawler. Fair as a spring day, with hair equally balanced between ginger and blonde that is grown out of a military cut to fall in his eyes if not disciplined. Ice-blue eyes with blonde lashes hold wisdom and kindness, set into features that are even, straight, and strong. But - in certain lights, and at certain times, humans might almost see in this Eldanar man a glimpse of what a warrior of the Millennium Kingdom might once have looked like.
His attire is not at all that of a warrior, though. A loose shirt with tied cuffs and black-brown trousers form the base, but the open, short-sleeved robe over it, of midnight blue with moon-silvery edging and celestial symbols sewn into the robe, is cut in a way that a wizard is more likely to favor than a warrior, even if it does have a small stain on the lower right hem. It flows to the tops of practical, soft boots, and is left open to frame the silvery crescent-and-sphere of Eluna on a silver chain, a clear proclamation of the man's allegiance. A set of gold bracers, depicting celestial symbols that match the symbols on the robe, encircle his wrists.
He wears multiple belts, one of ornate silver links, another a beaten leather affair with attachments for weapons. A longsword hangs from this, from a sheath on his left hip with an ornately-carved pommel and a guard designed in an ancient style, and a much newer-looking heavy mace on his right hip. A belt pouch completes the contents of the leather belt, and a sturdy cloak over all in midnight blue bears the crescent-and-sphere of Eluna picked out in a mosaic of thousands of tiny silver crystals on the back.
Cryosanthia
For those who have known her, Cryo is older, much older. Gone is the light on her feet, heavy in the fray, whimsical lizard girl. There is no trace of the fading youngling features which betrayed her youth, her lithe build, her playful exagerated expressions. She looks like her mother might, bigger overall with larger horns, more scale plates, a stronger keratin crest and fearsome talons. Even her gory tattoos have vanished. The Cryo you knew is gone. In a seeming instant.
For those who meet her afresh, Cryosanthia is an elegant sith-makar woman in the first year of her second century. She radiates confidence, a deep power from within. Her scales are a brilliant white, highlighted by ones which are the palest of glacial blues. These pale scales trace out the scars she used to bear, her hide is restored. She bears two fantastic patterns of these, one on her chest, the other completely covering her back from crest to tailtip. When the light hits right, one sees the dragon within. Her bearing is intense, her motions minimal grace. Two horns sweep back from her brow. Her eyes are like glittering saphhire gems, and when she blinks her eyelids have the glacial blue to them as well. She wears a white layered robe, cut for her species, with shimmering blue piping, highlights and whorls. She carries no weapons, and still keeps a tiny bag close to her heart.
For those who know the story, Cryo has been changed, physically and fundamentally by her experiences. She is a lifetime older, but a human lifetime. Still young for a sith-makar, she has centuries to go. Cryosanthia grew into herself under the fae Queen and is the only one to return with memories. These are, sadly, disrupted and Cryo struggles to reconnect with herself, her body, and friends she hasn't seen in decades. Alien at times even to the sith-makar, her heritage is written on her scales, along with her spells.
Cryosanthia, Speaker of the Sith-Makar.
Menel
Menel is a tall man with pure white hair that his eyebrows and eyelashes prove is indeed a natural color for him. His skin is tanned from head to toe, also a natural color which makes his white hair stand out even more. It is his blue eyes which are most remarkable however, not because they’re an unusual color - they’re the color of the summer sky after all - but because they always shine with goodwill and a sort of easy-going friendliness that is palpable. He’s built like a mixed martial artist, a man made for fighting which is easy to tell from a glance. Menel walks like a dancer, but looks to those who know a warrior when they see one; dangerous.
Two swords are strapped on his belt; one to either hip, thin blades that he wears so naturally that they seem a part of his body. He wears leather armor from shoulder to toe, fitted to his body and worn by combat. Though everything he carries is well-made it has an air of use to it, except for his swords which even after years of fighting carry not a scratch. When he’s not out in the wilderness hunting deer or the like he’s often seen wearing a sky-blue half-cloak which is surprisingly well crafted given the state of everything else he wears. Though nothing carries as much wear and tear as his steel-toed boots which have clearly seen the road many, many times.