Yet the Soul Obeys

The sun is beginning to wester over Alexandria, and the breezes have cooled from their daily height. Most people are packing up, grooming horses, cleaning the field, picking up arrows, weapons, armor, and beginning to make for the exits, but there's one person still hard at work on the pells, with a weighted practice blade and a weighted vest meant to simulate armor in its placement, but much, much heavier. Seldan looks like death warmed over, more ashen than alabaster in his paleness, with dark circles under his eyes, and if one could not clearly see the wooden pell, one might fairly think him fighting demons, not inanimate objects, judging by his twisted mask of fury as he runs through complex drills.

There is another person still practicing as the shadows start to grow. She is a direct contrast to Seldan, looking happier than she has in a long time. Cryosanthia has made good on her intention to resume her athletics and acrobatics regimen, as well as put in some swordwork. Sith-makar do not sweat to cool, but she's worked out enough that festival dust have covered her scales and clothes. This does little to dampen her spirits, which shine through. As the light changes colour, her white scales and uniform take on lovely sunset hues. The seeming boundless, bouncy energy she's had since meeting the little gold dragon do have their limits, and the palescale has finally gotten to them.

She was aware of Seldan, he's been here since she arrived and that was early. Cryo left him to his workout, Zeke was cagey and smelt strange when she asked about the Silverguard, and other topics, so she decided to let them lie. For a little bit, but now it's time to check on him. She heads his way, approaching cautiously and says, "Peace on your Scabbard, Seldan."

In fact, Seldan has been here pretty much all day, with only minimal breaks to rest. She has only seen him eat once, and that not much and not for long. He is drenched in sweat, and seems to have finally tired himself out as well. Indeed, he breaks the drill when she speaks, jumping nearly out of his skin, and whirls around, staggering back a step until he is leaning against the solid wooden post. "Cryosanthia, Her light on you." The voice is ragged, and he blinks a few times. "You have had a good workout?"

Malik is, of course, not that far away. It seems that he left the paladin long enough to go get something that could be considered dinner, coming back and setting it on one of the simple wooden benches that line the practice area. He gives Cryosanthia a nod, offering a small smile, though most of his attention is focused SEldan's way -- a faint trace of worry there, easy to see. "You should take a moment," he calls over, quietly. "I think the wooden man has learned his lesson for now. He will repent and lead a righteous life."

"Yes, this one has." The palescale nods, to Seldan and a second time to Malik. She grins at his comment, "Oh yeah, he's totally reformed. You've made him a church-goer."

She stands there carefully. Instead of the layered wizard robes she's been wearing of late, her clothing is more of a long shirt with short sleeves that hangs over a kilt which has a sleeve for her tail and hangs to her knees. Cryo wobbles her head through an arc as she examines Seldan, "I needed to get some work in, I was laid up too long with the plague and got a bit blunted."

A ghost of a laugh flits around Seldan's lips and peeks through exhausted eyes. "Why did you say nothing, Malik, I might do the same for you." He does not bother to straighten. "Well do I understand you, I was laid up for ... a few weeks, I think." He pushes that lock of hair, now dusty and dirty and sweaty, out of his eyes, not incidentally running at them. "It was quite the job to work back into fighting trim."

"Because that worked out so well for you last time we were in this arena together," Malik teases, though he seems rather confused for a moment, raising an eyebrow. "I ... think that perhaps you've over-exerted yourself," he continues, picking up the food and moving over to the training dummy where the other two are, rather than making them come to him. Looking to Cryosanthia, he offers apologetically, "I'm afraid that I'm not sure what the sith-makar prefer, though you're welcome to whatever suits you."

GAME: Malik rolls Perception: (3)+20: 23

GAME: Seldan rolls perception: (9)+5: 14

GAME: Cryosanthia rolls perception: (13)+5: 18

"Food that doesn't require a lot of chewing, usually meats or fruits. Bread is fine but I break it into small pieces." Cryo grins a little, her mouth open. She has lots of sharp teeth, none suitable for grinding. She looks over the offered food for something easily shredded and swallowed. "Sauces are nice, fun for licking."

The sith makes a quick, 'wash down' ritual that sets her gloves glowing. The dust is gone. Seldan gets a few more concerned glances, although looking at Malik doesn't appear to satisfy her curiosity much. "Thanks for the food. We've never really talked much, this one apologizes. I suspect I've spoke with Seldan's sword more; I know you're ..."

She's about to say something further, then cuts herself off. "I should remind, sometimes my Mistress listens."

With an effort, Seldan straightens up and half-raises a hand, like he intends to do the same, then shakes his head wearily. "Reunion is not with me, though I would hear what they have to say to Her. Fallia, I fear, is quite right about Kanian's manners." He reaches to accept with both sweaty, dirty hands the food offered, a thing he would normally not do without cleaning himself first.

Malik nods, seeming to relax a moment. He moves a few containers around, finding the one he's looking for. "Spiced chunks of breaded chicken. A lovely sauce, easy to tear, and don't require much chew..." The wizard's voice trails off, the bowl falling from his hand and all over everything else, a horrid mess. But Malik doesn't seem to notice. Something caught the man's attention, his face going pale as his eyes widen, a storm of emotions playing over his face. Confusion. Trepidation. All of which can be summed up in a single, wary word.

"...Carissa?"

It doesn't take much to look in the same direction as Malik. To turn and look behind Seldan to where a woman is sitting in the stands. She's not a young woman, but the similarites between her and Seldan are striking to say the least. She could be his sister if not for her age. Hair a touch more blonde than his ginger-blonde. Features more feminine yes, but they're clearly related. The sound of the name draws her to her feet as if she could have sat there forever waiting to be noticed and been happy with that. She moves toward you and you notice no evidence of sickness in her. No darkness around her eyes, no effort to her breathing. Just a woman, happy to see someone - happy to see Seldan.

Cryosanthia is clearly interested in the chicken, reaching for it, when Malik drops the bowl. Server instincts take over and she drops to catch it, but only goes half-way as she turns to see 'Carissa', who startled him. Slowly, she stands, looking at Seldan, then at the woman.

"Is... that Seldan's sister?" Recognizing that they're related is an accomplishment for her, considering the species difference. Guaging age might be too far.

Except... Seldan has only a brother...? Cryo is more confused.

Seldan clarifies Cryosanthia's confusion quickly, the food and everything else forgotten. "Mother! Mother, how did you come to be here?" The full run that the Elunan would normally have taken off at towards the stands is hampered somewhat by physical exhaustion, but the practice sword thumps unheeded to the dirt as he fairly bolts for the stands.

Malik watches as Seldan gets up, practically rushing to the stands. "Seldan, wait!" he calls, though with no real conviction in his voice. The man knows full well the attempt is futile even before he begins it. He rises slowly to his feet, glancing at Cryosanthia. "If the gods are merciful," he tells the sith-makar woman, though his voice makes it clear that he doubts they are anything of the sort. A hand moves to the ring he wears, tension rising in his form, looking ready to act at any moment. Though not acting -yet-.

Waiting. Watching.

Worried.

The woman - Seldan's mother moves toward him as well, his recognition of her bringing an even wider smile to her lips as she makes her way to him. She's not hampered by anything, but she doesn't run as unrestrainedly as he does. There's some small distance betweent them, but its covered quickly enough and she reaches for him with gentle hands.

The sith-makar is instantly alert when she hears Seldan's cry. His mother! She blinks, takes a step, hesitating and staying with Malik, "It's not the gods, the Mistress must be merciful." Concern is clearly in her voice.

Cryosanthia tries to inhale Carissa's scent from a distance. Inwardly, her emotional guardian is standing ready. "Please, please, let this be good news." A prayer to her mistress perhaps? Cryo hasn't prayed to her god in decades.

Something inside of Seldan pulls up juuuust a little, long-held teaching reminding him that tackling someone recently ill to the ground is poor form. Instead, he reaches for her hands, taking them in his. "Mother, how did you return? Are you well? When did you get here?" The veritable barrage of questions is rapid-fire, so much so that they might be slurred.

Malik continues to watch. Waiting. For the space of a heartbeat. Two. But something in the wizard moves, seeing Seldan approach, reaching for the woman. He's moving in an instant, fast, pulling right up along beside Seldan -- and offering the woman his brightest, most pleasant grin. "Carissa," he says, warmly, pure affection in his voice. "It's so good to see you again. We had so little time in Bryn Myrddion, and then you came here, and -- fell ill. We thought you lost. How did you escape?"

GAME: Malik rolls Bluff: (9)+16: 25

"Slow down, slow down Seldan!" She smiles at Seldan fondly, but doesn't seem to mind his barrage of questions as her words might indicate. Her hands hold his gently, a real, solid presence in his. Telling him firmly that she's not some kind of illusion. Carissa opens her mouth to say more, but Malik interceeds and she pauses to give him a curious look. "I'm sorry... Have we met? Wait... I think we have, you're a friend of Seldan's aren't you?" She doesn't seem to recognize Malik very much.

When the mage moves, the sith moves. Cryosanthia follows with him, stands behind the two. She's tall enough to see over both, and peers down with a carefully empty expression. She's watching Carissa and Seldan, her tail still behind her, hands clasped. "This one is pleased to meet you." She adds as an introduction, "We have not met."

"Of course, Mother. Forgive me, I go too quickly." Suddenly, Seldan looks sheepish, although he squeezes her hands in his. He takes several deep breaths, trying to slow himself down, all exhaustion forgotten for the moment in his excitement, eyes sparkling despite his valiant attempts to assume his usual even and focused demeanor. "Come, tell me. Are you well?"

Malik blinks, as if unsure how to react to that particular response. He offers a small nod, and a gentle smile. "Indeed, Mistress Padaryn,"he offers in response, measuring those words carefully. "We -- have been through much together." Some of the tension seems to melt out of him, just a bit. But this isn't the moment to interfere, and he simply steps back, giving her a polite nod as he lets Seldan catch up.

Carissa bows her head respectfully to Cryosanthia. "I am sure my son would introduce us properly if all his manners had not flown him entirely." She has his Myrrish accent as well as his looks, but the reproachful look she gives him is entirely forgiving. "You look positively terrible Seldan, you must remember to take care of yourself." She lets out a soft sigh and a slightly pained expression crosses her features, her lips turn into a frown and quite suddenly she embraces her son. "Oh Seldan!"

Cryosanthia isn't sure what to do. Nervous and curious, she stalks around the three humans. Clockwise first, she circles Malik, Carissa, then Seldan, reverses when she's behind the two men and goes back the other way to end up where she started. She's examining the ground, Carissa, the other two, then she looks over at the stands and sky. Her tail trails cautiously behind her.

The sith keeps waiting for ... she's not sure. Something to go wrong. She searches her thoughts, for the part of her that pretends to think like her mistress. If I were this sith-fae, what would I do. The thought strikes.

"Oh... I see."

GAME: Seldan rolls sense motive-4: (2)+14+-4: 12

Seldan doesn't hesitate this time, pulling his mother close and holding her tightly, and never mind weighted practice clothes, dirt, dust sweat, or the beginnings of tears, heedless of any tricks that might be played, or indeed, anyone else around him. "It is good to see you well and safe, Mother. I love you."

The music builds slowly, starting far enough and quiet enough that one might wonder if it was there at all. But it slowly builds in both form and volume as the wee player nears.GAME: Aftershock advances the initiative order.

Acedia is small and has found a little place in the stands to secret herself out of harms way, for the moment. Her voice is low, and her fingers move again in an intricate pattern. Nearby, behind the frantic combat ensuing by a number of paces, Menel appears. Standing easy with a worried expression. "Why are you doing this... Mother?", he asks.

GAME: Aftershock rolls 1d100: (53): 53

Carissa's head comes up, her breathing uneven, her eyes unfocused. She still holds Seldan. So easily. A trickle of blood trails down Seldan's neck from the pinpricks caused by her fangs. She blinks and looks at Seldan. Screams. "SELDAN! NO!" She's horrified. She holds him in her arms as if unable to let him go.

"Kill him." That same voice again and Carissa shudders, letting out a horrible noise that crawls out of her throat. The sound of a mother fighting with all she has not to kill her son.

GAME: Seldan rolls cmb+2: (14)+15+2: 31

The momentary distraction, the war with herself, and the sith-makar's claws combine to be just enough for Seldan to wrench himself free from the mmompire's grip and stagger back a pace, hand clapped to his neck where she bit him. "Mother! She is yet in there! She is a prisoner!" Menel's voice catches him out of the corner of his eye. "Menel, get clear, what are you doing here?"

The rest of the world drops away for Cryosanthia. She forgets Seldan, Carissa, everyone, when she hears that voice. Her claws vanish, her jaw becomes normal. She releases her grip, turns.

"Menel?" Her distress wail has vanished. Another noise, a call to her youngling, come to me. She steps towards him, transfixed. Her voice wavers with disbelief, then she hears Seldan's warning, "You have to get clear!"

She bounds towards the image to defend him, save him.

GAME: Malik rolls 1d20+14: (13)+14: 27

Menel's eyebrows rise up as both Seldan AND Cryosanthia look to him. "Do not turn your back on her. Face her head on!", he says firmly. "I ask again, Mother. Why are you doing this?"

Malik sees Seldan get free, letting his arms fall to his side for a moment. He makes a gesture, pointing at Carissa and shouting a sharp, commanding word, the woman engulfed in arcane energies that seem to be doing some manner of battle with -- something else, but otherwise doing no harm. Whether they win or no is anyone's guess.

But the wizard is no longer calm. He looks to Seldan, eyes wide and full of panic, voice strong and pleading and full of fear. "SELDAN! -FLY!-"

Carissa drops to her knees, fangs and claws receeding. Black ooze bubbles out of her mouth, and she spits it out with a wrech. The woman reaches out for Seldan, her hand trembling with the effort of trying to get to her son. "Seldan!" She cries out for him, and then as suddenly as that, she's gone. Pulled from the here and now. The ooze that came out of her trembles on the ground for a moment before becoming a little puddle. She's gone. Taken once again.

GAME: Cryosanthia rolls will: (16)+4: 20

GAME: Seldan rolls 1d100: (92): 92

"Menel? I don't understand. I'm not doing anything. I'm sorry I tried..." Cryosanthia approaches him, her grown youngling, her emotions bubbling in confusion. Why am I not trying to kill him? Am I still? Is this all a delusion.

Then she sees, he is the illusion. It's not real. Hope shrivels inside her like a salted ooze, leaving a sticky slurry on her soul. She sinks down in front of the image, thumping to the ground, on her knees, tail flat out behind her. She stares, quietly crushed, a small quiet keen in her throat. A pained question, "Why?"

"Mother, no!" Seldan reaches out, staring in horror as she is taken again, still bleeding at neck and wrists where teeth and claws have dug into his flesh. He sinksslowly to his knees in shock, shaking like a leaf in the wind. He's mostly heedless of the others, one fist planted into the ground. "She is yet in there ... she yet lives ... she yet lives...."

Malik falls to his knees as Carissa disappears, a look of shock and disbelief on his face. He's silent for a moment, the normally stoic wizard trying to make some sense of what just happened, what magics were in play. But it only lasts a moment. Snapping out of it, he looks up, springing to his feet and rushing over to the paladin. "Seldan!" he cries, pulling the man into a tight hug, his whole body trembling as he just holds the man close. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

The image of Menel will fade, and Cryosanthia might hear gentle footfalls before a hand is placed on her shoulder. It squeezes gently. "I'm sorry.", comes the Gobbo voice, sounding oddly lower and scratchy. "I was trying t'get Her to react. Not you. I did not mean to hurt you." She sniffles. "Menel is a good man. He did you proud, in the end."

Acedia looks to Seldan. "We'll get her back.", she says softly, at first. "We'll get her back!"

Cryosanthia looks up at Acedia dark eyes. Her pupils are wide open, flashing as the reflective and low-light lenses catch the fading light. She has no words, only a low, broken sound in her throat. She nods, but, she has nothing to say.

Her whole fighting style is about finding weaknesses, and thrusting home. Whether the goblin realized it or not, she struck at a deep weakness within the sith. Cryo falls apart, the backlash of hope, seeing Menel again when her last memory was fighting Zeke off him then realizing it's all an illusion, forces her to confront it all again when she was carefully ignoring it, chipping away at it. Head on, it's too much.

The palescale pushes herself off the ground, forcing out the words, "This one must go."

Seldan makes no attempt to resist Malik's hug, simply clinging to the man's shoulders, trembling like a leaf in the wind. "She's still in there. Her protection showed me. She can resist. There is a chance, if we move swiftly. We must .... we must find the others. And ... I would greet Her face." He looks up at Malik, wide-eyed and using the man for balance, exhaustion and shock written in every line of his body and face.

Malik pulls back from the hug -- and immediately sees that something is wrong. Half of Malik's face is covered in blood, the gear that Seldan wears quickly turning a red color as the blood spreads into the cloth. "Seldan?" Malik blinks, eyes frantic. "No. No, no." He turns to look, watching Cryosanthia walk away, seeing Acedia next to her, and makes a decision. "Then greet Her face we shall." The wizard closes his eyes, once again calling forth that magic, and he and Seldan are simply /gone/, in a puff of air, the space around them twisting at impossible, mind-breaking angles for a heartbeat before popping back out into flat, empty air.

Acedia sniffles once more as Cryosanthia walks away, and she calls out to her. "Remember the bard's forte!" She turns, to see Malik observing Seldan and obviously not like what he sees. She takes a few steps towards them, concern in her face... before they do the bendy-twisty-poof trick. And she stops dead and looks around. Alone. Several long moments later, the dulcet tones of a mournful dirge can be heard, fading into the night.

There are words. Others are saying things, they fall away. The sun has set, the shadows taken over, the sith-makar's vision switches for night and the world takes on different colours. She's oblivious to these also, turned in on herself.

Cryosanthia's first steps are slow, her tail dragging, then she speeds up. A coldness descends upon her, every feeling packed in tight, no wasted motion. Efficient, empty. When it hurts too much the only thing she can do is pretend to be her Mistress, who feels nothing. She does and moves like her, the impression is chilling and she leaves a hint of frost in her wake.