Facing Demons & Taking Chances (Faust pls)

[Viskyia Crow]

TS: First day of Cryxatum, Summer, Era II, XIV (pf)

Viskyia paced the long streets of the city that had haunted her dreams for so long. Her cloak hood was up, and she felt somehow safer swathed in the midnight blue of the rich wool fabric rather than going about openly. She kept her eyes downcast, knowing that here, moreso than anywhere else in Aelyira, citrine might clue someone in to who and what she was.

The half-Esh had a name, the same name... that had been given to every question she'd ever asked about Vortex and who had influence. What she didn't know though, far outnumbered what she did know. And coming here was taking a big chance. She didn't mind though. Demons needed to be faced, and in order for her life to go on... she needed some conclusion to her history here. Maybe, just maybe... this man would help her. She didn't come empty handed either, meaning to play on his compassion. For if he dwelled here, odds were he had none.

So she paced the streets, following the careful directions of the gateguards, and mounted the steps of the D'Rinishad Academy of Arcana. She had been told that he could be found any number of places throughout Aelyria, and indeed within Vortex itself. But here was a surface place, one slightly less threatening than going down into Hor'oloth. She'd start here, for certain, and go from there. Vortex held the key to something she'd always wanted. Something very important. Her freedom.

The immense training compound remained situated near the perimeter of the city, exuding an air of wisdom and knowledge originating from the minds of those that resided within. The building expanded over a significant plot of land, from which a cobblestone pathway weaved and curved until leading to the main opening. Its' marble walls were caked in freshly coated onyx paint that testified to its' originality. Although the compound was relatively mundane save a few windows intermittently dispersed on the second floor, there was a sign fastened above the double-door entrance way that read; D'Rinishad Academy of Arcana. The words overlaid an intricate symbol foreign to most readers save of course the owner of the complex and perhaps a select few who recognized it as a clan emblem. Otherwise though, many presumed that the insignia was merely for the sake of decoration. The doors themselves were crafted from exotic red-oak wood and rested on hinges finely oiled and greased to prevent any shrill grinding noises. The handles on the doors curved in an intricate manner and were fashioned into the images of curving staves of arcana; quite a reasonable ornament considering the nature of the vicinity.

The interior of the training hall was regally designed in shades of red and purple hues. The carpet that glazed the wooden floorboards of the inside were predominantly scarlet save a few streaks of violet that portrayed enigmatic shapes. The main corridor was rectangular and on each end of the area was a sole doorway typically locked and utilized for training purposes. The instructors frequently inhabited these vicinities in order to enhance the solitude that students often required in order to concentrate on their studies. Two additional rooms like these flanked the receptionist's desk in the room which was settled against the back wall. The space on the walls which were not outlined by further entrances into other locations in the building were adorned with finely crafted illustrations. However, these portraits were not emblematic of traditional works of art but instead delineated a uniqueness unlike any witnessed on the face of Telath. Depictions of warped creatures were usually the focus of these canvas', most of which contained species that were strewn of different parts of other species. One notable piece framed on the wall overhead the counter was a Thelyri-elf with appendages from a saurid. The abomination wore a sick grin.

Comfortably settled behind a wooden desk and hunched over a stockpile of neatly stacked parchments was a petite Vysstichi boy who appeared completely delved in his work. The adolescent gyrated a quill pen betwixt his dexterous fingers, pausing temporarily to jot important notes upon the papers before him before continuing with the gesticulation. He seemed entirely devoted to his work and rarely glimpsed upwards to acknowledge the presence of any newcomers. However, there was always a peculiar smile on his face. Whether it derived from pure innocence or something humorous originating from the papers, though, was to be discerned by the viewer. Nonetheless, after he concluded reading over the materials on the desk he leaned back in his chair and set them on another small table nearby him. After he was confident that he'd not misplaced anything or would soon be forgetting where he stored parchments away, his crimson eyes flickered as they revolved upwards to recognize the arrival of a newcomer. "Serale! Welcome to the D'Rinishad Academy of Arcana! It's our pleasure to have you!" the Vysstichi's thin lips fanned out into a peculiar smile. It was obvious that his welcoming had been well-practiced and rehearsed.

She greeted the boy in kind, with a poite 'Serale' and then a point blank question. "I have no need of lessons in Arcana, but I was wondering if it is possible to make an appointment with Lord D'Rinishad?" With that, she'd await his answer, hoping it was one that worked for her... a yes.

[Faust D'Rinishad]

Peering upwards from his stool, the tiny boy blinked several times as he scooted forward on the edge of his seat. His silver hair, surprisingly kempt despite his age, fell past his elongated ears which poked out from the sides of his head. “Lord D’Rinishad?” the adolescent questioned. Seconds later his obsidian visage brightened metaphorically, and he nodded excitedly as if some untold revelation had just dawned upon him. “Oh! You must mean Faust. Yeah, sure, he’s actually –”

“Here.” came the interruption from the side of the room. Materializing from the staircase to the half-Esh’lahier’s right, the Prince of Har’oloth casually emerged from the darkness, silver hair gleaming behind him as his shadowy silhouette was dispelled by the hall’s candlelight. The Vysstichi was garbed in the color of night this brightening, an obsidian tunic falling loosely about his slender torso. His trousers were woven of a similar shade, but the bottoms were fastidiously tucked into the rims of his immaculate leather boots.

“Tell Master Danvan that I left the paintings with you.” the Vysstichi Lord said, glancing briefly to the half-Esh’lahier before approaching the main desk where Banatarion was perched. Stacked in the dark elf’s arms were several portraits which he delicately delivered upon the table in front of the young receptionist. Ruffling the boy’s tresses with a heavily callused hand, the dark elf grinned and winked to Banatarion before turning back to the newcomer.

“I’m sorry about that…” the Vysstichi began, pointedly looking to the neatly piled pictures behind him. “One of our instructors here has a profound love for paintings. I had these recently imported from Zinn’Sunn for him.” he continued to explain, and when he realized that he was rambling, the dark elf cleared his throat self-consciously and bowed his head.

“Bah, I seem to have forgotten my manners.” He grudgingly admitted, though a peculiar smile illuminated his face as he chuckled. Sighing deeply as he recomposed himself, the dark elf’s scarlet eyes settled gently upon the woman. Despite the proven cordiality that she conveyed, he was already evaluating her behind masked wariness. Body language. Eye movement. Hand positioning. These were all traits that could have implicated her as an assassin.

She would not have been the first to come after him.

“Forgive me for not introducing myself. I am Faust D’Rinishad.” the dark elf greeted, and he lowered into a graceful bow that seemed incredibly rehearsed. As he straightened, his ebony hands folded low beneath his chest. “I couldn’t help overhearing my name earlier. How can I help you, Miss…?” Purposely emphasizing her title discover what to call her, the dark elf’s thin smile remained as he awaited her answer.

[Viskyia Crow]

Viskyia smiled slightly at the boy. She adored children, but had little experience with them, especially one who obviously held a job and did so with something of an aura of expertise. Being used to Nexus Prime and all its illustrious pretensions, it was a surprise when the boy used D’Rinishad's first name. So he was Faust, was he? She no sooner opened her mouth to respond, when the gentleman in question materialized from the shadows. The half-esh turned, and openly studied him a few moments, his conversation with the boy over the paintings giving her the time to do so without seeming to be rude. He was striking, as all the Vyssie were, with his silvery hair and midnight skin. But there was something more, a casualness about him that surprised her. For all her limited experience, his race was often more formal, she'd found. And as she watched, she in turn studied his own movements. He had no softness like she expected from mages. Since the school was named for him, she assumed thats what he was. Instead, he moved like a warrior, weight forward, balance perfect, all controlled energy and power. Viskyia couldn't help but appreciate it.

Viskyia smiled then, openly at him though something in his manner changed subtly. She couldn't pinpoint it exactly, but the warmth in his eyes seemed to fade from genuine politeness to something else. They were still warm, but it was more forced. The jeweler moved forward, eyes on the artwork. "Zinn'Sunn? I've heard rumor that the city produces some of the finest kemite artwork ever, but I've never seen any. May I?" She said, then glanced up at him, citrine eyes meeting his, and realized she'd forgotten an introduction. "Forgive my rudeness. My name is Viskyia Crow. I'm a jeweler from Nexus Prime." Along with her name, she slipped her cloak hood off her face, so her features were more readily apparent. Then she produced a business card and offered it to him. Whether he allowed her a moment to peek at the paintings or not, she'd continue on with an explanation. Her voice was calm, sincere, and straight to the point.

"I'd really appreciate a moment of your time, in private. I have a rather unorthodox request involving a rather delicate situation, if you have the time." She tried to phase the request so that he'd be intrigued enough to give her a few moments. If he wouldn't see her, she'd be back to the drawing board on ideas, but at least she'd be safe. Talking to him was neither safe nor wise. Not at all. Even being in this city with her citrine eyes was taking a chance. To come all this way just to openly discuss the situation as to why it was with a complete stranger based on his reputation alone was taking another chance.. a foolish one. Viskyia was no fool. But she was exhausted. The jeweler was tired of hiding, and moreso tired of feeling ashamed. She needed help, and the kind of help she couldn't find in Nexus Prime. This was where her instinct had lead her... where her prayers and meditation had relayed an open course.

Faust was a pathway, and while an uncertain pathway... he was a road she could travel if he'd allow her to. So she waited quietly, with what some would think to be an unnatural stillness of character. What she was doing was gathering her energies, and her thoughts in order to focus them on the task ahead rather than let worry rule her actions. She needed clear thinking and emotionless dialog. There'd be time for rage and passion later, if things went badly.

[Faust D'Rinishad]

The dark elf’s obsidian visage contorted embarrassedly as he lowered his gaze, and when he looked up a thin smile had blossomed across his face. “To be honest with you, Miss Crow was it? I know as much about art as I do about knitting. Virtually nothing.” Tilting his head back and chuckling slightly, the Vysstichi returned to the paintings and bade Viskyia to approach the desk. The canvas on top depicted a peculiar creature with a dracon-like head and an elf’s torso, slender and feminine. The creature’s glimmering eyes were fixed upon a crescent moon set in the upper right-hand corner of the portrait, and the creature was encompassed by a forest of gnarled trees. By all accounts the image was dark and dreary, certainly not the type of picture that one suspended over their child’s crib.

“It’s not for me.” Faust quickly asserted as he looked back to the woman, breaking into a laugh as he denied any association with the morbid painting. “The friend that I purchased this for, his name is Danvan, is a dracon, but not your ordinary dracon. He’s more bent upon racial equality than anything else, but when he’s not pushing for tolerance, he is usually painting stuff like this…” the Prince of Har’oloth explained, and as he lifted the top canvas, the half-elf would notice that the pictures underneath were similarly gloomy and melancholic. They generally contained images of non-identifiable creatures. “He’s a very nice man, though, just has a strange hobby.” the dark elf casually added.

“So you’re from Nexus Prime? And a jeweler too? I can’t say that I know many of those…” the Vysstichi Lord rambled when the woman concluded her inspection of the paintings. Turning interestedly towards her, Faust noted her eyes for the first time. They were a peculiar shade unlike any that he had seen before, and he had certainly laid his sight upon many pairs in his extensive lifetime. She had an atypical skin color as well, not something attainable by most purebred humans. The dark elf subsequently suspected that there was more to her than that, and he would have sought answers from her ears had they not been covered by a mane of snowy white hair. White hair? Was that not the shade that humans assumed in their old age? This woman was certainly not at that stage, not yet at least. Repressing an inquisitive smirk from his lips, the dark elf subscribed to his previous assessment that she was not entirely human.

There was something about the woman’s request, however, that aroused the Vysstichi Lord’s curiosity. Urgency perhaps? Tilting his head questioningly to the side, the dark elf finally responded with a nod. “Of course, Miss Crow, time is something that, as a Vysstichi, I have much of.” Chuckling instinctively to dispel the disguised tension in the air, the dark elf ruffled Banatarion’s hair one last time (which elicited a stream of protests from the young Vysstichi) before gesturing for Viskyia to follow him up the stairwell situated on the side of the room.

“I apologize ahead of time for the mess. Had I known that you were coming to see me, I would have cleaned up…” Faust explained on their short trek upwards. Finally arriving upon the scene, Viskyia would enter into a massive hall lined with book shelves and towering candelabras. From the ceiling hung an ornate chandelier with scintillating crystals that reflected the candlelight throughout the room. Strangely, however, were the walls which were heavily charred and burnt - remnants of several wayward fireballs that had gone unaccounted for. The floor was littered with arrow shafts and throwing knives, and there were occasional splinters of wood as well. Navigating his way carefully across the carpet of obstacles and helping Viskyia to do the same, Faust finally arrived at a desk tucked into the back of the hall. Stepping around the table, he gestured to a seat across from him before descending into the chair behind him.

“So please tell me, Miss Crow, of your delicate situation. I really do hope that I can help you.”

[Viskyia Crow]

The paintings were... indescribable. Their execution was excellent. The mood they conveyed interesting too. The half-esh couldn't exactly decide if she liked them or not, but there was definitely something appealing about them. "I wouldn't apologize about your art knowledge or having these. I think the important thing about art is if it speaks to us or not. That makes it live and breath or condemns it to a dead thing. There's something quite good about them, for all their darkness. Even the purest person is just a heartbeat or a split second away from turning into something like this. I think we all have bits within ourselves that resemble these paintings. The artist is very good." She commented, then turned and smiled at him. If he picked them out, he'd done a good job.

She left his comment about knowing or not knowing jewelers pass without dialog. Viskyia knew her profession was a quiet one, something that most people only thought about fringely when events came upon them where a jewelers art form was required: weddings, funerals, birthbrightenings, anniversaries. In her training, Titus always told her to follow her instinct. That might be laughable, but she was never wrong when she was picking stones for people or choosing a metal. And standing next to D’Rinishad, she closed her eyes for a brief moment and let her intuition speak to her. Confidence. Strength. There was neither lightness or darkness here. Unless she missed her mark, he walked the shadows as much as she did. That brought another smile to her lips. Silver. Definitely, he was a silver... and only the purest form. No alloys, no mixed metals would suit. Black Tourmaline. Though she didn't know him at all, silver and black tourmaline told her volumes. The man had amazing luck, brought about in parts by his tenacity and obsessive nature. He didn't give up. Tourmaline people never did. They didn't understand the meaning of 'quit'. Interesting. She immediately revised her approach. There would be no intermediary. She'd be straight with him, absolutely straight. He'd sniff out anything less, for sure. Did it have to be silver and tourmaline? Especially black? Any other type of person might have been far easier to deal with... to convince.

"Vysstichi you say? I would have never guessed." She didn't exactly smile as her lips curled upwards at the corners, but her eyes warmed as she turned to follow him up the stairs. "If any apology is owed, its from me for dropping in unexpectedly." She said as she followed on his heels, lightly taking the steps without a hesitation in her breath or movement. It was obvious, for a craftswoman, she was in excellent shape.

She followed him into the workroom, and gingerly stepped over the objects littering the floor. Viskyia laughed a little, lightly kicking one of the daggers out of her way with the toe of her boot. "Someone's been having my kind of fun in here...." She said softly, perhaps too soft for him to hear. And with that, she wove her way behind him through the controlled chaos to his desk.

Viskyia took a seat and watched as he settled as well. It took her a moment before she began to speak. "I need someone to act as a go-between on my behalf. Someone... to put this delicately... that has a bit more influence than the person I need to deal with." She frowned, leaned back in her seat, and took a deep breath. "There is an Esh Lord who lives on the surface on the outskirts of Vortex. He's a necromancer, and he owns my papers. He wants me back, and has every right to pursue action to reacquire me. I'd like to not see that happen. I live a good life, and have built up two successful businesses in Nexus Prime. But this hangs over my head continuously. The only way I can see this happening is to have someone, on my behalf, secure those papers from him. It needs to be someone who is formidable enough that he will not think twice turning my papers over too. He owns me illegally. He took my Rhagrhnd mother illegally, kept her chained so he could use her for his pleasure. After he sired me, she died, and he branded me like the rest of his servants. Both my parents were freeborn." She never once called him her father, though thats exactly what she implied he was to her, nor did she call herself a slave, which in essence was also what she was.

"I do not come here to appeal to your heart nor your sympathy. I came because I know its true that sometimes its good that people owe you favors in all aspects of life. I'm only a jeweler, that much is true. But I'm the best one in Nexus, and my skill grows daily. I won't stop perfecting my art until I'm the best jeweler in Aelyria. I've been to Aslan's forge and survived it, and acquire all sorts of rarities in my trade." She didn't say it with arrogance. She stated it as if she was stating a fact like the sky was blue.

Viskyia reached into her pocket and withdrew something gleaming from it. It was a large fist-sized stone, faceted and cut into a very simple but elegant pendant. It was set onto a heavy gold chain, and glittered with an ethereal blueness that the Vyssie was unlikely to have ever seen before. "I know you are a wealthy man, so please don't take this as a bribe. There is no amount of money large enough to convince you to help me in this. It's simply too important to assign a value too. But I offer this to you as a token. It is my most valuable possession other than my life. This is a blue emerald. I've never heard of another in all the lands. I acquired it from a warrior who will be the finest Khazer-Druei this land has ever seen. He cut it from the belly of a monster. The emerald whispers to me of the things it can do. I've cut it into that shape from its raw form, but I'm not good enough yet to unlock what it really can become with additional cuts. I will be though. Soon enough. It's yours now, if you will help me. And any improvements I can make to bring out its signe when that time comes. The stone will be magnificent, even moreso than it already is. Along with that, my gratitude and anything I can ever do for you in return with my limited field of skills." With that, Viskyia laid the pendant down on Faust's desk.

"His name is Lord Kedrinus Laskinu Gha’Nalis, an Esh’lahier." She added, not knowing if Faust was familiar with the Gha'Nalis estate or not. If he hadn't recognized her citrine eyes, he probably wasn't. Kedrinus had a passion for changing his slave's eye color so they all matched.

[Faust D'Rinishad]

Refraining from commenting in fear that he would embarrass himself, the Prince of Har’oloth quietly nodded to affirm Viskyia’s observation. She spoke more like a poet than a jeweler, and the candidness of her content suggested experience beyond a mere entrepreneur. In presenting her assessment, though, had she been implicating something latent? Something that the dark elf had failed to detect earlier? The Vysstichi Lord’s keen eyes seldom missed anything, and his perceptive mind was sharper than any two-edged sword. Still, there was undeniable truth in the woman’s remark, the likes of which the dark elf earnestly acknowledged in his own life as well. But was she trying to say something about herself? He wondered.

Turning away as Viskyia remarked on his Vysstichi-hood, Faust’s smile was subsequently veiled as he did so. Obviously his charcoal-colored skin and silver hair, trademark characteristics of the dark elves, betrayed his race, and thus he was flattered by Viskya’s benign compliment, or at least that is how he interpreted it. There were few Vysstichi in the realm whose personalities did not correspond to archetypal dark elven behavior. For Viskyia to have gifted him with such kind words was indicative of the fact that he had changed as intended, that is, broken away from the widespread stereotypes that surrounded his sadistic brethren.

“Your kind of fun?” Faust asked as they proceeded across the carpet of scattered weapons. Initially the dark elf was challenged to discern how jewel craft was related to knives and daggers, but after a secondary consideration he realized that Viskyia was actually relaying more about herself. His silver brows arched curiously as he looked over his shoulder to her. “You are a warrior, then?” He questioned. Despite his inquiry, there was little surprise embedded in the dark elf’s tone. A mere glimpse of the woman’s posture, balance, and composure back in the main hall had already elucidated details about her. She possessed a certain grace that even Phedos’s elves did not wield; it was a fighter’s grace. It was one that he knew quite well.

Maneuvering comfortably in his seat, Faust rested his head back against the chair as he listened to the half-Esh’lahier’s tale, one that he had not honestly anticipated from one so well-mannered and polite. Originally he had suspected that she was the harbinger of some bad news from one of his countless allies scattered throughout the realm. She was the harbinger of unfortunate circumstances, no doubt, but certainly not from anyone whom the dark elf was acquainted with. Still, her story riveted his attention unlike any dismal report ever could. It was a tale of treachery, abuse, and desperation, and it elicited an aversive frown across the dark elf’s face.

“First of all, Miss Crow, this is not a matter that requires compensation in any form…” Faust began when Viskyia finished. His crimson orbs fell upon the exquisite pendant in her callused hands, and despite the fashion in which the dark elf’s eyes gleamed upon inspecting it, he politely dismissed the woman’s generous offer with the shake of his head. “Keep it. I would never take anything from anyone that possesses so much intrinsic value. I know what it is like to part with such items, and I would not have you do the same, especially not with one as beautiful as the object that you are holding.” The sides of the dark elf’s lips curled into a faint smile, obviously adamant in his refusal. As the son of a fallen matron, the Vysstichi Lord was quite able to identify with Viskyia’s situation. He had lost everything when House Kitrye’veresi had fallen: wealth, family, and comfort. It had taken him decades and then some to seize everything back.

“Still, your story is saddening, Miss Crow. I’m sorry for your grievances. Life is never fair, not even to the best of us.” He continued, lowering his gaze deferentially as he folded his hands upon the table. “You are brave for coming here. The road from Vortex to Nexus Prime is not so littered with activity that travelers can go about unnoticed. I commend your courage. And this Lord Kedrinus, he sounds like a brutal person, certainly not the type that I would imagine would release you even if you requested it along with provided recompense.” Frowning at the woman’s unfortunate dilemma, the dark elf exhaled deeply and ruminated further in his chair. It was evident from her tone that she was distressed –and rightly so! But if this Esh’lahier, this Lord Kedrinus, was ‘legitimately’ her owner, what could be done? Were there alternatives besides demanding these property papers back? The Vysstichi Prince knew what he would personally have done in this scenario…

Nodding understandingly as Viskyia explained her reasons for seeking liberation from her cruel oppressor, the dark elf tucked his lower lip beneath his upper as he continued to mull over her options. “You are kind, Miss Crow, I can already see that from the way you offer such a valuable gift in exchange for something that you inherently deserve. I want to help you. Someone should have done so a long time ago anyway. Even then, though, I wonder if this Lord Kedrinus will be open to your plan. The Vysstichi and Esh’lahier do not share the greatest fondness for one another, after all…” the dark elf frowned slightly. “Tell me, what kind of person is this Esh’lahier and what sort of power does he command? And where is his estate?”

Leaning forward on the edge of his seat, the Vysstichi Lord’s hands clasped in front of him with elbows propped upon the table. So Kedrinus was a necromancer, was he? Faust smirked. It had been a long time since the Lord of House D’Rinishad had associated with that sort let alone demanded anything from one of them. In the past he had met many successes –would that change now? He certainly hoped not, for Viskyia’s sake and his own.

And still, there was one more thing that had been weighing upon the dark elf’s mind: why had she gone to such great lengths to find him? Surely there were nobles of even greater influence in Nexus Prime and Arium at large who could have helped her. Entertained by this uncertainty, the dark elf decided that he would ask later. For now he was more concerned about what could be done to aid her.

[Viskyia Crow]

The Jeweler met his gaze as he glanced back at her and asked her his question. Was she a warrior? "After a fashion..." Viskyia replied, then elaborated. "I'm something of a Zinn'ka artist who's recently discovered how useful and entertaining daggers can be." Then she sat down across from him, and told him her tale. It was easier than she thought, really. With her eyes on his crimson orbs, the Vyssie prince despite his race's reputation, somehow made it far easier than it should have been for her to confess her problem.

Perhaps because of his initial thoughtful look without instant judgment or scorn, Viskyia had the distinct impression she was sitting across from a friend almost instantly. He rejected her offering of the blue emerald, almost out of hand, but the truth of the matter was (at least in her mind) was that the stone belonged in the hands of someone like him rather than someone like her. Especially since he admired it so openly, regardless of his refusal to accept it. She smiled slightly, sadly, but nodded.

Faust was a gentleman, and sitting across from him she could almost feel the honor within him, which she admired enormously. She admired other things about him, but kept her mind carefully schooled away from closely examining those thoughts. Finding him attractive, because of his unique character and the way he moved as if he lived within all of his body just not his head... because of the open sincerity of his face and the striking beauty of his features had no place here, and she ruthlessly stamped out the thoughts she had in this regard before she allowed them to fully emerge. But studying his face, she knew instantly that he'd not be easily swayed to the point he'd accept the stone, even though he complimented it. Silver and Black Tourmaline. She should have known. Fair enough. She'd hang on to it, until her skill was such she could release what she only tasted within the piece... and once that was done, she'd send it to him in a manner he could not refuse. So Viskyia nodded, and repocketed the gem and its heavy links of gold chain.

When he confessed her story was sad, she leaned forward and shook her head. "It's unfortunate, but please don't offer sympathies because my circumstances are far better than most. Had I not been born where I was and in what situation, I would not be the same person I am now sitting here. I do not regret it, if the truth be known. The brands upon my body chafe my ego, but that's all. Its long past time I acted or sought a means to act to free up this one last fetter upon my life." What she didn't say was that her experiences made her tough and a little cold. She kept the best, warmest, most private parts of herself from all but her closest friends. And because her personality was thus, she had survived and even thrived in Nexus Prime, a city that ate most people alive just by its very nature.

She listened to him speak a bit more, and nodded. He wanted to help. Inwards, down past where her body could give her away, she breathed a sigh of relief. Her meditation and prayers had brought her here. They hadn't steered her wrong.

"Lord Kedrinus Gha'Nalis..... my memories of him are extremely colored and I fear inaccurate. I spent my childhood among his staff cutting gemstones for his art form, though in what manner he used them I cannot say. He is a cruel man, taking pleasure in despair, but not often so overtly as he did with my mother. Or else, he's tempered since then a bit. As I remember, his methods were more subtle. I was raised extremely sheltered in a very courtly manner. You know the type, I'm sure. The ornamental servant, one that never speaks but only exists to beautify the place; opening doors, serving tea, dancing for the guests pleasure. I served as his dining table more than once, suitably attired in only my flesh to impress his guests, and as his living alter far more times than that. But as for what he did, or what his levels of expertise are, I have no idea. During such times, I was not allowed to watch, nor did I have a mind to do so. Necromancy is not the most pleasant of arcane arts. It could be that he just dabbles, or it could also be that he was quite skilled. I was an ignorant participant." She added thoughtfully.

"When I was barely of age, he took an interest in me physically, and my grandmother Meg interfered before any real harm could come to pass. She has always been quite kind to me, and kept me close as one of her ladies in waiting. I was set loose the next day, with a fake Visa and a pocket full of gems. It worked out nicely, and I felt rather safe after making it to a larger city and finally taking schola and getting formal training in Nexus Prime. A jeweler there, an Aslanite Warrior Monk, adopted me after a fashion and taught me about the outside world, as well as rounding out my craft skills nicely. I still make mistakes socially, but not so many these days as in earlier times." She said softly, almost to herself, before she looked up and met his gaze once more not having realized her eyes had drifted down to study the various objects on his desk.

"As for Kedrinus, I would imagine hes a bully, but only because such men usually are. My cousin Skyliss did make it to Nexus last year to check up on me for my grandmother. He's Meg's creature, and the warning he gave me was clear. Lord Kedrinus Gha'Nalis was still looking for me, more because of his pride I think, than any notion that I was irreplaceable. Maybe too because of his twisted ardor. I think he misses my mother, whom Skyliss told me fought him every day and whom perished without being broken despite his abuse, still muttering defiance and curses upon him even though her life slipped away. I think he'd like to have another such as she. And as for where he lives, the Gha'Nalis estate is due north of Vortex, less than a quarter days travel from the city gates. He owns a vast track of land there, and keeps to himself for the most part." Viskyia stated plainly. Truth be told she was a little surprised at her overt honesty with Faust, but something in his mannerism demanded no less. And it wasn't as if she wanted to tell him her life story... no. She told him these things to give him a clear picture as to whom he might, if he decided to help, be dealing with.

Viskyia leaned back in her seat, and unconsciously tucked her hair on the right side of her head behind her very noticeably pointed esh-like ear. It revealed the line of her jaw more clearly and distinctively marked her a half blood, explaining her unique coloring and sturdy grace. Viskyia enjoyed the grace and poise of her elven heritage, but equally took advantage of the strength her human side provided. In her mind, it was a good mix.

"As for if he'd willingly part with my papers, I have no idea. It is, however, all I could think of. I've been .... reluctant to consider facing him myself. Years of ingrained training leaves me untrustworthy of my own reactions, which I can see going one of two ways, both ending in fear. The first type is the cowards fear, where I would once again cow down to him and bend to his wishes, falling into my old role. I am not so far out of my childhood that I have forgotten that and the shame it brings, though I doubt I could ever be that girl again. Worse yet is my other fear. Sometimes I think that I might break down and become just as much a monster as he is, finding him inferior physically and unprepared acranicaly. We share blood, and sometimes the thought of my father chained as myself and my mother were is altogether too seductive. I have no desire to be like him. Ever. And thus I have stayed away, this long while." Again, why was she telling him all this? Internally she frowned. Usually she wasn't so talkative. Her friends, now that was a different story. They could be counted on less fingers than one hand contained. Amelia Lynsdaughter, her adopted father Titus Crow, and Verus. Why was she putting this man in that category so early? Stupid, Viskyia. Back off. The Esh grew silent then, uncertain what else she might be able to say.

[Faust D'Rinishad]

A candid smile cracked along the dark elf’s lips as he envisioned the woman with a dagger in hand. The image was tasteful, of course, but more importantly it was fathomable. Even when he had studied her from the shadows, the Lord of House D’Rinishad had observed the smoothness of her step and the dash of confidence crowned upon her brow. Not only were these qualities forged through experience, but they suggested that she was more competent a combatant than her genuine humility presented. So she was a dagger wielder too, then? Quite a talented woman. “It is a lovely art.” He agreed, and his smile widened in thoughtfulness. “Perhaps you might give me a demonstration one brightening, though of course when circumstances are more favorable. I too possess a passion for the arts martial, however, I doubt that my experiences are nearly as extensive as yours as I’ve only begun to brush the surface of Zinn’ka myself.”

Bowing humbly, the dark elf permitted his offer to remain unanswered. Throughout his travels, which were admittedly capacious, he had intercepted paths with a number of brilliant tacticians whose secrets had remained their own –even in death. Thus the Prince of Har’oloth was keenly aware of the sensitivity of the subject and subsequently he did not pursue it further unless Viskyia confirmed her interest. Whether or not she did, though, would have no affect whatsoever upon the Vysstichi Lord’s opinion of her. Even he possessed secrets that he would forever withhold from his closest companions and students alike.

“You are more optimistic than I would be.” Faust confessed, dipping his head again in what could be interpreted as pure respect. Signaling that he understood that sympathy was not something that she desired to be awarded, the Prince of Har’oloth continued to listen silently. In truth he was impressed by her self-respect and the maturity of her composure, both attributes that he commended in any person. Few people, after all, would be able to pick themselves up despite having experienced so nightmarish a fall, and for Viskyia to have willingly aspired to confront her horrid past spoke volumes of her character.

As the woman relayed her answers to the dark elf’s questions, he sank into the leather cushion of his seat and rested his head comfortably against the headrest. His crimson eyes never strayed from her, not even to blink, for such was the depth of his focus upon her. As he digested the information, though, one of his ebon hands fingered a curiously fashioned pendant suspended from a chain around his neck. The bulk of the ornament was chiseled into the image of a demon with some nameless warrior riding atop its back and plunging a sword through its head. As he rotated the piece in small circles by his chest, the dark elf did not appear to be conscious of the gesture.

“You are fortunate to have such loyal friends and family.” Faust finally said when Viskyia finished. A bright smile danced across his features as he considered his own brethren, many of which, unfortunately, had fallen through the ages. “Which makes me wonder if it would not be wise to assure their safety before committing ourselves to any course of action. I would not want to endanger them, after all.” Sighing deeply, the dark elf leaned forward, planting his elbows onto the table and folding his hands in the air. His thoughts were of Viskyia’s grandmother, Meg, and her cousin, Skyliss, two people who, even though physically separated from Viskyia, risked unfathomable dangers at the hands of their oppressor. And who knew if the Esh’lahier Lord would use them to ensnare Viskyia, or worse, sublimate his frustration from losing Viskyia by torturing them. These were only possibilities, of course, but they were certainly ones worth contemplating.

Sensing the emotion in the woman’s words, the dark elf reached forward, slowly as not to alarm, and patted her lightly upon the arm. “You are no coward…don’t ever believe that you are..” Faust said, more firmly than he had intended. “Your mere presence here testifies to that. What this Kedrinus did to you was wrong, and he will reap the consequences of his actions.” For the first time since their conversation, a dangerous glimmer radiated from the dark elf’s crimson eyes. It was subtle and fleeting, but it was nevertheless a reflection of his adamant conviction. This woman before him, unlike any he had ever met, did not deserve the inner anguish that tormented her. For how long she had been conflicted by this dilemma was beyond the Vysstichi Lord’s knowledge, but it was something that never should have happened to her in the first place.

As she admitted her fears of inadvertently becoming like the abusive Esh’lahier, the dark elf breathed out deeply. Indeed, he knew all too well what it was like to become one’s worst enemy. Had he not transformed into Vincent, the revenent swordsman who had murdered his mother, when he had sought out Vincent in his very own home and butchered him? The thought was sobering. “That, fortunately, is a choice that you have the liberty of making, Miss Crow. You cannot choose who he is, but you can choose who you become.” He smiled faintly.

“We will find him, and we will confront him. I promise you.” he reassured. His gaze flickered upwards to meet her citrine eyes, but as he did so he became acutely aware of the finely tapered points of her ears, elven ears! He stared, almost stupidly, for longer than he had planned, and he realized it seconds later. Masking his embarrassment behind a feigned cough, the dark elf instinctively cleared his throat and recomposed himself -something that was quite difficult to do considering that he felt like he was blushing; luckily, though, any color besides ebon was foreign to his features. The Vysstichi Lord did, however, feel a burning sensation surface to his forehead which was shortly accompanied by one or two drops of sweat –it wasn’t a magically-induced effect either.

“I’m sorry.” He apologized, instinctively running a slender hand down his scalp in shame. It was not often that the Prince of Har’oloth stumbled over social mannerisms, and thus for him to have made a fool of himself by staring perturbed him.

“So our focus is north then…” He began, purposely changing the subject to curb his previous blunder. Raking the bottom of his chin with outstretched digits, the Vysstichi Lord nodded to himself. “I’ll contact my men immediately and see about arranging for our transportation. If Kedrenus’s estate is north of here then it should not take us too long. And hopefully he’ll be cooperative and hand over the papers so that we can get back on our way.” Grinning innocently, the dark elf’s slender shoulders bounced in a light shrug. He sincerely doubted that it would be that easy, but sometimes optimism yielded kindlier results. Either way, though, the dark elf supposed that he had better contact his father and some of the mages of the academy to assemble a competent traveling party.

And perhaps some of the shadier characters of House Kityre’veresi as well.

“We can begin as soon as possible if you’d like, Miss Crow.” Faust said, holding his hands out to the side to indicate that it would be no interruption in his schedule. “And by the way, will you be staying in Vortex in the meanwhile? You’re more than welcome to lodge at the D’Rinishad Estate if you are. Besides, I’d hate for you to settle for a place like the Golden Dragon, not that you can’t handle yourself there because it’s obvious that you can, but places like those can still be rough and vile at times. And if that is not enough reason to convince you, I would also enjoy the pleasure of your company…” He added in all seriousness, “Far too seldom do I have the opportunity to engage in enjoyable conversation.”

[Viskyia Crow]

Viskyia's lips curled into a smile as the dark elf admitted his passion for martial arts. She understood completely and added a response to his statements. "I'd like that very much, but only if a demonstration is reciprocated. There is a true pleasure in practicing any sort of art form with another who admires it just as much as oneself. I've found that Zinn'ka does something amazing for a person. It teaches them that its alright for their whole awareness to dwell throughout their entire body. One should live as thoroughly in ones feet, in the curve of ones spine, in the flare of ones hips... as one should dwell in their own head. People trapped within their own minds aren't healthy. But if you live within the whole of your form, life goes far easier for you." She said quietly as if relating her own experiences.

Citrine eyes met crimson ones as the conversation continued. Viskyia couldn't shake the feeling... the very intense feeling... that this was where she was supposed to be at this particular time. And in a very intense way, she couldn't shake the feeling that sitting across from him in his very chaotic office seemed somehow a sort of homecoming to her. The jeweler felt, without understanding quite the how of it, that Faust was trustworthy and that in the very least deserving of a friendship. When he gave the comment about optimism, Viskyia smiled brightly a moment, and then explained. "I have far more than most people do to be thankful for." It was a brief response, but it conveyed very nicely what she meant.

She noticed the pendant right away. Viskyia couldn't help it. The dark prince's fingers absently touching it lead her eyes downward. A jewelers curiosity infused her, and she leaned unconsciously forward to get a closer look at it. Intriguing. It was fine work, for certain, though the subject matter was unusual. And then something he said distracted her.

“You are fortunate to have such loyal friends and family.”

Yes, she thought, very much so... though she said nothing aloud. And it seems they keep gathering closer, Faust. She didn't say or ask what she wanted too though, choosing instead to remain silent. Her question was clear though, and one she wouldn't ask until a more appropriate time if one came. What about you? Are you too so supported? Are your friends loyal? If she'd have known his thoughts, she would have paled, if such things were possible for a woman with white skin. Though she considered herself wise to the world, Viskyia had many long lasting bad habits. One was that she simply didn't think about the darker things in life she had no hope of changing unless she had too. Meg and Skyliss' situation was nothing she could directly affect at the moment. Thus the jeweler preferred to think of them as happy and safe, though how true that was could be anyone's guess. "I want to keep them safe. I would hope requesting papers wouldn't endanger them, unless you plan something else..." The whole conversation lead her into dark places in her mind, places she was somewhat afraid to traverse.

Her thoughts were turned slightly inward when he reache