To A Thousand Warm Winters

[Tyranny]

Arkash's question incited a momentary pause in the woman's features, as she stared towards him. It was clear that she knew the answer to his query -- of how the magic of time would destroy the Empire -- but she had reservations in elaborating. She had offered transparency, but some semblance of her believed that the truth would dismantle the confidence that had been garnered from her attendees. Did they really need to know?

Perhaps they did. And, perhaps a part of her simply didn't mind if they did. They were no threat to her, and if they were unwilling to see all through to the end, then they would be poor allies in the long run. The woman nodded.

"I have discovered a way - through Lichdom - to Ascend in multiple magics," she answered. "Liches have true mastery over our souls. By disassociating my soul into multiple different sectors, each piece can Ascend on its own. Slowly, through time, the Ascensions integrate and meld together, evolving and assimilating. Though I appear to you as a Symphony, I am in truth a Stygian as well; an Ascended Nightfallen. And, when the time comes, I will be an Overseer... an Ascended wielder of time."

That, of course, did not wholly answer Arkash's question. She would need to go further.

"The Corrupted God, Saryn, has been unleashing hundreds of worlds' worth of corruption across the timeline, a fact I learned when last I went to Bel. As an Overseer, I would be able to access these lost timelines, and with Resonance I could bridge them to this world. I would have the ability to unleash Corruption upon the land, but also to restore it; to destroy a city in a single night, or to save this realm from the pains of the Bleeding. There is no need to elaborate further -- I believe you understand very well what this would mean. Fear not. As much as nursery rhymes write to fear a Lich, we are benign creatures. I possess no ability for greed, for envy, for spite. My desire for vengeance is purely rational, and when I crush the Emperor I will not attempt to take his place. Someone worthy will -- someone who I can mentor. Perhaps one of you within this very room... though that is doubtful," she said. Her eyes lingered upon Midhir for a moment, but quickly left him.

The woman then looked to Ellasir, and then back to Arkash for a moment. "Both of you want assurances. I can only say that I will not impede you in this land; I have limited authority within the rest of the Empire, and my Halamire do not extend beyond my own borders. If you truly believe I would cull my own operatives, then believe as you will. I have no need to betray you, which apparently does not apply mutually." She stared at Ellasir, blankly, her features unchanging. Given he'd threatened to kill her if this venture was not 'worth his time', the woman clearly found it intriguing that he expected assurances of his own.

"You misjudge your capabilities," said Brilan. "Your entire faction was built on one man's greed; a man who would abandon you with ease. A man who would climb the steps of Veranor's throne room and proclaim his own, eternal dictatorship, equally as brutal as the Court of Dusk's. You think the Black Remedy would crash like a wave against me? Hm. A single test of their loyalty and they would come flocking to my side."

The woman turned, approaching her own throne, though before she arrived upon it she waved her hand before the peak of the steps, a pedestal suddenly appearing with a 'blip' of sound. Atop the pedestal sat a jewelry box, which she reached into to recover a silver plate, clearly ancient and withered over time. Holding it in her hands, she turned to face the attendees once more, nodding.

"All of you will receive whatever is suitable to you. Some of you wish for Chronomancy, some of you wish to serve your people... some of you wish merely to live. To each, I offer a gift at the end, though one I have not yet determined. Perhaps those of you who serve me well will be entitled to eternal life -- a spot beside my throne as a Lich? Perhaps you will be honored with title, with wealth, with legend. I do not know. All of you, however, ask much of a woman who you have given nothing to... as of yet. First, you must prove your acuity. And first, you must make your promise."

Scanning across the room, she nodded once more. "I possess one of the Empire's ancient, stolen artefacts -- the Riftwick. Within it lies a key, to whose purpose has been greatly speculated. I will spoil the surprise for you now: this key is meant to open a lockbox, within which lies Brynshal Ilan's preserved hand. The first person he touches will be immediately initiated into Chronomancy, and after that, his hand will wither and decay into nothing. You must summon me the moment you open the lockbox, before you touch it. The power that will come with the initiation would kill any mortal man, and if any of you receive Chronomancy only to die in the initiation, the magic will be lost forever. It absolutely must be me, as I have the fortitude to survive it."

She descended from the steps, carrying the plate within her hands, her eyes lingering on it for a moment as her shoes met the ballroom floor. "I cannot open the box; Brynshal barred all Ald'Norai from opening it. He was ridiculously paranoid that someone else might take his glory. One of us purebloods even nearing the box, while it is unopened, could result in the hand inside disintegrating. I cannot risk it."

She sighed, presenting the plate to Amyas, her eyes meeting his. "Place your hand on the Mnara, and repeat after me: Ilal fel'thalal ven-athan tor'nathal, quel forain Ard yse ichtal val'ashal dunai. Cor Aron achshal yritha, vas aldunai. When all of you swear, I will offer you the location of the lockbox, and only then. I cannot risk this information falling into the wrong hands -- you must understand. If Chronomancy is lost, Saryn cannot give it to us again from within Bel. This is our only chance to ever restore this sacred art." Once Amyas swore - if he did - she would move down the line; to Jean, to Jack, Ellasir, Midhir, and Arkash.

When she landed before Jean, she would answer his query with a silent set of words, whispers beneath her breath.

"You will need to ask Lieril that yourself, young one. We may be dear friends, but I will not answer for her. I do not know every detail of her life -- perhaps you are her progeny, of sorts. Phillip Valent really is my son, after all. We are not incapable of using these bodies of ours for the same ends as any other mold of meat."

[Zaros]

---

♅ Listening to her explain how she would use this lost magic sent chills down my spine. The fact she was an ascended mage twice over was startling at first but soon overwhelmed by my own curiosity. As she explained how she would break Daravin as a whole made me curious if the same could be done for our homeland. It was just hard to get over the fact that a single person was this powerful, that she was capable of such feats. It also made me wonder what exactly we were doing by putting this in her hands. It made sense now that she explained the real reason she called us here, as she couldn't claim the box herself, as it was too much of a risk if she did.

Her rebuttal to my threat hit me like a tone of bricks, and as much as I wanted to fight against them to correct her on them, I could tell in the amount of confidence she threw them at me that what she was saying was true. Though I only met the man once in my time at the Gallows, I could see the ambition in his eyes, the way he looked as if he was a god among men. The fact she mentioned him betraying one of his own, that we were tools to be discarded reminded me of something.

Haldir told of the one time a trusted ebon knight was betrayed and left for dead by our very leader when on a mission to slay a cardinal in a land whose name escapes me. I found myself backing down as it was clear she was not afraid, and it made me question if that was a good thing or not. I didn't want to challenge her further, otherwise, she would no doubt abscond me away as she did her party guest, a fate I didn't want to take a chance on.

She was powerful, and a part of me could help but smirk at the woman. Magic was something I found to be core to an elven lifestyle, and she was the epitome of it. Perhaps if I stick by her, I could glean some of that strength to fight against the Dranoch, to wipe them away from the face of this plane. Shrivenflame once again sparked and quelled in my hands as I thought, watching her as she went to retrieve something, and coming to us once again.

It seemed we didn't really have a choice, as much as she made it appear that we did. Listening to the oath, I found a tear falling down my face for some odd reason, quickly wiping it away. Could it have been to hearing such fluent Silvain spoken, causing me to become nostalgic of home? Whatever the case she came to me, I sighed as I pledged my loyalty to her and this endeavor.

"Ilal fel'thalal ven-athan tor'nathal, quel forain Ard yse ichtal val'ashal dunai. Cor Aron achshal yritha, vas aldunai." I spoke, my hand on the plate as she stood in front of me. Once done I could only ask one more question. "So where do we begin?" ♅

---

"Common Speech"
"Silvain Speech"
"Self-Thoughts"

[Arkash]

Though he wasn't the most knowledgeable on magical terms, despite his mastery of Blood Magic and the corruption that clogged his lungs and stomach both, he knew what Ascension was. The Apex of a mage's power was in their ascension, the surrender to the mark's will was life-changing, physically and mentally altered forever - But only once. Never could a mage ascend twice... Unless, of course, they were a Lich.
Arkash had to suppress the smug smile that stirred within him when Brilan struggled to answer his questions; it was satisfying to make the nobility squirm. But her answer, when it was delivered, was terrifying. She spoke of the Gods like their existence was fact, like they were tangible beings one could see in their lifetime. Arkash had forgotten such beliefs were commonplace outside of Lorien, but only for a moment. The technical details were still baffling to the 'guised rathor, but he could only imagine how devastating dumping years of corruption on someone could be. Did he not currently suffer the effects of overstepping? His ascension to master was a rough one. What would the weapon she spoke of do to someone? To the average mortal, who could not rely upon their supernatural regeneration to keep themselves in one piece?
He may have been cold-blooded, but he'd seen suffering. Abject poverty, people left to rot and fester in untreated illness, growing up crippled to injury, all the results of their leader's oversight. Throwing corruption into the mix? Arkash couldn't bring himself to imagine how Cojack might have suffered. Did a whole city deserve such a fate just because Brilan disagreed with its leader?
His eyes flattened while he determined internally, Brilan was the very evil he'd sworn to destroy; the negligent ruler, the tyrant, the conqueror. She had to be stopped, he couldn't allow her to succeed in her goals. No one person should ever be allowed the power she proclaimed. The power rulers wielded was already far too much, but Brilan sought to make herself God.

Arkash was quiet again, holding his chest while he considered what it was she was saying. She addressed Ellasir, mocked his rebellion and the tyrant that led it. Arkash was paralyzed, his heart thrummed irregularly as the sword of doom loomed above him.
When he took up the mantle of Lorien's liberator, he was versus Men and Women; he had no idea of the depths of depravity mages brought to the world, he could never have imagined the twisted evils they sought to wield for themselves. For the first time in a year, Arkash was trembling. His throat melted under the heat of that familiar burn, and his eyes watered beneath his mask.
It was a cruel thing, to realize just how small he was after everything was said and done. He'd thought Taelian was close enough to the apex of what a mortal could achieve, and he wasn't too far behind. But no, he was so very small in comparison. Utterly inferior and meaningless before the storm of Brilan's power.
For that reason, the offer of Lichdom itself, eternal life and a chance at that sort of power himself, was incredibly tempting... Especially when he considered the alternative. What sense was there in fighting something so infinite? So unstoppable and grand? He wasn't made for it, he wasn't meant to save the world. There had to be another way, it didn't have to be him. The frail fringes of his mind clung to that notion; a bargain for a way out, an alternative to the only way he saw to end the Lich's tyranny.

She spoke then, the binding words. Some sort of magical swear, he imagined. Would they not be able to speak of these events afterward? Was that the purpose of the Oath? He laughed a breath at the thought; there was someone outside who'd be disappointed when he returned to them.
She began to go about the room with that plate, making the others pledge themselves to those words that he didn't understand, or could even begin to remember. While she did, Arkash reached under the mask he wore to dry his eyes and wiped his tears away on the interior of his pockets. He had to breathe, he had to compose himself. It wouldn't come to pass as he feared, there was a way out of it, he just had to find it.
Deep breaths through his nose flared his nostrils and strained his injured lung at a point. Saving face, he carefully exhaled and repeated the process, as deep as he could go without irritating his injury. His eyes began to look about the room, then. To the tiger that had related to him, Jean, the elf who'd saved him from a gutter death, Ellasir, the kind thief beside him, Amyas, the quiet one who'd not said more than a handful of words the entire night, Midhir, and the one who he'd ruthlessly insulted at every opportunity, whose name escaped him.
Those five, he believed in the depths of his heart...

Then it was his turn to speak the vow, the last in the room. Arkash woke from his troubled thoughts and drew a breath through his nose. "Uh, right..." he spoke with a nod, then placed his hand upon the platter. He did not meet her gaze but was quiet in thought. "Ilal..." he half squinted. "...Falthelel-?" A sigh of frustration escaped him- he couldn't even try to complete the binding words. "Miss, I can barely speak Common if 'ew catch me on th' wrong day. I'm gonna need some help learnin' elvish real quick," he spoke as proper as he could given the circumstances so that she might understand him.
With her aid, he parroted the words of the oath in order. "...Ilal fel'thalal- Ven athan- Tor'nathal- Quel forain- Ard yse- Ichtal- Val'ashal dunai-. Cor Aron- Achshal yritha- Vas Aldunai."
And that was it; he'd no doubt insulted a lot of the Sil'Norai in the room with his butchered dialect, but he'd spoken the words to her liking. Arkash tested the wrist of the hand he'd placed on the platter, then, and looked about the room with uncertainty. Ellasir was also crying... Did he have the same idea?

If he had the time, he would pat Amyas's shoulder and offer a brief smile before he left the thief's side to approach the tiger. "You'a words honah me, Mista' Lorraine," he started with the beginnings of a smile, but quickly yielded to a frown. "But I've neva' been much for words, 'less I'm cussin' out some Posh Prick," he explained with a turn of his bony fingers. "'Sides, if we was all born wiv a voice them lot on top wan'ed t' hear, I'd still be livin' at 'ome wiv me mum an' dad."
"It's 'cus no one's listenin' that I've gotta fight; violence is th' loudest language goin', an' it's me most fluent." He shrugged, turning over his open hands. "Betta t' die fightin' ten thousan' mages than t' die in you'a bedroom wiv a dagga' in you'a back."
He then removed his mask again to fully face the tiger, then bowed his head out of respect. "I'll cova' you out there if 'ew do th' same faw me," he vowed in a manner very much unlike Jean's graceful trident depiction.

Image source.

[Jean]

When Brilan had chosen him for some grand plot, the boy raised as an arm for his House could feel the contentment of his purpose wash over him. Yet, the more she spoke, the more every terrifying word spilled from her lips so casually, Jean realized he was facing not a woman nor a man, but a fledgling god.

Conflicting emotions ran afoul of his conscious. Saryn. Potentialities. Corruption; the power to banish it elsewhere, and to destroy. While Jean knew Magithermal Entropy to be the limiter of the havoc a mage could harness, Brilan had found a way to circumvent this. She was calm, a so-called logical being motivated not by emotion, but by reason.

It terrified Jean.

Eyes moving up from the floor, he peered at Brilan from afar with that contemplative gaze. What if she was right? What if she could be trusted? The elves could be liberated, but at what cost? Something must serve as a check to her designs. She should never attain Chronomancy for this reason. He did not believe that she would stand idly by and allow the power to rest within the hands of another. If not her, then it would be a Lich.

A chill percolated up his bestial spine, skin twitching over muscle as the truth of the box was relay’n unto him. At first, he thought to the pawns around him.

He was so shaken by all of this, that desperation found him thinking in a manner most alien.
The Ald’Norai have learned nothing in these thousands of years. My argument with the Oath was flawn; she is the very being those contrivances were designed to to vilify.
Malek, I’ve never once given you an honest prayer, but if there is any truth to faith, help me with this timeless evil now. We want for the same thing.

As the plate was revealed, Jean yearned for a shred of the familiar to comfort himself with. The Malformist drew upon his Therianthropy to begin slowly, calmly bleeding human traits throughout his form. Long, flowing silver hair descended from his head, piling over his neck like the mane of a lion as that stocky body of white fur with blackened stripes now knelt there with head bowed. He looked as any tiger Rathor Beastalt might, yet subtly more elven.

Lip and tongue twisted with elven traits, his words rang far more clearly as he was presented with the plate. If he was in luck, swearing secrecy would not be a trap. He thought to butcher the oath on purpose, but the prospect of his insubordination being detected this early on was not such a thrill. These thoughts were further derailed by her softly spoken answer. Regaining himself, he said exactly as he was asked.
“Ilal fel'thalal ven-athan tor'nathal, quel forain Ard yse ichtal val'ashal dunai. Cor Aron achshal yritha, vas aldunai.”

Once he spoke the words, he stood, and he stood tall and noble, eight feet and six hundred pounds of clawed man with pointier-than-the-norm ears looming over the room. Pinching his palm with his own claws, he nodded to Arkash; that man would be his ally for what was to come. Ellasir would also be useful, but Jean had so carelessly shown his true colors, he wondered if the man could still be trusted after this misstep. The others had ignored his attempts to bond, and he knew that must have been due to their own grand designs, and this would spell doom for all of them.

Arm behind his back with his back straight, Jean went over every word Brilan had stated, looking for flaws in the logic. There were a thousand apocryphal truths to this Brilan Ald, just as there were a thousand lies. There was bound to be at least one perversion in all of this.

What was her deceit?

She wanted trust, so she had spoken many truths to disguise the lie. Everything fell into place within his mind.
So that is what you obscure now, Brilan Ald.

[Midhir]

The young elf glanced at his lover when he spoke his name, golden eyes wide and unknowing, but curious and present. When Jack swore, it was clear to him that he must as well, as he wasn't going to let Jack leave his sight to go on whatever mission led to this storied lockbox. He didn't know what he would ask of the Ald'norai when the time came. He didn't know what she would offer. That he was even here was apparently due to his bloodline rather than his lineage, and perhaps also because he traveled in the company of a handsome Badlander who had also attracted her attention. This was a dangerous compact. They knew too little, had too little basis upon which to trust her.

And yet...

When Jack spoke with fervor of bringing down the Empire, he felt a tug on his soul. A part of it was the nascent love, no doubt, but another was his Mark.

If Chronomancy or some other blend of her magics could save Jack, then Midhir would help him, help her, in this endeavor. Where that would lead his soul, he would find out later. At least here in her presence, he didn't have to kowtow every time someone mentioned Ulen's name. Perhaps there was a niche for him here, as well, a purpose for all his training, for his walkabout, for running into Jack and coming to Amoren. It could have been fate. He wouldn't know. Sometimes he saw greater patterns in events when he was in deep trance, but now everything was a roiling morass of new knowledge and tentative connections.

Perhaps he ought to have said something as everyone else had. But he didn't know what he ought to say and so he held his tongue. Many were the times his masters had told him that it were better to keep one's mouth shut and be thought a fool than to open it and prove the point. A woman of her age would have little patience for such, and the others were taking up all the air in the room in that regard. So he just nodded when her attention came back to him.

"If Jack swears, then I swear. We go together." He nodded and would repeat her oath upon the artifact. If she was who she said she was and who she said she was in relation to one of his ancestors, then he supposed she might appreciate loyalty.

[Amyas]

Revelation only found purchase on those who could truly understand it, but given the company of those more learned, Amyas had an inkling that what Brilan said had been dire indeed. The ripples sent throughout the room were palpable, and despite most of the words being hollow and meaningless to him, the elf could reason out the general idea. Lady Ash was powerful, unimaginably so even to those who knew magic.

Well, he could bring at least one thing back from this experience, if nothing else. If he even would come back.

‘Stay far, far away from the Treveyn. You think the rest of the nobles have power? She is everything you fear of them, and more.’

And so he would be the first to swear, in a choice that didn't seem to be a choice. With all the import placed on the act, the idea of Lady Ash letting people go if they didn't threatened to make him laugh.

“Ilal fel'thalal ven-athan tor'nathal, quel forain Ard yse ichtal val'ashal dunai. Cor Aron achshal yritha, vas aldunai.” Every word spoken with the utmost deliberation, devoid of the lazy dropping of sounds that otherwise characterised Amyas' speech. He could only assume these were words that bound, an oath that enforced itself. He almost writhed as he parroted the Lady, the thought of being so tied bearing heaving on his mind. And yet, the words continued to flow from his mouth.

He understood— no, he couldn't even begin to understand Brilan Ald; her long years placed endless distance between the two of them. He could appreciate not wanting an art to be lost forever, but was that even why she did what she did?

“Is it lonely…?” Amyas half-muttered, barely even noticing he'd spoken. You could count the number of Ald'Norai still living on a single hand, dead as they all should have been. Brilan was a relic, someone so very out of place in the world, no matter how well she fit in. The Entente were perfect for her, and still she continued to speak of those halcyon days… What was it like then, to outlive everything you knew?

Not that he pitied her. Everything else about her meant she was far beyond something as trite as pity. In the face of something so truly alien to him, perhaps he simply tried to force a semblance of human emotion onto her.

God, he had no idea what he was doing. Amyas was about as blind as the nobles swallowed up by the night. Fumbling around in the dark, you found something solid and clung to it; Derek (or Arkash?) was far from a firm foundation, considering they had met that very night, but he was less strange than the strangers around him. When the other man swore, the elf tried to give him an encouraging smile, marred as it was by his own trepidation.

[Jack]

Jack did not know where to begin -- what to make of... all of this. Brilan Ald had found a way to Ascend more than once, and through a conjunction of Resonance and Chronomancy she intended to bridge previous timelines to the present? To bend time and space, performing something... truly immense. World-breaking. Corruption from old timelines? It all sounded like nonsense to him; impossible story, and myth. Yet she believed it... that it was all possible. Maybe she was even right.

Was that a world he wanted, though? He couldn't imagine it was. Jack was an anarchist at heart, a man who believed that freedom should lie above rules and hierarchies of power. How could he support that? And given what she had said before, how could he imagine that she did not expect to use her power against 'humans' generally? She was dangerous -- the Valen Dres of their age. A bringer of catastrophe. And yet, here he was... desperate to live, with few other options but to bend the knee, swear and accept.

Midhir spoke, declaring that he would swear if Jack did. If Jack did not, then he would likely immediately be killed... and so would Midhir. He had that... weight, on his shoulders, and therefore no other choice. Everyone's voice echoed around him, and in-and-out he could feel the delusions grasping him, like talons gripping his skull. He saw Brilan out in the desert, opening a vast hole in the sky, blackness spewing out and smothering the land.

He winced.

"I accept," he whispered. Jack knelt before the woman, swearing before the Mnara and speaking the offered words. He slipped up once or twice, and Brilan forced him to repeat the words again, ensuring that they were spoken with absolute perfection. This matter was far more grave than he ever could have imagined, and the man was remembering now why he had never wanted to return to the Entente. Their games... they had gone too far.

"Midhir..." he whispered, looking up at him. His eyes were teary; all of this felt so foul. "Guess I've consigned you to your fate, then, huh?"

[Tyranny]

As many of them swore, Brilan eyed them... suspiciously. Their composure and regard was dissatisfactory, and as a master of the Candor that was easy enough to recognize. She contemplated, for a moment, as she stared down at each of them... and then again as she returned the Mnara to where it belonged, once all of them had agreed not to soil her mission. She contemplated killing the ones who did not appear resolute enough, of course. Perhaps they could tell no one of anything she had instructed them on, but they could certainly seek out the artifacts for themselves. That was fine, she supposed. None of them knew the actual wording of the contract, considering it had been spoken to them in Ancient Eldhan, a language dead even to the Hyr'norai.

The woman sighed.

"You will be divided into two groups," she said. "One of you will go to Carine, and one of you to the Imperial Badlands. The Pontifex, Ratheran, holds the lockbox I need -- and it will only open to the Riftwick upon the death of the Worldbreaker. If you have not heard of it, be aware. The Wurm is an Ascended Remnomancer, an Abyssal. It is one of the most powerful creatures on Atharen... as is the Pontifex. You will have my support; Montese Namira will help you to confront the Worldbreaker, and Montese Lieril will aide you in your endeavors in Carine. Further, a man from the Covenant named Taelian will act as an auxiliary force for the group in the Badlands."

She then looked to Jack.

"You will not be going. The Corruption within you is too severe -- you will likely face the Madness within the span of this mission, and will compromise its integrity. Instead, you will provide Midhir the information he needs to help lead this mission through the Badlands. The groups will be as follows: Midhir, Taelian and Arkash in the Badlands, and Ellasir, Jean and Amyas in Carine. More information will be forthcoming in the future, and Taelian should be in contact with the two of you within the next few eves. For now... you are all dismissed."

[Arkash]

When Jean made his transformation, Arkash momentarily forgot the night in his bound of excitement. It was another Rathor, he believed at first... But upon closer inspection, he found that it was too perfect. The color of his eyes, the patterns of his fur. There was always something off about Rathor in their Faunis forms, they didn't look like the real thing a lot of the time. Jean took the perfect shape of a tiger and mimicked its visage to such a degree that Arkash had assumed he was a real tiger.
With his disappointment came a moment of intrigue, until his introduction was cast off with naught but a nod. He pursed his lips and nodded firmly before the dread returned, and he set his mask on right.

His eyes looked about the room then, at everyone who'd attended and accepted the vow. It didn't look as though anyone thought differently of him for his mispronunciation and butchery of the elven tongue. Hell, even the human had gotten it wrong, the human Midhir had introduced as 'Jack'. To him, Arkash furrowed his brow. At the surface, they appeared to be on a similar wavelength of despair in face of such a massive symbol of oppression.
He could smell the salt in Jack's tears as the human's eyes welled, his stomach growled and his mouth watered, but he stole his hunger's will and licked his lips with a shaky breath. With a sigh, he approached the man, took his arm thoughtlessly, and helped him to his feet.
"Sorry for tellin' 'ew off, mucka'," He spoke once the man was on his feet. "I wuz jus' pist 'ew called me rank, but you're alrite," he spoke with a nod of affirmation. He took a moment to gauge the human's eyes. What were his tears for?

Then it was declared that Jack wasn't coming with them, and Arkash looked to the woman with a furrow to his brow that hid beneath his mask. His expression asked 'what was the point of inviting him if he wasn't joining us anyway', but his lips said none of that. Perhaps the lady just didn't know Jack was corrupted, but if she'd figured out Derek Egon's true identity so easily, he doubted she didn't know about jack's apparent corruption condition.
With a frown, he looked about the rest of the room. Overall, everyone there seemed quite content to wipe out cities of innocent serfs. Then he realized, Jack was the only non-elf in the room. Humans were often bigotted by nature and he'd witnessed their xenophobic tendencies first hand. Perhaps that was where the elves came from in their stance? Daravin was mostly made up of humans, so...
Were they all out for revenge?

Brilan delivered the second phase of her plan, and Arkash watched her carefully while he absorbed the information. Two groups, one was after the box that the pontifex held, the other was to kill something called the 'Worldbreaker', an ascended mage of some kind. He didn't know what Remnomancy was, but he'd fought a wurm with Miki in the season prior. Those things knew magic? Arkash furrowed his brow and leaned back. How were they supposed to fight that? He was going to need a much bigger gun than his usual loadout, he realized.
As for Taelian's appearance on the quest, Arkash's eyes widened, and a smile began to pull at his lips while he considered that. The elf had met with brilan the day prior, he supposed he knew what it was about, after the fact. It was him, Midhir, and Taelian all on the same quest to kill the wurm.
Down the line, three ebonknights could complicate things, but at least he was paired with the good ebonknight, and not the two that would surely strike him down if given the chance. Overall, he had no complaints with the structure as it was planned, but Taelian's presence could complicate the endgame... But perhaps not? Perhaps they could figure it out together? Maybe it didn't have to end in the way he planned?

"Soun's good," Arkash spoke, and rolled his shoulders. "These humans'll get wot's comin' to 'em finally," he declared, believing he was appealing to the rest of the team's outlook. He knew Ellasir's opinion, regardless. Brilan had already outed his real name, it would only take a look to the north's bounty postings for anyone to realize Arkash was the name of an anarchist revolutionary. His true identity was forfeit among the group, but it didn't matter did it?
He began to assume his true form, bone structure shifting beneath his skin as his face elongated in tandem with the end of his spine, which extended into a tail. As the fat in his body shifted there, his skin began to flip in a series of window-like panels, and split in the consistent pattern of scales and studded natural armor. Dark, inky basalt filled the pigment of his skill all over, except over his chest, neck, and belly, which turned a lighter shade of beige, and his brown eyes yellowed upon darkened sclera, misty due to his blight. As his claws feet ripped through his new shoes, he stepped out of the broken accessories and walked barefoot across the marble flooring with a series of clicks and taps as the rest of the details of his true form set in.
He placed a hand on Midhir's shoulder if the elf allowed him, and he grinned with a flash of his sharp teeth. "You'll like Taelian," he spoke with a sort of dry, reptilian croak as an overlay to his voice. "He's a good guy, just watch out for 'is lasers. Those'll fuck 'ew up."

He offered a wave to the rest as he walked behind Midhir, and made his way to the exit. "See 'ew lads afta' the wurm's dead!" he declared nonchalantly, and if there was nothing else, he left the fortress-palace, and entered the night.

Image source.

[Jean]

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Intrigue
Peril of a tongue spoken any other way but words.

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As the emotionality plaguing Jean's fiery mind dulled, the Treveyn's sigh cut through his mind like a hot a knife. He stood, stepped back, and bowed his head gracefully with a throaty chuff and a shut-eyed acknowledgment as she relayed her orders.
"Je suis ta main d'argent, dame de cendre."

I should not be so eager to plot treason. I am who I am, and my empathy will only lead to panic. What have the humans done to deserve my sincerity? Should not an elf rule the elves? Is the nature of a lich a lie, a truth, and if it were, would her logical nature turn upon us all? Perhaps if I spoke to her more... about the golden age of elves.

No, she would only say what I wanted to hear.

Running parallel to the gripping fear in the back of his mind was her demand. To heist, and to heist from the Pontifex no less? Would his security not rival that of the Emperant himself?

Before he could do much else, the human - or so he thought - Arkash' body began to outwardly shift and churn, and at first he wondered if the man was a Malformist, but the truth of the matter puzzled him further. Rathor. Jean's brow tightened with suspicion, broad pink nose lifting with that studying gaze. Those eyes he'd caught a glimpse of, which seemed cloudy and unlike any lizard he'd ever seen, and having quarreled with Dranoch in his past, he wondered if the man was Blighted.

Such a waste of shoes. He truly is an animal.

Jean open-jaw inhaled the air about the room, puzzling out the scents roiling in his sinuses from the sensitive tigrine glands in the roof of his mouth; there was little trace he could suss out from the vapor that was familiar in that way, but then Jean had spent little time being a tracker. There was no tell-tale scent of blood beyond the usual amount, but this too did not absolve him, a possible true nature obscured by the competing odors of those around. This was often the case; Dranoch usually lived in the city, where such gifts were moot in all but a sterile room with a dirtied body. And why were the eyes cloudy as a lizard, and not as the Rathor, whom he remembered vaguely were a kind of elf themselves? Maybe it was a trick of the light, after all...

Even so, if Arkash were, Jean did not consider the Rathor to be in league with the Court of Dusk. An anarchist would not fall in line with the ultimate oppressors. In the event he was correct, he resolved to keep Arkash' secret. Were this Ellasir to suspect him... Jean had seen other Ebon Knights set flame to flimsier suspicions.

Even if he were - and the eyes are not enough to confirm - so long as he preys upon others for a cause beneficial to my countrymen, I will allow him his hunger. I will not forget who he is, and what Lady Ald has seen in him.

Jean turned his thoughts back to the Pontifex, and then looked to his would-be companions. Both of the fellows he admired most would not be joining him, only this Ellasir, equally as hot of mind as him, if not more, and then the ill-experience wallflower who'd barely spoke in all this time.

We should also test the waters of this oath... I want to know every angle, if it may stop me to act to defend myself then I should know to avoid that scenario.

Jean bowed to Lady Ald one last time before he left. "Je vous dis adieu, mon ma dame."

Rising, he turned his back to the Treveyn and spoke in Silvain with a quiet authority to his companions.

"Ellasir, Amyas. We will receive any materials from the lady for our mission, and then we shall depart to strategize every angle; it will not be easy to snatch an artifact from the clutches of someone who may have well had thousands of years to secure his hoard. I place my trust in you, as you must to me. Our chance of success hinges on the flaws one timeless being has found in another... and our ability to work together."

With a stern nod after pausing to hear his companions' words, he departed for the dressing room to revert his body, and to don accoutrements easier on the eye. They would rendezvous later.

To think that I was so paralyzed that I prayed to Malek. I am the fool, in any which way I choose to think or act. Lady Ald will surely disappear me should I fail to prove my loyalty. Oh, to be but a youth in the eyes of my elders with far more wisdom than I.