O Duskbringer, O Dawnwalker [Iselya]

[Hector]

TIMESTAMP: 2 Calid March, 122
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The final month of Searing. Once he made it through this, Hector could finally enjoy being outside again. The weather was the only thing he patently disliked about his new home…at least during this particular season. It was too warm. A bit too much humidity. He was sure this was due to the fact that it was different from what he was used to– it wasn’t even that crazy hot or anything, he just hated it…but from talking to others, he had at least some hope that it was just this season that he’d dislike.

This thought process rolled through his head as he stepped out of the Cathedral of Saint Aegan and the air really struck him. He sighed, a somewhat annoyed expression written on his face. Vergil was elsewhere– while they usually tried to stick together, sometimes obligations pulled him in different directions. Hector knew the other man would be busy for the rest of the day so he’d have to find something else to do for himself. Which…sure…isn’t hard, but all he could think about at the moment was getting out of the heat.

As an Acolyte, he was often seen coming in and out of this building. As did many of his ilk. Easy to spot, all dressed similar, though with different colours depending on taste. Primary thing to look for was an emblem one wore denoting rank, and given how new he was both to the organization and the city itself, his was the lowest. The funny thing, however, was that even at this tier he had a remarkable amount of privilege and freedom compared to most ‘normal’ citizens despite being naught more than a trainee. Hector, of course, would never complain about additional power…but really, giving stuff like that to a person like him so very soon? Questionable.

Didn’t help that the robes Acolytes wore were not exactly the most pleasant thing to have on in this weather, but oh well, can’t really be helped. Much as it was a color he rarely wore, he wore white– entirely to reflect sunlight. Moving ever forward now, he figured he might as well just go home to change into something else lest he actually just melt.

That is, of course, unless something happened to catch his eye.

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'Thoughts'
"Common Tongue/Speech"
"Mythrasi Tongue/Speech"
"Vallenor Tongue/Speech"
Aidolon Speech

[Laveriel]

Out of all the places in this cursed city, The Grand Cathedral of Saint Aegan was the one that had lured her in the most. Iselya could not count how many hours she had spent staring at the building - from up close, from afar. Today, she chose to be closer to the imposing structure. About a week ago, the pale elf had found a small coffee shop called the Nightbloom across the street from the cathedral. A cozy enough place without too many customers, so they let her sit out on their terrace for a few hours every time, just sipping on her drink.

The seat of the Imperial Inquisition. Every time she watched the place, she prayed to Drimera that she would see a familiar face. Any of the soldiers that were there on that terrible day seventeen years ago.

Unfortunately, no luck.

Although to be honest, the elf wasn’t sure what she would do if she did see one of them.

Iselya picked up her cup to drink, only to realize that she had finished her white tea. It was probably a sign she should be leaving. The elf gave the cathedral one last look. A particular figure caught her eyes. A fellow elf wrapped in what she had recognized as an acolyte’s robes. He easily stood out from the crowd with his violet hair and pointed ears.

Nothing else caught her attention, so she started walking down the sidewalk.

Despite the torturous sun beating on their backs, the silver elf stood with her raven hair down. Most women in the city would have put them up to get some respite from the unforgiving heat, but not Iselya. It was a habit she had nurtured over the years, after all, to hide the Affliction rune on the back of her neck. Even amongst her comrades, the woman had done all she could do to conceal it - some of them had labeled the magic as vile. Now that she was in Gel’Grandal, the secrecy was even more important.

The short sleeves of her white blouse gave a bit of relief, but she didn’t really like how it revealed the elaborate silvery markings down her arms. Perhaps she could look for a shirt that would hide more of her skin but not cook her alive in this summer sun on her way home.

But then the sudden roar of an engine thundered through the air and Iselya flinched, still not used to the noise. As the vehicle zipped past, she would have paid it no more mind if it wasn’t soon followed by a painful screech. The elf turned in time to watch the bike swerving roughly only to lose its balance and fall to its side. The vehicle itself skidded across the pavement before slamming into the front of a flower shop, while the rider had been thrown off somewhere along the way. People started screaming as they realized what was happening.

The man was in the middle of the street, now lying on the ground clutching his right leg as he screamed in pain. Without much thought, Iselya ran toward him. She was the first to reach him. Her silvery eyes immediately scanned his entire body, a habit she picked up after years of being a healer in the Tranquil Gardens.

A human man with brown hair, probably in his late twenties. He had various minor abrasions and lacerations on the right side of his body, those weren’t concerning. His right shin was deformed, clearly fractured and angled outward. A part of the bone had broken through the skin and formed a wound that was bleeding, the red starting to pool beneath him.

“Hey, hey! Open your eyes. Look at me,” Iselya ordered firmly, carrying the sternness of a century-old soldier. He obeyed her instructions and looked at her with wide green eyes. It was a good sign. “What’s your name?”

“Barnett. Thomas Barnett.” Another good sign. There didn’t seem any visible injuries to his head, so her current concern was the open fracture to his right tibia. She looked for a pulse on his right foot and felt relief when it throbbed weakly. His leg should be alright if he got the proper treatment soon enough.

A car honk broke her concentration, reminding her that they were still in the middle of the road. It would be better if they moved him, but she couldn’t drag him alone without worsening his injuries. Iselya looked up, searching for any signs that someone else was coming to help.

[Hector]

TIMESTAMP: -
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The elf hummed and walked on, fairly impatient to get away from the cathedral and out of this heat. Much as he liked the power he was afforded by his affiliation with the Inquisition, the classes themselves were really rather tedious and the man was not somebody used to sitting in a classroom for long periods of time. He…wasn’t exactly the most patient of creatures.

Fairly obliviously, he passed another elven woman on the street. She did not look like she was from around here. The Imperium was mostly human– it was actually kind of rare to see to begin with. While he noted her presence, there was nothing he had to say to any stranger, pointed ears or not. What would he even say? The elven vampyre had the social skills of a rock anyways.

So the two of them passed one another, like ships in the night…or so one would think. Mere moments later, the screech of rubber against road cut through the peaceful midday atmosphere of the city. The cry of a single man, the twisting and crunching of metal and the snap of bones. Each sound bit into Hector's head given his very sensitive hearing, making the young elf flinch.

Then…blood. Fresh. Such a delicious scent…and dangerous given the fact that this vampyre was only really fed with the blood of the waste that populated the very northern parts of trash town. Unfortunately, those whose health is poor often taste questionable at best. Such a thing was not the case for the man who'd had today's accident fall upon him.

Hector turned, shifting his body and his gaze towards the source of the scent. A man lay in a heap in the middle of the road, his bike having slid quite a decent distance away. Still alive, it would appear. It was then that he noticed the other elf he'd passed was making her way over to him at a very urgent pace. Trying to help, she was.

But could she? Was she also a mage of some sort? Perhaps just somebody with medical training? Frankly, he was intrigued– that, and the scent of fresh spilt blood was calling to him.

He snapped out of his thoughts when he heard another woman shout for help. Much as he wanted to escape this heat, if the other elf that had moved were a fellow mage, he genuinely wanted to speak to her…and maybe he could steal some of the man's blood into crystals for later. With that decision made, the elf began to very calmly approach the two in the road, either oblivious or uncaring to the fact that traffic was beginning to back up. None of that was his problem, so naturally, he didn’t care regardless.

When he arrived at the side of the injured man, he was across from the elven woman. He squatted down on his toes with his thighs to his heels and hands hanging lazily over his knees, lavender eyes scanning the man’s injuries, expression blank. He almost looked bored, though this was not exactly the case.

The other two had a quick exchange of words, none of which Hector listened to or even really heard. The problem, up close, was very obvious. Most of his wounds were minor, simply from tumbling against the rough texture of the road. Such a thing could not be said about his right leg, however. It must have caught when he was ejected from his bike, twisting or being forced against the surface of something else until it gave way. Perhaps agitated or worsened on impact with the ground, even.

Vergil taught him how to assess trauma, and he did so with little issue. While he didn’t have a lot of field medical training without the older man at his side, that wasn’t entirely important because he felt reasonably comfortable with his level of skill at this point in regards to Vitalis. He lacked tools with him for Necromancy right now, anyways. It was finally legal for him to use magic, and so he wanted to take advantage of that. Plus it often made people uncomfortable when he used Blood Magic, especially because the vast majority of folks had no idea what it even was. Blood Magic had been dead for so long that there were probably only a couple hundred practitioners max on the entire continent– it was naught more than a children’s fairy tale at this point.

So when Hector used it in front of the often ignorant eyes of the common man, they met him with confusion, often asking questions, to which he just outright lied pretty much every time. He found the practice of denying what they’d seen to be fairly entertaining– the distress was the comedic point. That, and the very process of casting the magic itself was often seen as disgusting by others. The elf simply enjoyed making other people squirm. Bit of a dick, he could be.

So without saying a single word, Hector lifted his right hand from where it hung and reached over with delicate, long fingered hands to press a single fingertip to the protruding bone. With a flux of ether into the other’s body, the Vitalitasi began to channel Rhabdomancy, preventing the man from moving, now that he was effectively Hector’s puppet. However, this was entirely to restrict movement, not to control him.

Once the man was prima facie frozen in his own skin, another flux of aether started the casting of Vicissitude. The reason he didn’t want the victim, er– patient– to move was because Hector didn’t care that much about his comfort. The bone would appear to recede back into the flesh where it belonged and the mage kept his hand in contact with the bone this entire time. Bone fragments that littered the cavity would pull and regenerate back onto the damaged tibia and fibula, eventually knitting back together into something functional– though not quite the precise shape of the bone one would be born with simply because Hector was careless. However, that didn’t mean it wouldn’t last or that it was inefficient, he even threw the man an extra bone or so and reinforced the density of that which he repaired.

Now, this whole process would feel excruciating since every single movement of the bones slid against already damaged flesh and screaming nerves. One would imagine the frozen man to be in agony and Hector honestly wouldn’t blame a person of weaker constitution for passing out, but his expression remained largely placid– though an astute observer could see glimmers of something akin to fascination and pleasure reflected within crystalline eyes.

He’d also fixed the bone before he bothered to stop the bleeding, letting it continue to pool upon the ground beneath them as he worked. Fixing the bones only took about two minutes, however, so it wasn’t long enough for the injured party to bleed an amount anywhere near lethal. It was now, then, that Hector began to knit flesh back together. Tendrils of sinew, of muscle, of skin began to wisp about anywhere it had been torn, slowly regenerating and latching onto one another to pull the wound shut as the blood in the cavity would appear forced out onto the ground with an unnatural sort of force. Realistically, it would be possible to use Vicissitude in a way that would regenerate the wound that was…less visually grotesque, but the display of gore was why Hector was here. It wasn’t to help, he just wanted to play around with somebody’s body.

Once the man’s leg was healed to a point of function, he dropped the cast of Rhabdomancy giving the man, Thomas, full control of his body once more. Casting a sidelong glance, eyes somewhat cold, “You’re fixed. I’ve detected nothing else– unless you fancy continuing to lie in the street, I suggest you get on your way, yes?” He spoke coolly, though there was an odd sort of playfulness that rang through in some of the words. At the end, the elven man smiled, something sly and almost mocking.

Then, he turned to look directly at the silver eyed elf and would maintain eye contact with her until he finished speaking. “Sorry to steal your thunder, so to speak. That is…if you intended to be the one to sew his wounds. You a healer of some sort? Or just a concerned bystander?” His voice was as level as it was before, though the last word was said with the slightest hint of distaste, as if this option would be distinctly disappointing; his words were slow and delivered somewhat lazily.

While he spoke, he pulled the man's spilled blood into a concentrated sort of puddle on the ground and gradually shaped it into a perfect sphere. Once all was collected, it hardened into a glassy, almost crystalline substance. He dropped his right hand to pick it up and casually placed it into a pocket in his robes without saying a word or even acknowledging what he'd done.

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'Thoughts'
"Common Tongue/Speech"
"Mythrasi Tongue/Speech"
"Vallenor Tongue/Speech"
Aidolon Speech

[Laveriel]

Help did come, but one that she would never imagine even in her wildest dream.

The light-haired elf she had seen a few moments earlier was squatting on the other side of Thomas’s body. She imagined that he would be helping her move the man, but that was not what happened. He said nothing at all, but something happened. The broken tibia started moving by itself, slowly returning to its anatomical position.

Iselya shot a surprised look at the stranger. What magic was he using? Kinetics? She opened her mouth to stop him, to warn him that he shouldn’t simply push the bone into place with magic, but what happened next made her entire being freeze.

Threads of muscles began sewing itself shut together, the skin growing back over the wound crudely. Blood splashed out of the wound in the most freakish way. Iselya had watched similar sights decades ago. Of men and women knitting their flesh together, their vessels reconnecting even after her blades had sliced through their body just mere seconds before.

Vitalis.

As soon as she realized what she was seeing, every inch of the elf’s body tensed and for the briefest moment, the markings on her body glowed silver. It was barely noticeable under the bright sun, but without thinking, Iselya had started summoning her aether in response to what she considered an instant threat before realizing the mistake. She forced herself to calm down, to take a deep breath and look away. The woman could only hope should the vampyre notice her sudden tension, he would simply chalk it up to surprise at the sight of magic.

At his question, Iselya shrugged nonchalantly, even as her entire being hummed with energy, recognizing the man as a threat. “I trained as a healer for a few years, so I thought I might be able to help.”

The man was flaunting his blood magic in public. If she had any doubts earlier, watching him pocket the crystallized blood was more than enough to confirm his magic. This man was a vampyre and clearly a part of the Inquistion. Perhaps she shouldn’t surprised that they would eagerly recruit blood mages into their ranks. They didn’t hesitate to attack a peaceful city unprovoked and kill thousands, after all.

“How did you do that?” Iselya asked, trying to feign surprise and confusion. The surprise part was easy, but there was a slight coldness to her voice. A harshness that had come from years of watching Vitalis wreaking havoc on the world and taking the lives of her comrades. “I’ve never seen magic like that before.”

[Hector]

TIMESTAMP: -
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So the young woman before him was a healer of sorts. Of which set of skills, he still had no clue. It did explain her urgency to assist, however. Vergil was much the same when he thought he could help somebody. Hector, though, didn't really understand the drive to do so. Even in this scenario, he only helped for his own entertainment and as an excuse to poke the elven stranger.

Then, before he managed a response, she posed another inquiry. It was perfectly reasonable, of course, to ask precisely how he managed to sew a wound together in that manner so very quickly. Unfortunately, the answer was…less reasonable, at least to the ears of most.

"Oh, that? Trade secrets, I'm afraid." He spoke in a light, almost puerile manner and punctuated the sentiment with a playful wink, a smile and a slight cant to his head. "The magic itself was a gift from a friend. Neat, isn't it? …and that's just scratching the surface!" While Hector did speak vaguely, he was aware of the fact that he was skating on very thin ice in this scenario.

But what was life without a little danger?

"Unfortunately, my tongue is tied beyond that. Only if I trust you can I tell you more…so, what say you? I trained under a healer for the better part of the past decade, I'd love to compare notes, so to speak." Throughout, his voice remained bright, jubilant, almost.

It would be up to the listener to interpret him as either charmingly aloof, vaguely threatening, or whatever else. Ultimately, Hector didn't mind, though he was curious enough that he did want this conversation to continue. Perhaps he should be a tad more careful, all things considered. After all, he is speaking to somebody who should, under normal circumstances, want him dead.

Alas, he doesn't know that.

"Oh–...we should get out of the street, no? And what are you called? I go by Hector."

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Aidolon Speech

'Thoughts'

"Kathalan Tongue/Speech"

"Vallenor Tongue/Speech"

"Common Tongue/Speech"

"Mythrasi Tongue/Speech"

[Laveriel]

The elf wasn’t surprised when the man refused to give details about his magic. It wasn’t as if he would outright announce that he was wielding magic that had been virtually lost after the fall of the Cult of Mending. Of course, Iselya knew that there were some pockets of survivors spread across the land - not unlike her order - but it was still jarring to see a vampyre in person after all these years.

“A very useful gift,” Iselya noted, not missing how the man playfully eluded the question. Of course, no one in their right mind would simply admit that they possess Vitalis.

“Oh–...we should get out of the street, no? And what are you called? I go by Hector.”

“Ah right,” Iselya answered quietly, grateful for the chance to look away and busy herself with helping move Thomas off the streets. Once they managed to put the man somewhere safer, other people eagerly took over to help bring him to the hospital. Her gaze could not help but linger on the man’s leg as they carried him away, a slight deformity was the only trace left of the blood magic. She turned back to the elf and smiled. “You can call me Iselya.”

Perhaps the wisest course of action was to simply part ways with the mysterious man, but Iselya wanted to know if the Imperium truly did actively train someone in Vitalis. It was a bold move and clearly, Hector wasn’t scared to display his magic in public. That could only mean he was officially sanctioned by the Inquisition. The thought of Imperium possessing an army of vampyres…

She was spiraling and she knew it. The dawnmartyr hadn’t been quite in her right mind ever since she arrived here. All she needed to do was focus on what was in front of her, which happened to be a man named Hector. “I doubt you need any notes with that trick you have.”

Was he a Mender? Did the Imperium join forces with them? Or did the Imperium just have the knowledge of the magic somehow? Questions swirled inside her head and all of them she could not ask. If she did want answers, perhaps this was her best opportunity. It was not every day that a member of the Inquisition invited her to a friendly chat. “Although I would definitely welcome any notes from you.”

Iselya looked down on herself, checking if she had gotten any blood on herself. She had a few spatters on her grey pants, but it wasn’t too noticeable. When she turned to look at Hector, her eyes couldn’t help but wander to the pocket where he had dropped the crystallized blood.

Casually, she pointed at the emblem that marked his white robe, as if only noticing it now. “You’re with the Inquisition. I heard that to join is quite the impressive feat.”

[Hector]

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Hector could not quite tell if his new acquaintance was at all suspicious of him, but being that she was not a citizen, he doubted she’d really kick up a fuss. Most people, even if they were citizens, found dealing with Inquisitors and the law in general to be exceptionally exhausting. Plus, trying to bring down an Inquisitor, even an Acolyte, was a dangerous game to play since the complainant would always be at an inherent disadvantage in terms of social power almost no matter what.

As a gesture of good faith, he helped Iselya move Thomas off of the street, steadying him on his newly regenerated bones. While there was a slight deformity, in terms of function, his leg was better than it was before! ...So he didn’t really have much cause to complain. Blood loss might have his head feeling a little light, however.

“Lovely to meet you, then, Iselya,” he spoke with a smile, really hoping this stranger was another mage.

Since arriving, he’d not had the opportunity to speak to another mage who hadn’t been raised in the Imperium. Not that there was anything wrong with the stock of mages here as a whole; it was just refreshing to find people with varying perspectives. People here tended to be…somewhat narrow with theirs, coming in a few types, with most being zealous towards the Emperor and that particular trait got old very, very fast.

“Hey now, my magic does have its limits!" ...did it? Vicissitude at his skill could perform veritable miracles. "Plus…from your accent I can tell you’re not from here. If you do have any magic, be wary. Using it without a license can be dangerous...but I’ll vouch for you, if necessary. I’m just…curious, ‘tis all. There is joy to be had in the talk of technique and theories, no?” The pace of his speech was somewhat fast, but that was only due to his excitement at the thought. “If I trust you, I’ll be happy to share some of my closer kept secrets, too,” bit of an impish tone, this time.

When she pointed out that he was part of the Inquisition, “...yes! When my friend and I made it here as refugees, we were gazed upon by the all-seeing eyes of a master Sembler; through this, they determined us to be skilled mages and offered the position as an option.” Most of this is true, except the last part. It was not optional; and Hector was honestly afraid, at first, of what they’d have done if he and Vergil had the audacity to decline.

“My friend is…older than me, and consequently, was more employable right off the bat so that’s why I’m currently alone. All I have is magic, but I’m very good at it,” he laughed.

At this point, he began to walk to two in the direction of a park– somewhere more conducive to conversation.

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Aidolon Speech

'Thoughts'

"Kathalan Tongue/Speech"

"Vallenor Tongue/Speech"

"Common Tongue/Speech"

"Mythrasi Tongue/Speech"

[Laveriel]

“That would be correct,” Iselya admitted when Hector pointed out she wasn’t from around here. “But neither are you.”

After pondering it for a few moments, the raven-haired elf finally said, “I was taught a bit of necromancy back when I trained as a healer, but I’m not very good at it, I think.” Her words rang true. While it had took her a while to master Reaving, it took her even longer to properly learn medicine and necromancy. War had come more naturally to her than healing - perhaps that said something about her.

A part of her wondered if she shouldn’t have told him that. Yet, something told her that the man might quickly lose interest should she claim to be just an ordinary, magicless individual. That was something she could not afford. An opportunity like this might never come again.

All her previous interactions with a member of the Inquistion had never been this pleasant. Most of the time it would involve a lot of swords and quite a bit of blood - both hers and theirs. As terrible as it was, she had to give credit to them: they were a bunch of ruthless and talented hunters. No matter what she and Valron did, no matter what trick they came up with, somehow the Inquisitors would eventually track them down.

The woman blinked as she followed Hector’s lead. “The Inquisition seems very thorough.” If one needed to be evaluated by a Sembler to get a license for magic, then it was out of the question for her. The moment an Imperial saw that she was marked by Arcas… she didn’t want to go through that again. “If I end up staying in Gel’Grandal, I’ll be sure to find you and apply for that license then.”

From what she could tell from Hector’s story, the Inquisition recruited him directly somehow. They knew exactly what he was and took him in because of it. Did it mean that they were supporting the cult or that they were simply quite invested in the lost magic? Even Iselya had to admit that a Vitalis mage would be an invaluable resource. The destruction they could bring… well, Iselya knew it better than most unfortunately.

Iselya noticed that Hector was slowly leading her to a park, one of the few she hadn’t seen before. “You seem to know your way around pretty well. From an outsider to an outsider, what do you think of Gel’Grandal?”

[Hector]

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Well, she was right about that, at least. Hector was not a local, either, and at this point, he’d only just begun his life in the Imperium and his journey as an Inquisitor. It was a strange thing, really, the turn of events, the twists of fate, that led him to where he currently stood.

“Ah! Yes. Zaichaeri, to my great misfortune, in fact.” Though he doesn’t harbor intense ill will to his former home, he spoke bitterly. In all likelihood, this was directed more at the city-states current circumstances as opposed to anything else.

To her mention of Necromancy, “I know a thing or two about that, actually. By no means am I a master in the way of the flesh, but my mentor is one of consummate skill! He’s a wonderful instructor if you’ve ever had any interest in learning more about the craft, honestly. He teaches me and I’m sure I could argue for you to sit in, if you’d like.” Ever eager to make a friend, so it would appear.

“Aye, they are incredibly thorough. Their…protocol honestly surprised me, given how easy it was for me to hide my runes when I lived in Zaichaer. Feel free to ask for me by name, even– surname Len’Stavrou.” There was admiration in his voice when he spoke of the Inquisition but one would also note a certain ring of fear.

“As for my opinion of the city in general? I…like it here a lot, actually. I imagine those with less, ah…apparent power than I have might have a few more struggles than I do, but compared to the way it was in Zaichaer? I do like it here more, if speaking of it as a location alone. Honestly…the magitek and open use of magic in general is something that I’d find myself sorely missing if I were ever to go anywhere with views similar to home’s.” Though he sounded sincere, there was conflict in his voice, betraying the sadness he felt about his circumstances but at the same time relaying that he genuinely enjoyed life in the Imperium.

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Aidolon Speech

'Thoughts'

"Kathalan Tongue/Speech"

"Vallenor Tongue/Speech"

"Common Tongue/Speech"

"Mythrasi Tongue/Speech"

[Hector]

Review

Iselya

Lore: 8 lores hidden within small paper cranes
Points: 10
Injuries/Ailments: n/a
Loot: None

Hector

Lore: 8 lores which may pertain to learning proper decorum
Points: 10
Injuries/Ailments: n/a
Loot: None

Notes: I hope these two can meet again soon; they're fun, haha!