An Unlikely Collaboration.

[Carnath-Emory]

Some days before the Governor's call to arms, the tavern played host to an unusual event.

Of course, there's nothing remarkable in the immediate scene; Ariane Emory enjoys small breakfasts at the tavern with some regularity, after all. The apple, eggs, toasted bread, wedge of cheese, pitcher of water, utter absence of meats: these things are her common habits. What is of note today is the second cup that's set by the pitcher. The fact that, slouched comfortably at her fireside seat, she is clearly waiting for someone.

Most of all, the very unlikely fact of that person's identity...

[Tebrin]

It was Kyra that crossed the threshold of the Dagger, that hung her cloak upon the nearby rack, that reached to tug briefly at her blindfol, adjusting it, that curled her fingers about the comforting wooden surface of her staff, leaning heavily upon it. A sorceress. A magic-user. Requested by Ariane quite specifically Those who knew the swordswoman would have thought she must be quite ill to resort to such desperate measures.

Kyra knew nothing, really, of the woman. Had she asked, she would know that Ariane had been involved in the battle out front of the Dagger not long before, and nothing more. Clearing her throat a bit, she queries of the entire main room in precise enunciation, in cultured, lilting accent: "Begging pardon... is there an Ariane Carnath-Emory here?"

[Carnath-Emory]

Those who knew the swordswoman would have thought she must be quite ill to resort to such desperate measures. Those who knew the Ashfiend would have understood that desperation immediately...


The situation is, briefly, in the swordswoman's favour; Glenn Burnie has been forthcoming in the matter of sorceress Kyra, sufficiently so that Ariane recognises the woman soon after she shows herself. Kyra's question is unnecessary, but it anticipates the hailing lift of the swordswoman's hand, and now there's a curl of its fingers to beckon her towards the hearth.

There are worse places for conversations like these. Cushioned chairs offer some comfort, and the blazing hearth some welcome relief from the morning's bitter cold.

"Sera Kyra."

With the second cup nudged across the low table, clearly for her use. It's quite an array of food there, as well. Perhaps she means to share.

"Will you sit? With my thanks."

[Tebrin]

Kyra, Glenn might have informed Ariane, was quite blind. If not, the swatch of cloth which bound her eyes certainly would have alerted the woman - and so it was entirely without malice that she ignored the beckoning, and did not make her way towards Ariane until she spoke. Leading the way with her staff, and carefully circumnavigating any misplaced furniture, she came to the woman's couch, bowing politely at the waist.

"Thank you... it is a pleasure to meet you," she offers warmly, reaching to pat the seat and ensure not only its presence but its vacancy, before settling down comfortably. The oaken staff is set down upon the floor, and one long limb draped in a dark velveteen pair of pants slips over the other - she was not altogether aware of the array of food meant for her consumption.

"To what do I owe the invitation?" A small smile curled her lips, then, and she had extended her hand to shake Ariane's own, as seemed to be customary in this region.

[Carnath-Emory]

Glenn Burnie had done precisely that; if he'd neglected to, that encounter upon the porch steps would have done the work for him. There'd been very little time to notice anything at all about Kyra that night, of course -- some matter of tumbling boulders and clawed zombifiends. But that she stood well did not escape notice, that she wielded something other than physical sort of weapon; that her eyes were perfunctorily bound.

Reflex, however, endures.

But it does not reign the moment: that bow is not returned, not for sake of a woman who cannot see it, and she is already pouring water from that pitcher for the other woman, when a hand is offered. Her own receives it, after a moment, and there is some short, firm clasp here: a swordswoman's touch, absolutely, fine-boned and rough with callus at the fingers' edges.

"Water, if you'll have it, and whatever else you might care for." It is assumed that Kyra will identify those foods by their various aromas; despite that reflexive wave, Ariane is accustomed to the company of persons with extraordinary senses.

"Glenn Burnie tells me that he speaks with you, yes? About many things, of which he's told me little. What he described for me was a little of your capacity for ..." an abstract tilt of the fingers, wasted in this company "... extraordinary things, magicked things.

I have an interest."

[Tebrin]

Kyra was becoming used to inadequate descriptions being rendered of her. It had happened with Cinnabar, and with Elspeth... that Ariane had known anything of her appearance would have been a pleasant surprise to the ivory-haired woman. She returns the handshake in kind, and, with the offer, her smile grows mildly.

"Oh, yes, please... water would be lovely." Kyra was not a bloodhound - she could not SMELL the presence of an apple, of a wedge of cheese... all she could smell were eggs and, perhaps, toast. "What all do you have? ...Oh, I suppose it does not truly matter, I am not terribly picky. Whatever you are willing to share, Ariane, shall be just fine."

She fell silent, then, as Ariane went to business, and the woman nodded at the mention of both Glenn and her talents. "You are a friend of Glenn, then? A pleasure to meet you," for, of course, Glenn was someone of whom -she- was fond as well. Something in common. It helped.

"How may I be of service to you?" She replied in casual tones, a pale brow raised.

[Carnath-Emory]

An aquaintance with delicate Aislinn has prepared her for this encounter -- or for the most immediate aspect of it, at least. As her hand is released, her fingertips catch the edges of Kyra's own, tilting them downwards to the edge of the cup filled for her use. Just that much contact, and not a moment more of it, her hands employed afterwards in the slicing of cheese from its wedge, the arrangement of it upon a second plate beside toast, a small heap of the seasoned eggs. A fork is set upon its edge, and the whole thing slid forward so that the plate's edge touches lightly against the cup's; convenient.

"Cheese, bread, eggs; have a caution, for they're generous with the peppers today. I am," she answers that first question, with little transition at all from one matter to the next, and a narrow smile that will go unseen. The small compliment will not be echoed, alas. Prejudices endure. But thankfully, so do courtesies:

"You've my thanks for meeting with me here." For meeting with a virtual stranger. "It's not the first; we fought the Ashfiend's creatures here, some weeks ago. I didn't know that magicking were yours until long after."

As easily as that, it begins.

"I am told a little of your capacity for such things. I would like to learn more of it."

[Tebrin]

Kyra nods her head in thanks for the assistance, and, privately, for the professionalism and utter lack of SYMPATHY in the woman's assistance. No apologies, no pity, no patronization - just the requisite aid and nothing more. It was professional. She appreciated that. Ivory hair with dark fringes is tucked back behind her ears and, again, for the arrangement of the plate. She would partake delicately, slowly, casually.

"My gratitude for the warning," she nodded a bit and took a hesitant nibble of the eggs. Apparently not terribly dissuaded by the high concentration of spice, she takes another small bite. Kyra would have informed Ariane what she could do with her prejudice - SHE had been called HERE. REQUESTED. She would not have stood for the attitude GLENN had given her... much less from a stranger!

Fortunately, Ariane was polite. That meant everything to the blind woman. "Oh!" She exclaims softly, recollection taking her, "I remember a warrior's presence. It would seem you won, and for that I applaud you." How she knew Ariane was there remained untold. Undoubtedly it had to do with her talents. She would joke about being fortunate to have missed Ariane - but she was not certain the woman would take it kindly.

"What would you like to know, Ariane? I have been blessed with a particularly powerful gift, and I could spend hours explaining it to you - an eventuality I am quite certain would bore you. If you have a specific inquiry, I would happily do you the service of limiting my speech to what is necessary?" She was nothing if not pleasant, polite, friendly. Even if she had answered this question umpteen times.

[Carnath-Emory]

Pity is a thing reserved for those few souls that the swordswoman truly despises, and Kyra does not yet number amongst those. Years have slightly dulled her reflexive hatred of all things magicked, years and experience and two particular aquaintances, one of whom now channels in the employ of Duke Burel Tassnehoff of Thessilane.

Pity is nothing that she'll inflict upon this woman; neither pity nor discourtesy, nor even the prejudices that she holds so dear.

"Do you reckon that for a win?"

Questions, however...

"These things are sent upon us," the edge of her hand touches down upon the low tabletop, indicates some abstract thing; wasted gesture, useless explanation. Quite unavoidable. "They are sent, they are ended -- by your efforts, by mine, by Glenn Burnie's and so many others. Is that a win? It is that night. And the next week perhaps they are sent again, and then the week after that, and then a month from now perhaps we still win each night -- "

The palm flattens gently, sweeps that abstract something aside.

"That win was not mine but ours. And it was also the Ashfiend's, who devilled us from afar and suffered hardly a moment's hurt for it. Me, I cannot say the same."

Some edge of wry amusement to her voice, at that last. Perhaps it describes the thin, long scars that Kyra cannot see upon her.

"This does not satisfy me. And so here we sit. There is a particular talent which is yours, and which I find ..zlo'ebuchy pizdetc, a foul thing. I am told you are no more fond of it than I, but..." A shrug concedes certain inevitabilities.

"Necromancy. Tarrying with the dead."

[Tebrin]

Kyra nodded her silent agreement. "No matter how numerous the battles we win, until the Ashfiend falls, the war is all but lost. I found it interesting that he made a personal appearance that night... long enough to overpower my defenses, in fact, no easy feat, and quite morbidly impressive. "You speak wisdom, Ariane, but what little can we do but take comfort in small victories until we have an opportunity to eradicate the beast?"

But suddenly, the color drained from Kyra's face. Both pale brows lofted, and her pretty young features were set into an expression of absolute dismay. "Did Glenn tell you I have a TALENT for necromancy?" She asks in quiet tones, utterly tinted with disbelief. She swallowed heavily, shaking her head suddenly, rapidly, firmly, setting down drink and food, for her appetite had left her.

"Ariane, I... while it is true that the capacity for necromancy exists within my magic, and in my travels I have -seen- and I -remember- the runes necessary... my talents lie elsewhere, as does my practice. I have NEVER..." and the silent, unspoken refusal already lingered in her tones, "cast a necromantic spell, and I do not intend to start. I know the spells in the same manner a swordsman who knows how to use a bow but never practices would."

Tongue slipped forth to moisten her lips, and hands wrung at each other within her lap. "I am sorry, Ariane. If you are requesting that I raise someone from the dead... I cannot. I could talk at length about why the very fact that I know the runes abhors me, but it really is of little consequence. Suffice it to say that the discovery of necromancy amongst a small group of my people wound up in our near-extinction. I only know the runes so that I might better destroy the abominations they create."

"I... apologize. If your intent is to ask me to raise the dead... I will not. The consequences are far, far too severe." And she sounded genuinely sorry. Sad, even. She truly HAD wanted to help this woman. But necromancy? "I am no necromancer. Nor will I ever be. For every life restored, another dies untimely." And that was it. By raising the dead, they had inadvertantly killed themselves off. No. There was no way Kyra would partake in necromancy.

"If I am mistaken, then please, I would hear your request."

[Carnath-Emory]

Her defenses. Here was the question she hadn't put to Glenn Burnie, not certain that he'd have a ready answer for it; not certain that she'd care to hear it if he did. What role had sorcerous Kyra played in that conflict? Here is an explanation, and a very brief one, which is all that she could have comfortably stomached in any case.

There's a reason she's touched no part of this meal except for the apple.

She is a quiet thing now; the swordswoman becomes a scholar to Kyra's explanations, dismisses talk of wisdom and talent with very similar tilts of the hand. Surely she can't have forgotten that the magicker can't see those.

"'Talent' was not the word that he spoke, and me, I do not speak so well at all. I do not intend to offend you. I do not intend to accuse you of a thing. Speak a better name for your grasp of that art, and I will use it talent's place. Meantime, I think you do better not to waste explanations on a mind that will not grasp them well, and I assure you of this: that I share your distaste for this thing. I share your disgust for what you describe."

That it is written upon her narrow features is meaningless, given their circumstances. That it is a living spirit within her voice is inevitable, and that fact can surely not go unnoticed.

"I do not mean for you to raise the dead from their -- " Here the words fail her; an atheist lacks the means to fully describe her perception of such resurrections.

"I mean for you to raise a ghost."

[Tebrin]

The young magister fell silent, forgot her protests, listened attentively to Ariane. She was respectful, quiet, not upset with Carnath-Emory, but clearly uncomfortable. "You do not offend me, Ariane, of that I can assure you. Necromancy is quite a touchy subject for me... a value we clearly share. I will not hold you responsible for my discomfort." The smile she offered the swordswoman was intended to be comforting. It was, at least, understanding.

"I would say that I have knowledge of it. I learn of my enemies so that I may better prepare for them. That is the only reason I know it at all. I could use the runes, but I never have, and I do not intend to. So... let us just call it knowledge, hmm?" Ariane's affirmation of Kyra's disgust seems to ease tense shoulders, straighten out the sorceress, restore color to her face.

"A... ghost?" She hesitates, fidgeting a little in her seat, tapping her fingers upon her thigh. Summoning a spirit? She was not certain that was even within the capability of the runes she knew. Maybe if the ghost were already THERE... still lingering upon the world..."

"You mean... the spirit of a dead person? Is it... here, on this plane, already?" This was mensch talk, suddenly. The Sartan had not dealt with such things as the afterlife. Kyra was not really even certain she -believed- in it. But she would go with it, attempt to do what she could... "or am I required to summon it from the..." she hesitates, then, and Ariane would hear the cynicism dripping from the wizardess' voice. "...afterlife? If it lingers here, then I may be able to contact it without the utility of necromancy. If I am required to... well, what AM I required to do?" Best simply to ask. "And... why?" That was even more important, of course.

[Carnath-Emory]

They share a period of mutual discomfort; it is with an even tone that the swordswoman describes these concerns and details her request, but it is not a contented one.

"A knowledge, then," she agrees, but here must come a short pause in their conversation, as an atheist digests this talk of spirits and planes. It concludes with some small, considering sound, and a dismissive shift of thin shoulder.

"Yours are not questions that I can answer. I do not know how to; these are things that I do not understand, that I do not care to. So I describe it instead, mn? There is a man who keeps with him the remnants of his wife's corpse. It is my ... I suspect that she has been made from those ashes once before, raised; I do not know the words for this. That is not what I would have of you, unless there were no other means at all."

Unsavoury discussion, really. Had the Governor said something once about lines beyond which a person will not act? They threaten, here; she feels their imminent approach.

"I would have the ghost of her, presented to him. That he might see her again, that he might experience ... her."

[Tebrin]

Kyra nods, slowly. The Ashfiend. She knew of him - had spoken to him twice thus far. Knew of the woman, of his goals. It was with a soft, thoughtful sound that she learned of the woman's prior resurrection, and pursed her lips into a disapproving frown. It is good that Kyra is not asked to repeat this abomination - the answer for which would most certainly be a resounding 'no.' Instead, this is a request which may be possible. When the wizardess replies, it is in grave tones, terse syllables...

"I know of whom you speak, Ariane. I know that he intends to raise her again, something I most certainly do not wish to happen. I have attempted to point out the existence to which he would damn her - to little avail. And I will have you know this: your request turns my stomach. However, it is not without its merit." This was a shameful admission, then, and parched lips were moistened with a bit of the water poured for her by the swordswoman.

"I am ashamed that I know these runes - it is only out of necessity that I have learned them. I have never used them. The act you describe... it grazes upon forbidden magic, without actually raising the dead. It is near enough to make me intensely uncomfortable, and far enough that I will think on it. It will be fortunate if we can find another means to present his lost love to him, for I promise you I will not raise a being from the dead." As it was, Ariane was VERY lucky that Kyra was even hearing her out.

"You present me an interesting dilemma, Ariane. Under ordinary circumstances, I would never consider this request - it is a slippery slope upon which I am afraid to tread. However, these are hardly ordinary circumstances. And yet... that is precisely what my predecessors said before the art of necromancy consumed them. I would know, precisely, what you hope to accomplish - what reason you have to believe it will be successful. I must weigh the consequences of exposing myself to ... 'this,'" She barely even tolerated SAYING the word 'necromancy,' it would seem. "against the potential benefits. We may prevent the resurrection of his perished wife - is preventing this necromancy cause enough for me to break our laws? What, then, about the potential for unmaking the necromantic fiend itself? The lives saved from it? What are our chances of ACCOMPLISHING something, here?"

Indeed, Kyra figured... if one resurrection and the monstrosity created by another could be prevented - or eradicated - then performing this task would FURTHER her goals of combatting necromancy.....

Right?

She wished she could be sure.

[Carnath-Emory]

Sorcerous Kyra has a student again in this swordswoman, who attends closely to these explanations, to the presentation of a stance she'd been warned to expect. One that she'd been grateful for, even though it ran contrary to her hopes. Ariane's capacity for hypocrisy, for outright abomination, has its limits.

"He will not hear reason," she answers that first, with a nod of assent which will go unseen. "It has no sound for him now; loss and atrocity have taken that capacity from him. He is crazed."

And then a moment's silence is required, for a swordswoman with some talent for steel, and none at all for persuasion. Her grasp of the common tongue is far from remarkable, but even if they spoke the dialect which is most natural to her, these words would come only with difficulty. When had words ever obeyed her wants at all?

Care, here. Care tempered by hope and restrained by integrity.

"I am not sure of our chances."

An unfortunate beginning, precisely as that integrity demands.

"The Governor reckons to have the means for defeating the 'Fiend; I do not detail them to you now, for they are his, and my understanding is not whole. Perhaps what he intends might yet succeed; it is my hope that it will. But this, sera, this is what I know for certain: that I have wielded steel against this creature, and that I have watched others do the same -- fine swordsman, men of marvellous skill. They have struck him, they have given him pain and done him damage.

None of that damage has lasted."

Some necessary sip of water; she is not accustomed to such stretches of speech.

"Do you understand? That today I could carve his ribs asunder, and tomorrow they would be whole again? A blade is an obstacle between the 'Fiend and his wants, but it is not a solution. But I have seen a thing work lasting damage upon him, I have seen a thing scar him; months ago, and he wears that scar still. It was -- and you will find this strange, I think -- it was his own tear."

Deeply strange. The swordswoman might not have believed it herself, had she not seen it. Had she not seen dead flesh burn beneath it. A pause here, for the sorceress to digest this notion; in time, she continues.

"The Governor is, mm -- nepreklonnyj, adamant that the assault he designs will succeed. And I am as certain that were the 'Fiend bathed in his own sorrows, sympathies, griefs, he would surely perish of them. A single tear may scar; what would a host of them accomplish? But I have no means to provoke such a thing; the first was ... accident, nothing more. I do not have the means. His wife, though...

The very presence of Elysia may."