He smiled at that, a bit forlorn perhaps. "No, gentle Azi, not you." He finished the egg and bought two mugs of milk from the diary man, avoiding the sweet Breakfast Ale being offered from a keg not five feet away.


"I dreamed about the night that..." he paused, swallowing milk and fear, "she was taken in the raid. Twas the last time I saw Moryan or Carrington, and but one of the last times I saw Arguyle." Even though fear glinted in his eyes, he pressed on. "It was morning, just at dawn, when the whole place just...burned to the ground. Arguyle and I charged in to the building like two pygmy goblins caught wind of a Paladin. The whole place started to collapse and I shoved Arguyle from a beam, that landed on me," he grinned, bobbing his head slightly. "It wasn't much of a saving move, since I pushed him under another section of falling roof."


He traced the wall top with his eyes, the grey stone against blue sky, as the scene played back in his mind. "Then some Red Lions were carrying me out of the place, and clerics were going about healing. The King was shouting orders, and D'Vena was captured. I, I think her husband is Arguyle's brother or something and they parted badly, D'Vena and he, that is."


He paused, playing with the heavy gold signet ring. With a deep exhale, he pressed on. "She was being led away when she worked the spell. It was so fast, just a few motions and some strange words." He jawline shifted from a pulsing muscle, clench and loosening. "But I felt it hit me, like an arrow. Then the pain passed, and I thought it was gone." He avoided meeting her eyes, for if he did, surely he could not press on.


"But, the pain," he squinted into the sun, letting it fill his vision with burnt umber to keep his mind from bringing up other pictures. "The pain is there, almost always," his voice was low, a frown stretching the corners of his mouth down. "Always except, except when I drink, or," he let out an exasperated sigh, "kill, or, well," he glanced aside at her, "I think you can guess on the last."


With a small grimace, he took her hand again, setting on his elbow and started to walk, less someone hear too much. "And your company seems to ease it some," he smiled at her.

 

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Gliding quietly behind them in a deeply cowled hood, Tobyas watched them together, jealousy mixing with pride. His confusion was warring within him.

Azi frowned as Crispian confessed to her the events leading to his torture. She listened in silence to the description of D'vena's curse. Going over the description and his symptoms in her head, she grew silent. Slowly, she remembered a passage from her research. She stopped short in the middle of the street, gripping Crispian's arm tightly.


"Milord," she whispered, "I've read of this curse... Where is D'vena now?"

He looked at her oddly. "Lyn Barfog, in her manse. I'm sure of that." His face grew grim.

 

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Azi frowned.

"I thought you said she was captured?" She thought a moment, trying to remember what she had read.


"In any case, milord, I've read through over two hundred tomes of curses," she blushed deeply as Crispian gave her a questioning look, "for personal reasons. If yours is the curse I remember, then to lift it..." She stopped a moment to think. She hated to say it if she was wrong, she had only vaguely remembered what she had read, and with what little description she had, she could not be certain. She whispered almost inaudibly, "ou must kill her..."

Crispian started to laugh, "Kill he..." His brows nettled together, and his teeth gritted together. His eyes pressed tightly shut, fingers clenched, one hand grabbed Azi's as it had been covering it. Knees buckled as he sank to the road.


"She w-w-won't let that happen," he croaked out, his throat constricting, and collapsed to the ground.

 

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Panic-stricken, Azi looked around frantically as Crispian's collapse drew the gazes of passersby, stopping them. She dropped to her knees beside him and grabbed his shoulders, shaking him gently.


"Milord, please..please, I'm sorry!" She patted his face gently, "get up," she whispered pleadingly. A pair guardsmen eyed the display from the wall, a small crowd was beginning to gather. Azi blushed a deep red.


"A little too much ale," she lied, forcing a nervous laugh. The crowd murmured and slowly wandered away, the guardsmen rolled thier eyes.


"Get 'im off the street lass." One of them called out. Azi blushed deeper, shaking Crispian again.


"Crispian, please..."

Crispian lay on the pavement as Azi shook him, gently trying to wake him. The mere thought of harming D’Vena had brought terror striking at him, and his mind had shut down. The searing images she had dredged up flooded into every venue they could find in his mind, not seeping like so often in the past, but cascading in like wave battering at the foundation of a flooding house. Failures, rejections, regrets all came to the forefront of his mind in one Tsunami like wave of pressure and pain. Blackness brought sweet oblivion.

In her fastness in Lyn Barfog, D’Vena watched the tableau play out. She smirked at the gentleness of the young wizardress. Nothing came of such gentleness, she thought bitterly. She knew that well. Mithain, Arguyle, Moryan. All had sought to rob her through their ‘gentle’ and ‘noble’ means. Moreover, this stripling of a man had thought to take arms with them, using his guile, charms, and looks to disarm her. She shuddered, pressing palms to her face. Her beauty was not so faded that she should have fallen for such a ploy, yet she had. And she knew that his gentle attentions were indeed sweet, even intoxicating. A warrior’s stamina tempered with scholarly upbringing. The boy had patience, she admitted with a small chuckle. Ah, but she had not finished with her little revenges for that lie he had made her party to.

She returned her attention to the dome of glass, casting about for those she sought. Arguyle was still beyond detection, and Moryan was in the Elf-land it seemed, out of range for what little work she could do from here, deprived of the grand instruments her manor house had once held. Still, perhaps there were somethings she could make to happen. She mused on this as she collected up particulars. Her hands busy, she recounted events of the last few weeks and set her mind to a course of action. There were matters she should address in some fashion.

Taking dried elements from jars, she cast them into a steeping pot, listening as each made it’s particular sound: the hiss of dried diamond-back toad eye, for piercing through fogs of mystery; the popping sound from dried Telamon brains, mostly to thicken the brew, for Telamon were stupid; the tongue of a novice friar, dried in a ruined church, for turning the untruths into revelations; and lastly, a fragment of dried cloth from the burial shroud of Jasper Pontiff, to better know the lineage of her prey.

She waited, sipping at a white wine, as the brew boiled and bubbled, the laughter of her mind suppressed for this working, this bold endeavor. Finally, she lifted an ebon rod, carved from the darkest wood for a dark working and traced sigils in the air over the pot. Glowing runes floated, casting a hellish light on the work surface. She squinted at the dome, flicking droplets of the mixture on its surface. An elf, an Avalonian, a twin, and a cleric. Hmm. Her lips pursed in thought, eyes blazing as she watched some scenes flit too and fro on the opaque dome. First, the elf, she decided and allowed a small chuckle at that.

Raising claw-like hands in the air, she wove them in patterns that would make most practitioners pale and quaver, but D’Vena was far passed simple fear at this stage of the bargain.

“Elfling, Elfling, in your wood;

I would strike thee if I could;

But you world would be my death,

So I dispatch a little Pet;

Pet of bone and flesh and Rot;

Stepping forth from Yon Pot;

Poison Claw and Wicked Horn;

Seeks the Elf Upon the Morn;

Take from him his heavy Life;

So He won’t shield my Target’s Strife;

Revenge on green Hibernia bring;

Kill the Elf, that’s the Thing!”


With a stab of the wand-tip and a murderous laugh, a blob-like form rose from the boiling pot. It was vaguely manlike and grew more so as it rose. A horn stood upon it’s head, curving with a serrated bar. Talon-like claws manifest on its hands and it laughed a pitch to match D’Vena. Then, in a scamper of dripping feet, it scuttled out of the rune-light and into the wan Lyn Barfog sun.

With a chuckle and a nod, D’Vena turned back to her musings, her mood much improved. She pondered the Cleric, a boy, she laughed. Ah, yes. Not A Boy, but His Boy. Her fingers worked nervously for a moment, for a misstep on this path would derail her plan. Perhaps something small, a nudge rather than a push. Lips pursed in thought, she wiggled a small pattern with her fingers.

“Heart sobourned and love desired;

Not yet quenched your physical fire;

Seek him out, at all costs;

Make him risk a noble’s loss;

At an inn or in a Glade;

Make him risk the Ax-man’s Blade;

Turn not away Love’s awesome Force;

Or Take the scorned Lover’s Course!”

She stab more dramatically at her own heart, releasing the emotions she held pent from the scornful use she had suffered. Let him be on the receiver’s end of that this time.

The Twin was her next consideration. She chewed a lock of graying hair in thought for a moment and began to work, fingers reduced to little more than a twitch. She savored the Wizard for last. Meddlesome little strumpet. But first, the likeness that was not her object. She nearly cackled, but held her focus.

Brother yours the Praise is Given;

Two so alike among the Living;

If he were gone, your trouble soon;

Would give way to Victor’s Boon;

Boys were two who should be One;

Pause not ye til task is DONE!”

She snapped her fingers and pointed out, unleashing a force to twist a deep bond upon itself. The spell snapped forth with all the hate she threw behind, but she had misstepped. The heart she stabbed at was more pure than she had thought or calculated for. Jashen’s love for Crispian was as true this day as when he had first laid eyes on his twin, and knew the other half of his own soul. Though deep in the Swamps, and in battle, his aura, his kata, shrugged off her petty stab with the resistance of a greatly enchanted foe.

D’Vena reeled and fell backward, chair and cauldron going to the ground also. The Laughter came, but was not hers. A force that had long waited for just such an error buffeted her mind, and it fed on her essence even as her catatonic eyes looked to the ceiling. She was now in a battle of her own.


Crispian’s eyes fluttered for a moment. Azi felt like he had lain there for hours. With the help of some guard’s she had at least moved him off the main roadway. His gray eyes met hers and he smiled weakly.

“Sorry about that,” he mumbled as he rolled onto his knees, and with some help, stood.

Azi looked very closely at him, almost scrutinizing. “Are you alright now?” she asked, grabbing his offered elbow to support more than to accompany. “You were down for some time. I was very worried,” she chided him, not even realizing the tone she had taken. He grinned over at her, being only fingers taller himself.

“Aye, I feel…different. Sort of like the pressure has eased a bit,” he shook his head as he spoke, lifting Azi’s hand into the crook of his arm. “And now that we have had breakfast here in fine Camelot, what say you we travel to Lyonesse? Darnyk and I want to thin down the Tanglers some,” he smiled to her. “The learning would be great for you!”

Azi blushed, shaking her head, “I don’t think I’m ready for those yet.”

“Nonsense, I shall protect you,” he crowed gallantly, leading her toward the east gates of the city and Cotswold beyond. Today was a good day, so far, and he was determined to keep it so.


OOC- this brings the story to last night in game, so there may be a wee pause while more unfolds on some fronts.

 

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Ayslyn crouched on the branch, looking down at the forest floor. It had been a long time since he had played the hunted and he forced himself to admit that he was enjoying it more than a little. The creature roamed about below him, cackling to itself. It had reached Hibernia with terrifying speed. Had Alec not been spying on D'vena at the time, they would never have had what little time they had to prepare for it. They had dispatched Secaran to Albion to warn Crispian about the latest attacks. Ayslyn could only hope that he got there in time.


The creature looked up at him, suddenly aware of where its prey hid. Ayslyn grinned down at it. The creature rushed the tree. It was fast, damn fast. Its viscious claws tore into the trunk, the poisons on those claws causing the wood to mortify almost instantly; the wood blackening and rotting away. Ayslyn's grin vanished, replaced by a fierce scowl. He slung his bow and quickly shimmied along the branch until he was next to the trunk of the tree. He called out. "Wake up! You're in danger. Hurry." He held out his hand and a pair of chipmunks scurried out of hole in the trunk, up his arm, and into his hood. He prayed to Rhiannon for some of his old strength, then punched his fist through the entrance to their nest. Scooping up their store of food, he tossed it into one of his pouches. "Hold on," he said and threw himself away from the rapidly dieing tree. With less than his usual grace, he grabbed hold of a banch from the closest tree and swung himself up onto it. Waiting only long enough to catch his balance, he leapt to the next tree, and again to another. He tossed the pouch down on the branch and then placed the chipmunks down next to it. "I'm sorry," was all he said before once again leaping away into yet another tree.


He was now angry. Because he had toyed with the creature, a family was displaced from its home. It was time to end this farce. He dropped out of the tree and landed on the ground in a crouch. The creature stared at him, hatred and malevolence shone in its eyes. Ayslyn stood, slowly, rising to his full height. Calmly he unslung his bow and drew an arrow. It's head had been filed with deep grooves; it would not slide easily into its target but would instead rip and tear as it drove home. He spun the arrow along his knuckles and then nocked it. The creature charged at him. He stood stock still, glaring at it. At the last moment, he leapt high in the air, spinning round as the creature stumbled through the space where he had just been. He came down, hard, on its back, driving it to the ground, and leapt away gracefully, drawing the arrow back to his ear. The creature jumped to its feat, rage distorting its already hideous features, and spun round to face him. He let fly the arrow. It tore through the distance between them like a bolt and tore straight through the creature's left eye and into its brain. The creature flopped to the ground, twitching in it's death throes. Ayslyn quickly checked on the chipmunks. They were already starting a new nest, he noted with an amused grin, and headed back to check on how everything else was going.

 

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Arienne looked over the scroll the scribe handed her. It was clearly old, seemingly written in blood and it appeared to be relevant to the current problem.


"Eril, where did this come from? I've been over every scroll in the keep and I never saw this one. You keep a secret library?"


"No, milady, that comes from...well, it was from your grandfather's day. There was a raid on a group of necromancers, they were defeated and your grandfather honored for the victory. All of the necromantic items taken were to be destroyed, you see, but..." his voice lowered to a near-whisper: "I cannot bear to burn books. I kept them, locked in a trunk in the cellar, among some old trash where no one ever goes." He spoke the next a bit louder-- "It does describe the problem at hand, does it not?"


Arienne re-read the document more carefully. It was a spell of summoning for a MENTARIATH, a demon of the mind. Unlike most demons, which possess the body, this one would influence the mind of the victim, working from within. This made the demon immune to mere exorcism. The spell was long and complex, and included many connections and references Arienne did not understand.


"es, Eril, I think you may have something here. Thank you for bringing it to me. Keep those other scrolls locked and hidden, though, this is not the sort of thing that should ever slip out." After working with the Academy to stamp out the last vestiges of necromancy from the realm, Arienne did not want to see a new source spring from her own home.


A third scan of the aged scroll, and Arienne was ready to take action. She quickly sent a mind-message to Mirashta confirming that she was still working at Lethantis. As soon as she received a confirmation, she moved to the nearest window.


<<Mirashta, I've found something I think may be important, but I have no counter-spell. It's too lengthy to explain mind-to-mind, but I'll send it along via courier.>> A passing crow looked just large enough to carry the scroll, and Arienne wasted no time in convincing it to do just that.


The crow flew off in the direction of the nearby woods, covering the distance quickly. Arienne sat back down and began answering some of Mirashta's questions, those she could, anyway. With this discovery she began to truly hope that a way might be found to help Crispian out of his torment.