Spiritwalker

[Hector]

TIMESTAMP: Wither 1, Ash 122
NOTES: -

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To Hector, it sometimes felt as if Vergil was told more information than he was. This, of course, was delusional. The two of them often shared blood and, due to his intense curiosity and lack of boundaries, he would often peer into the other man's mind by way of Psychometry. This, of course, would assuage his paranoia any time it arose, yet it never stopped the feeling from manifesting each time they were both told to do something. Vergil was well aware of the fact that his companion did this and would often play into it because it was a truly easy way to get the other to calm down.

And as such, this pattern repeated itself yet again when the two were sent to Kalzasi. And as with every single time this has happened before, it was easily revealed through blood that the two were given the same information. At this point, his paranoia made even less sense since their superiors were fully aware of the fact that the two were of one mind in that regard. Hector, to his credit, was aware of the irrationality thereof, yet still did it persist much to the vexation of Vergil– but at least it was easy to fix.

Nonetheless, their arrival in Kalzasi was an odd thing. In an official capacity, their trip was for leisure, but still they were treated with the respect and dignity that one would expect more from something of a diplomatic nature. This was done to avoid potential tension between the nations in all likelihood, though it was a bit of a double edged sword. They were afforded some modicum of privilege beyond what other mere travelers were while simultaneously being of a higher profile than they would’ve preferred for the nature of their actual goal. That being the case, the Kalzasern officials were still quite ignorant as to what such a goal was.

Taking all of this into consideration, the two vampyres were ultimately the best candidates for subterfuge. Hector was a curious little beast and would often find himself skittering around the darkest corners he could find or the most obscure locations on top of the obvious and mundane, and he could do this easily given his prowess regarding the weaving of æther. The caveat to this was that he was notoriously unstable, yet with Vergil serving as a balance and an imposing figure all on his own, one did not have to worry about ought running awry as the two of them would rather easily solve problems on their own.

The two of them had been in the foreign city state for only a few days at this point. Thus far, they had found little. This was not entirely unexpected, to be fair, given there was nothing concrete that pointed to the machinations of any creatures divine within the perimeter of Kalzasi. Nor, to be frank, did either vampyre care. Hector was a thing without strong loyalties to much of anything aside from himself and his beloved companion; he didn’t mind returning to the Imperium empty handed inherently…and there was great fun to be had in sniffing around a part of the world to which he’d never been.

As Ash began its final chapter, the daylight faded far earlier in the day than prior. It was only early evening, yet it was only fire and magic that lit the streets. Hector wandered with an inky blackness swirling ‘round his ankles, seeping into whatever shadows the elven boy created, twisting up his legs in a foreboding, eldritch fashion. Here, he did little to hide his aidolon’s presence, for there was little point in doing so. Though the actual texture was more akin to that of fog, the substance resembled a viscous sort of liquid as the tendrils snaked off of him and into the air around his body. He wore the spirit like this as somewhat of a warning for others to keep their distance if only because he did not like people getting too close to him. For if they did, the eerie, sibilant whispers of the spirit would infect their minds.

Trailing but a few feet behind Summoner and spirit was Vergil, the more senior of the two vampyres. Though their height difference wasn’t that profound, the elder of the two cut a far more imposing figure in terms of his frame. Hector was a waifish, thin little thing, almost as if he’d blow away in the breeze. On the other hand, Vergil was a heavy, muscular, broad shouldered man, creating a stark difference between the two. Both dressed in all black, though Hector was dressed in a more loose, casual style than the other.

As the two made their way through lantern lit streets, Hector, being a bit of a glutton, found himself quite interested in the many colorful stalls serving a large variety of foods he’d either never seen before or only rarely. Enchanted, he dragged Vergil through a great many of them collecting various things he intended to consume. Of course, he would share should the other wish to partake, but Vergil was notably less of a hedonist than he was.

With his veritable hoard of edible treasures, Hector, with Vergil in tow, wandered away from packed streets and into the darkened greenery of a park not too far away. He wanted some place far more peaceful, and preferably with little chance for interruption, to enjoy that which he had purchased. Once such a place within the foliage was found, the pair sat down with the younger being the far more ravenous of the two. In particular, he found himself quite fond of these little steamed buns he’d been told were called ‘bao,’ apparently made with pork.

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Aidolon Speech

'Thoughts'

"Kathalan Tongue/Speech"

"Vallenor Tongue/Speech"

"Common Tongue/Speech"

"Mythrasi Tongue/Speech"

[Lyra]

As the night drew in on the city the light of day became the glow of mage light lamps and torches. Flickering shadows danced in the wake of the two men as they made their way through the streets, the passer-bys sparing only a glance for them as they continued on about their business. Another set of eyes, however, trailed them as they passed, eyes rimmed in scarlet that narrowed slightly as they looked down at the mass of darkness at the thinner man. Wordlessly she followed them, a distance away, but focused and intent in her pursuit.

When they turned into the blissfully dark area in the park Lyrielle dispersed, abandoning her physical form in favor of her true self. She slipped silently into the trees, a hazy smoke, more shadow than substance, and began to circle the pair to quietly continue her observations. The tall man seemed the eldest, his tones and melodies more solid, thrumming base coming in waves while the flickering of higher pitched flutes and vocals were more muted and harmonic than his smaller companion. They gave off a familiar sense of life, rhythms she had seen before, and their dress seemed odd to her. Outsiders from somewhere other than Kalzasi, most like.

A shifting of her focus parted the veil, and Lyrielle examined their souls directly. The taller man appeared in robes to her eyes, letters, and numbers of odd languages circling him coverless books hovered near his hands. She saw in him the gentle nature, but the ink upon the page was red as fresh blood. Violence was hidden in control and decorum, a nature that was lethal as it was giving. Something hidden deep, a desire possibly locked behind the wall of control he held onto desperately. The one beside him seemed much the same, for beauty seemed as much a part of his inner self as his outer. Smooth skin showed bare, without a blemish or tear... or so it appeared at first. Lyrielle saw thin lines of white that crisscrossed the man's soul, and the deeper she looked the uglier the scars became. The pleasant visage morphed to one of cruelty, and in this soul, Lyrielle saw depravity masked by a demure demeanor.

Her gaze lingered on Hector for several long seconds, his soul steadily unveiling itself to her before she tore her stare away to focus on the thing that truly interested her. The creature of shadows and whispers that even now twisted around Hector's form. When she looked at the Aidolon Lyrielle felt a sense of familiarity. Its soul was weak, and difficult to discern likely due to the nature of such creatures from across the veil, but there was something there. A song or a scent perhaps. It brought to bear memories from a time long past, and soon Lyrielle found she could wait no longer.

As she had circled them from outside their field of view the outsider had begun to weave an area of magic, like a ring of threads that gave off subtle waves of disinterest in an outward radius. With this she would keep them isolated, and undisturbed.

She first appeared to them from within the treeline, an elf with silver hair and pale skin, scarlet gold eyes staring intently from behind a large tree before disappearing behind its trunk. From between the trees dark smoke, like mist or fog, began to flow out and fill the small area where the two men sat, and from that smoke came the sound of whispers, not unlike a certain Aidolon.

The sound of humming preceded her next appearance in one of the trees to the right of the two. Lyrielle sat on a limb high above the pair, her pale skin bare but for lines of black that moved on their own. She looked down at them, tilting her head curiously before dissolving into smoke herself.

"An age, an age, and an age again." A voice said quietly from behind them. Lyrielle crouched a short distance from the two, her eyes glowing faintly in the darkness as the whispers from her smoke became silent.

"How long its been since we've smelled the blood of kin." The words were melodic, not common but rather an ancient dialect of Vallenor, older than kingdoms and even empires. Silver hair fell around her shoulders nearly to her waist were she standing. One black-nailed hand gently pushed back the silver strands behind one long ear as she looked intently at the creature that clung to Hector. When she smiled it was gentle, though not quite kind, and the black lines that traced her entire body up to her neck moved faster as if in excitement or anticipation. She lifted her gaze from the aidolon to openly study the two men, and her smile shrank slightly as she hugged her knees tight to her chest.

"Who are you that walks so calmly in my territory smelling of blood and twisted desires?"

[Hector]

TIMESTAMP: -
NOTES: OPEN ME

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Vampyres, for all of their many boons, were slaves to a sanguine hunger as opposed to the standard form of hunger most mortal beings sustained themselves with. As a result, such beings had no proper need to eat– but that certainly did not mean that all of them abandoned the practice, especially those of a nature more hedonistic. The dichotomy of those who did continue to indulge themselves and those who felt no desire to do so was an interesting thing to look at, at least, from a psychological perspective. But oftentimes, it was simply a matter of taste.

Of the two, Vergil really did not bother with consumption of anything beyond vitae, the sole exception being when Hector chose to drag him along, bit of a gourmand as the younger of the two had a tendency to be. But because of this, he found himself markedly less distracted by the food and, as a result, kept himself far more wary of their surroundings. For all of Hector's strengths, it was so easy for him to put all of his focus on exactly what he was doing at any given time and when he did so, he would very quickly find himself a bit blind to his surroundings, heightened perceptions from his vampirism aside. Of course, Vergil was acutely aware of this poor habit of his and would endeavor to make up for his companion’s lack of awareness.

From the moment they'd made their way into the night markets, Vergil could not shake the feeling that the two of them were being watched. Watched beyond the stares of locals who knew them to be foreign, watched beyond the curious eyes of others of whom they'd simply caught the attention thereof for any mundane reason, really. For those were passing glances, a momentary look– nothing…persistent. And yet, for some reason, this odd sense of paranoia lingered, but the older man endeavored to mask his concerns for the moment, given that there was naught a thing concrete present to cause any real worry. That, and, well…there was always the smallest pang of guilt whenever he ruined Hector's fun by forcing the boy to be on guard.

And so the two continued on with their evening sans incident, finding themselves alone in a blanket of darkness some ways away from the business of the city. One really did have to admit that Kalzasi had beautiful plantlife and, on top of that, very dedicated and consummately skilled gardeners to both design and maintain the city's parks. There was true artistry in the botanical architecture of where they sat, but the void of night made it all the harder to properly appreciate.

The two men were able to enjoy their peace for some modicum of time, Hector free to indulge himself uninterrupted, unnerved yet still as Vergil was. But then there was the first indication that what he had felt had not been senseless paranoia– eyes in the dark. Eyes of gold, eyes possessing bright red limbal rings met with the man's own golden gaze. Yet the moment he caught a glance at this obscure onlooker did they vanish back into the darkness. He blinked, confident in his senses at the least, yet he found himself scanning the periphery and all else– nothing.

He could not track the curious onlooker as she veiled the area around two as yet ignorant men in a field of magical quiet…of disinterest, really, sequestering them off from the world in a manner most peculiar. In the darkness, among the trees, he spotted a woman whose pale skin crawled with undulating shadow. Shadow not unlike that of the spirit Hector had bonded with. Vergil very calmly lifted a hand and rest it on the shoulder of his younger companion, who, entirely absorbed in what he was doing, jolted momentarily before directing his gaze toward his lover.

Wordless, Vergil turned his head back towards the woman in the treeline and pointed in that direction. Confused, Hector followed this gesture with his eyes and then, all at once, his body froze. The tensing of the elven boy's musculature was immediately noted by both the elder vampyre and the Aidolon that spun continuous shadows 'round him, all three now alerted to the eldritch presence that had come to reveal herself. All three did not react.

Tendrils of darkness, fog like spilt ink, slowly began to expand from whence she sat, encroaching upon the party in manner most haunting. Yet the appearance thereof was incredibly familiar. The fog and its song were both very reminiscent of the spirit that had bound itself to Hector. Indeed, all four creatures present shared this recognition.

Sitting in silence infected only by sibilant whispers and the soft chiming of bells, the woman vanished. The sound of humming joined the chorus only for the strange elf to reappear up on a branch in the trees– she wore the expression of a curious observer, easier to see now. She tilted her head and dissipated again, though this time, she reappeared mere feet away from where the pair sat.

Her voice pierced the veil of tension next. She spoke in an old tongue, but it was, distinctly, Vallenor. Hector, though he thought himself fluent, found this dialect unique to his own, yet not entirely indecipherable. He blinked a few times, rapid, as if doing so might dispel the vision of whatever was before him…yet nothing happened, all was the same. Silence lingered for a few seconds more after she delivered her query, Vergil being entirely ignorant to the words spoken and Hector taking a moment to process and apply guesswork to bridge the gaps in his own understanding.

The boy's spirit clung to him, distinct yet impossibly similar to the fog wisping from the woman before him, his own melody sounding notably confused yet infinitely curious. With the knowledge the Vergil could not understand that which had been said, the spirit expanded his own form to reach out and engulf the older vampyre as well. Reaching into his mind, a ghostly voice translated the old tongue into something the man could understand. And yet, jumbled and fragmented as his own sense of 'memory' was, the otherworldly being did not yet recognize the woman before them for what she was: his progenitor.

The first to speak up was the Summoner among them, the least cautious and least calculating of the three by a fairly broad margin. "Your territory?" Hector asked with an expression of innocent curiosity. "My– no, our– sincerest apologies. We are but foreigners here…observers, perhaps, would be an apt term." This was not inaccurate, and for Hector, it was actually more true than simply stating the actual instructions they'd received prior to their arrival.

Hector looked at himself and saw a man put in the role of exactly that– an observer. Sure, upon his return, he'd relay bits and pieces of all that he had seen back to those that had sent him here, but that did not interest him in the least. Rather, the boy reveled in the opportunity to selfishly explore.

The Aidolon continued to offer Vergil understanding of what words were said. The older man squinted at Hector in response, but ultimately, he said nothing.

"Taking our ignorance into consideration, would you care to enlighten us as to exactly whose demesne this is?" He was remarkably polite. The elf had no interest in garnering animosity from such a fascinating entity, composed of shadow as she was.

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Aidolon Speech

'Thoughts'

"Kathalan Tongue/Speech"

"Vallenor Tongue/Speech"

"Common Tongue/Speech"

"Mythrasi Tongue/Speech"

[Lyra]

They understood her, or somewhat at least. Curiosity blossomed anew at this, for it was rare to meet one who spoke her tongue in this age, even if it were a cruder version as the younger man did. Now that she were closer Lyrielle could clearly see the elven features of the one who spoke, though he was more beautiful than was normal for one of their race. A glance to the side showed the taller man was no elf, but still his golden eyes set him apart from the typical human. They both gave the air of something other, and though she were intrigued Lyrielle did not look deeper into their souls to glean the answer.

Her attention again focused on the moving mass of darkness that now twined itself around the other man as well. She felt the vibrations of magic in the air, but could not be certain what it was that was exchanged. This only served to deepen her curiosity, and she smiled at Hector.

"Not ours, yet ours all the same." came Lyrielle's reply, which was followed by a shrug. Dark smoke flowed from her skin as she hovered up into the air, unfolding her body as she floated in a circle around the two. Her eyes flicked between their faces, but lingered longer on the dark shadows that made up the Aidolon's form.

"Our seat of power is elsewhere, hidden deep in the ruins of that broken city, but we have claimed this one as ours as well. It is where we were first released from our prison, and where we found new purpose, and inspiration." She noticed the taller man did not speak, and she leveled her next question at him, "Why are you here? What have you come to observe?"

She did not really care for the answer, but instead simply wished for them to continue talking. Her form frayed into mist at the edges as she came closer, reaching a hand forward and carefully touching the ethereal form of the Aidolon. It indeed felt familiar to her, and with little effort she gently caressed its form, feeding some of her own whispers into it.

"Little one..." she cooed softly as she drew back to float a few paces away, "We hear your melody, and know it well. From whose line do you hail? Are you one of Bar'el's? Kirva? Nefim?"

As she listed the names she counted on her fingers, eyes growing distance as if remember something, "Surely not Cal'anai. She was quite precocious, and did not seem the sort..."

Musing turned to uncertainty and then her smiled slipped away with a sigh. Her eyes refocused on the Aidolon, and then found Hector's, "Are you imprisoned by these two?" She still spoke to the aidolon, and when she came closer the playfulness was gone from her expression as she studied Hector and Vergil like two especially distasteful rodents, "If you wish it, Si'fera, I shall free you from whatever binding that holds you to this one. You have only to ask."

Lyrielle used the word in the ancient tongue that one used for a small child, and she absently raked a long nail down her throat as she waited for the response.

[Hector]

TIMESTAMP: -
NOTES: -

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At first, the gheist of a woman simply stared at elf, man and spirit, eyes alight with her own curiosity though her face remained most mysteriously placid. Her gaze continued to flit between all three parties but it would linger longest upon the shifting shadow that surrounded the men. Vergil was suspect of this fact, picking up on it right away. It was not hard to connect the similarities between Hector's Aidolon and the smoke which it was composed to that which wisped from the strange woman's ever ephemeral skin. But even so, he had not the context needed to properly understand what such a connection could possibly be, nor was he able to discern much of anything else.

Even with the spirit's offered translations, he felt like he understood little and less. Her words only served to conjure up more questions within the man's head, really, and Vergil was not one to enjoy being figuratively in the dark. Actual darkness usually felt secure and almost home-like to him, but this? This was an altogether foreign experience and he did not enjoy being so very much out of his depth.

She spoke of ownership alluding to two cities, the one in which they currently sat and one that they could only assume was meant to be Zaichaer. Just what was she, then, to have been imprisoned beneath Kalzasi? What did that even imply? For to imprison something down in, presumably, the Warrens, they'd learned, was only done as a manner of torture or because the beast was impossible to kill…and therefore, lock it up and throw away the key.

Both vampyres independently made the assumption that this woman was very, very old, easy as that was to conclude. But what was 'very old?' Hundreds of years? Nay, thousands? Neither could hazard a guess. The only thing that could perhaps serve as some sort of dating for her was the tongue with which she spoke– it was rare for Vallenor to be spoken at all outside of Elven dominated societies and old Elven families, and on top of that, she spoke with a dialect that perplexed Hector to no end, beautiful as it was. 'Modern' Vallenor was old. So her Vallenor must be truly ancient.

The next thing that stuck in the minds of both men was the fact that her apparent demesne was beneath the ruined city. For how long had she skulked in shadows while they, none the wiser, lived their lives on the surface, ignorant? What infernal machinations did she get up to in those depths, and then that begged the most dreadful of questions: did she, perhaps, play a role in the city's fall? It would be a truly nightmarish scenario for them to have caught the attention of a hand which played any role at all in the arbitration of their home's fall, would it not? How utterly ridiculous a thought that was, but yet…it could not be shaken.

Vergil blinked when a question was pointed directly at him, but he didn't hesitate to answer. "Tethered dogs, we are, in function." The man's Common was distinctly accented, immediately giving away the fact that he had to have been raised in Zaichaer. He acquiesced to her query in this way for it was apt to describe their circumstances. "Bloodhounds– sent by a master to note any trace of the divine." The vampyr did not know who or what she was, but from everything he could glean, this woman could snuff out their lives with the flick of her wrist; what was the point in lying? So he would answer with the truth, though he may speak in metaphor, simile…perhaps even a riddle if he felt like it, but the truth nonetheless.

Though he spoke briefly, the woman's attention shifted during his reply onto the spirit that linked the pair together. She had encircled them at this point, then reached down to meet a hand with the shadows of the Aidolon. The spirit did not reply directly, not yet, but his music rang with an intense sort of interest when she started to speak to him.

She listed names that fell on deaf ears to the elf and the man. Some of them rang familiar in the spirit's thoughts, but he could not place from where he had heard them. Such names felt so close to him and yet so very far away at the same time…of whom did she speak, he wondered, almost desperate.

Her inquiry towards the nature of the bond he shared with the not-quite-mortals struck the two as both threatening and bizarre. She spoke in a tone that indicated familiarity and some degree of care towards whatever the entity Hector had bound himself to was. The tiniest threads of malice were woven into her words when her eyes drifted over the men's forms, much to their great discomfort. All things considered, the spirit had full freedom to speak here and neither of them could predict what it would say.

"ᴵ ᵃᵐ ᶦⁿ ᵃ ᵖʳᶦˢᵒⁿ ᵒᶠ ᵐʸ ᵒʷⁿ ᵐᵃᵏᶦⁿᵍ," he spoke, voice more a collection of lower bass tones that sounded just on the edge of human, uncanny and unknowable. "...ᴵ ʳᵉᵐᵉᵐᵇᵉʳ ˡᶦᵗᵗˡᵉ ᵒᶠ ᵃⁿʸᵗʰᶦⁿᵍ ᵃᵗ ᵃˡˡ, ᵒⁿˡʸ ʰᵘⁿᵍᵉʳ, ᵒⁿˡʸ ˢᶦˡᵉⁿᶜᵉ…ᶠᵒʳ ˢᵒ ˡᵒⁿᵍ. ᵂᵃⁿᵈᵉʳᶦⁿᵍ…ʷᵃⁿᵈᵉʳᶦⁿᵍ…" it muttered, almost sounding flustered as it scraped the confines of its own consciousness to try and pick out any details it could.

"...ᵗʰᵉⁿ ᴵ ʷᵃˢ ᵖˡᵘᶜᵏᵉᵈ ᶠʳᵒᵐ ᵗʰᵉ Æᵗʰᵉʳᶦᵘᵐ ᵇʸ ᵗʰᶦˢ ᵉˡᶠ, ᵃ ᶜʰᶦˡᵈ, ᵃ ᶠᵒᵒˡ– ᵃ ˢᵘᵐᵐᵒⁿᵉʳ ᵒᶠ ˢᵒᵐᵉ ˢᵏᶦˡˡ ⁿᵒⁿᵉᵗʰᵉˡᵉˢˢ, ᵃ ᶜʳᵉᵃᵗᵘʳᵉ ᵒᶠ ᵈᵃʳᵏⁿᵉˢˢ, ᵃ ᵖʳᵉᵈᵃᵗᵒʳ, ᵃ ʰᵘⁿᵗᵉʳ…ˢᵒ ᵃ ᵈᵉᵃˡ ʷᵃˢ ˢᵗʳᵘᶜᵏ. ᴴᵉ ʰᵘⁿᵗˢ ᶠᵒʳ ᵐᵉ. ᴵ ᶜᵃⁿ ᶠᶦⁿᵃˡˡʸ ᶠᵉᵉᵈ…ˢʷᵉᵉᵗ, ˢʷᵉᵉᵗ ˢᵘˢᵗᵉⁿᵃⁿᶜᵉ…ᵃⁿᵈ ᶦⁿ ʳᵉᵗᵘʳⁿ, ᴵ ᵃᵐ ᵇᵒᵘⁿᵈ. ᵂᵉ ᵃʳᵉ ᵇᵒᵘⁿᵈ. ᴼⁿᶜᵉ, ᴵ ʷᵃˢ ˡᶦᵗᵗˡᵉ ᵐᵒʳᵉ ᵗʰᵃⁿ ᵃˢʰ…ⁿᵒʷ, ᴵ ᵃᵐ…ˢᵒᵐᵉᵗʰᶦⁿᵍ…" the voices trailed off into near silence before abruptly resuming, "...ₒf wₕₒₘ dₒ yₒᵤ ₛₚₑaₖ? Oₜₕₑᵣₛ? Of ₛₕaᵣₑd ₙaₜᵤᵣₑ?" An inquiry delivered most manic.

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Aidolon Speech

'Thoughts'

"Kathalan Tongue/Speech"

"Vallenor Tongue/Speech"

"Common Tongue/Speech"

"Mythrasi Tongue/Speech"

[Lyra]

Another broken creature, trapped as she was... though perhaps a prison of choice was more tolerable than one forced upon them. Lyrielle gazed at the creature for an extended amount of time, twisting its response in her mind, tearing it apart and rearranging it to find other meaning beyond just what was said. Could it be it did not know what it was? It was possible. In truth Lyrielle had not expected any of her lineage to have survived the ages, not that she had been the most tender of mothers to her children. Once they were born she often let them go to other hands, save for the singular exception.

A smile returned to her lips, easing the tension in her expression when she leaned forward once more.

"The names of my children, those are who I speak of." Her smile widened further. Lyrielle adjusted to a sitting position, now fully ignoring the two men as she focused the entirety of her attention on the otherworldly creature. With a breath a stream of smoke flew out to touch the Aidolon, and the moment their smoke mixed Lyrielle wove a mesmeric link between them. She opened herself to the creature, allowing it to feel her emotions, so they might communicate at a new level.

"Long ago, before the ancient histories in recorded text, we lived free in the tides of darkness and shadow that waged a war of vengeance." As she spoke Lyrielle drew forth an image of an ancient world. Great expansive cities of beautiful architecture that were set ablaze in magic fire that melted stone. Vast armies marched and where they tread fields were made barren, blood was spilled like water and created a wake of unwavering destruction that rippled out for centuries.

"It was time when we could dance freely, when mortals feared the whispers in the night that drove men mad and claimed the minds of the children. We lived many lives, and in some of them we bore offspring." The images that Lyrielle conjured began to increase in number, flashing faster and faster as ages and ages went by, a continual stream of broken memories sent to the Aidolon's mind. A woman with blond hair holding a child in the woods, a boy with fire in his eyes that tore the guts from a bear, a girl with curling horns and a mischievous smile.

"Our children lived to have children of their own, and again, and again for generations... Then we were imprisoned, and we felt certain they had rid the world of our blood." The flood of images slowed until they stopped completely. Once more Lyrielle had drawn close, hands carressing the mass of darkness and shadows, something odd in her eyes and an emotion she could not quite remember in her soul. It had been... millennia, ages since she had felt it, that now as she was it was difficult to recognize.

"Yet here you are... a poor, broken thing perhaps, but we would never mistake one of ours. We smell our blood on you, and we see our mark upon your soul." Reaching forward Lyrielle plunged her hand into the shadowy mass and touched its very soul, sending a shiver like shock as she carefully withdrew a clenched fist. Slowly she uncurled her fingers, revealing the small object inside.

An orb of black with tendrils of mist flowing off of it, and a design in gold that formed a symbol which Lyrielle gazed at intently. She traced the lines, one long nail carefully marking out the curves that made up a particular portion.



"It is clear what you are, Si'fera." With a flick of her wrist the manifestation broke down to shadow and flowed back into the Aidolon, and Lyrielle's smile grew so wide it split her face and trailed into smoke at the ends, "You are of the blood of Lyrielle tu Kovash Elmari."

Finally her attention returned to the two vampyre's and her smile shrank to normal. She looked at Hector with new disdain, but not outright dislike.

"That one of mine would be bound to something so..." She began softly, but shook her head, "But it is no matter. We shall forgive this indignation if this little one so chooses to stay with you." While she said it, Lyrielle did not seem overly pleased.

Her eyes focused on Vergil again, eyes looking him up and down as she returned to her seated position once more in the air. She crossed one leg over the other, and set her hands on her lap.

"Hounds are you... How distasteful. Who is your master?"

[Hector]

TIMESTAMP: -
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Both of the vampyres were stunned into silence when the black fog bound to Hector spoke, honest as it was. Vergil was genuinely surprised that he opted out of lying, that he did not immediately ask for his freedom, that he instead left his desires regarding the subject as yet unsaid. Hector, on the other hand, was quite intrigued by the route the Aidolon he’d grown quite fond of had chosen to take. With these words, the spirit had admitted to being just as lost in his existence as Hector felt regarding himself. An odd sort of parallel, that was. He wondered for how long the spirit had wandered, he wondered just what he had been prior to wasting away into nearly nothing.

And then when the otherworldly woman responded, the attention of the men was given to her with rapturous interest. The beings she had mentioned were her progeny– born from her flesh in ancient days, or by some altogether stranger machinations? While they could not tell, this admittance served to confirm to them that she was exactly as old as she had come across. The concept was as exhilarating as it was terrifying. To have found and traveled with a creature made of the same mist as something so very ancient and thus attracted her attention? An opportunity of the ages, this was, but what would come of it? Would the fate of all three be forever altered?

It would appear, however, that the spirit’s lack of complaint regarding his circumstances assuaged the momentary malice on her lips and that her focus was granted entirely to that which she regarded with a certain tenderness, unsure in nature as it was. With an exhale, the woman connected her æther with that of the spirit and a bond was formed using her Mesmer rune as a bridge.

Through her Craft, she communicated a tale as ancient as to be considered near to primordial for this world. Flashes of memories, rapid as they were, were bright, near to burning in their intensity. Emotions bloomed as circumstances flit before the mind’s eye of the spirit, senses being forced into his perception he’d never quite felt before. Experiences he had never bore witness to and things that felt altogether familiar to a degree as if they were his very own memories. He had forgotten entirely, up until this moment, what it had felt like to have a body at all. To walk the world with anything that actually resembled flesh, tangibility. Yet in these moments, he remembered and a flood of emotions overwhelmed him…it was so much to process all at once.

But her words did soothe him. Much as they were laced with her own tragedy, much as her story vexed him at the same time– how had this become of him? Why had this been the fate of him, his kin? The knowledge hurt. It was edifying, it was agony, it was…freeing.

Hector, due to his bond with the spirit, perceived echoes of that which had been shown to him. It was not the same, the clarity was dulled and everything was a bit too fast…but he saw nonetheless. The story that had been woven matched stories he’d been told as a child. It was now that recognition sparked within and he knew who it was that had wrapped them in shadow this night. It was the Lady of Whispers. He bristled a bit at this realization, knowing that since it was truly her, he ought to tread carefully…a skill the boy absolutely did not have. He was too curious, too impulsive to walk with any modicum of caution.

Vergil knew this aspect of Hector, but he remained in more darkness than the other two souls. He only saw echoes of echoes, heard barely decipherable whispers, felt the lightest touches of emotion– and this vexed him, but what could he do about it? He also lacked the context that Hector had. The Lady of Whispers was not something he was ever taught about as he was not well versed in Hytori history, nor did he have parents that lovingly regaled him with such tales. Why would he? He was no elf. Hector had shared pieces of his upbringing, some of the stories he’d been told, but not this one. He adjusted his jaw as he listened to the translated words of the woman, gritting his teeth when he realized that Hector had bound himself to something whose progenitor was immensely powerful.

He’d chastised the boy all those years ago when he’d initially formed the pact. Told him something poor would come of it. Said that there would be consequences. Well, here they were, whatever they may be. The man looked…unamused, but his scholarly spirit and natural curiosity kept him fully engaged, and much as he would deny it, he was glad for this experience.

Both men watched, transfixed, as she gently reached into the fog of the spirit and extracted an orb of ornate design. It was composed of dense, tangible shadow– the very same that wisped off of both entities. Nobody but her recognized it for what it was and she did not clarify, merely gazing at it in a way as close to loving as her face had displayed at this point before granting the gold-etched thing back to the spirit from whence it came.

And when Lyrielle smiled a smile so broad as to split her flesh, the spirit rang with a sort of excited harmony to the woman’s own chorus that sent awed chills through the bones of the mortals with one foot in the grave. Her gaze returned to Hector, a new sort of unease washing over him, concern increasing within Vergil at her words.

“ᴼᵘʳ ᵖᵃᶜᵗ ʷᵃˢ ᶠᵒʳᵍᵉᵈ ᵒᵘᵗ ᵒᶠ ⁿᵉᶜᵉˢˢᶦᵗʸ…ˢʸᵐᵇᶦᵒᵗᶦᶜ, ᶦᵗ ᶦˢ– ᵃ ˡᵉᵉᶜʰ ᶠᵉᵉᵈˢ ᵃ ˡᵉᵉᶜʰ, ᵃ ᵇᵉᵃˢᵗ ᵉᵐᵖᵒʷᵉʳˢ ᵃ ᵇᵉᵃˢᵗ, ʰᵘⁿᵍᵉʳ ˢˡᵃᵏᵉᵈ, ʰᵘⁿᵍᵉʳ ᵍʳᵒʷˢ…ᵢₜ gᵣₒwₛ…ᵢₜ gᵣₒwₛ…fₒᵣ ᵤₛ bₒₜₕ. ᵀʰᵉ ᶜʸᶜˡᵉ ʳᵉᵖᵉᵃᵗˢ…ᴵ ᶜᵃⁿⁿᵒᵗ ᵖᵉʳᶜᵉᶦᵛᵉ ᵃˡˡ ᵗʰᵉ ᶠᵃᶜᵉᵗˢ ᵒᶠ ᵗʰᶦˢ ᵐᵃⁿ’ˢ ˢᵒᵘˡ. ᴮᵘᵗ ʰᶦˢ ᵖᵒʷᵉʳ? ᵂᵉ ᵍʳᵒʷ ᶦⁿ ᵗᵃⁿᵈᵉᵐ. ᵀᵒᵍᵉᵗʰᵉʳ, ʷᵉ…ᵒᵘʳ ᵖᵒᵗᵉⁿᵗᶦᵃˡ, ᶦᵗ ᶦˢ…ᵐᵘˡᵗᶦᵖˡᶦᶜᵃᵗᶦᵛᵉ ᵇʸ ᶦᵗˢ ᵛᵉʳʸ ⁿᵃᵗᵘʳᵉ. ᴼⁿᵉ ᵉᶜʰᵒᵉˢ ᵗʰᵉ ᵒᵗʰᵉʳ. ᵂᵉ ᵇᵒᵗʰ ᵍᵃᶦⁿ. ᵀʷᵒ ˡᵒˢᵗ ᶜʰᶦˡᵈʳᵉⁿ. ᵀʷᵒ ʰᵃˡᵛᵉˢ ᵒᶠ ᵃ ᶜᵒᶦⁿ. ᴴᵉ ᶦˢ ᵐᶦⁿᵉ ᵃⁿᵈ ᴵ ᵃᵐ ʰᶦˢ. ᶠᵒʳ ⁿᵒʷ…ᵗʰᶦˢ ᶦˢ ᵒᵘʳ ᶠᵃᵗᵉ. ᶠᵒʳ ᵗʰᵉ ᶠᵘᵗᵘʳᵉ? Wₑ wᵢₗₗ waₗₖ ᵢₙ ₛₕadₒw. ᴬᶠᵗᵉʳ ʸᵒᵘ, ʷᶦᵗʰ ʸᵒᵘ, ᶦᶠ ᶦᵗ ᶦˢ ʸᵒᵘʳ ʷᶦˡˡ. ᴵ ᵈᵉˢᶦʳᵉ…vₑₙgₑaₙcₑ ₒf ₘy ₒwₙ. Fₒᵣ wₕaₜ ₕaₛ bₑₑₙ wᵣₒᵤgₕₜ. Tₒ ₘyₛₑₗf. Tₒ yₒᵤ. ᵂᵉ ʷᶦˡˡ ᵇᵉ ᵃˢ ᵃ ᶜʳᶦᵐˢᵒⁿ ᵗᶦᵈᵉ, ᶜˡᵉᵃⁿˢᶦⁿᵍ ᵗʰᵉ ˡᵃⁿᵈ ˡᶦᵏᵉ ᵗʰᵒˢᵉ ᵐᶦˢᵍᵘᶦᵈᵉᵈ ᴹᵉⁿᵈᵉʳˢ…ᵇᵘᵗ ᶠᵒʳ ᵒᵘʳ ᵒʷⁿ ᵖᵘʳᵖᵒˢᵉ. Iₜ ᵢₛ a ₘaₜₜₑᵣ ₒf ₜᵢₘₑ.” The spirit spoke with a conviction it did not have prior, not at any point within the confines of the relationship it had with Hector. He spoke for both of them, disregarding whatever Hector may think about his idea– this was the fate he wanted and with Lyrielle’s presence serving as a threat, it was clear that the spirit meant to bind them both to this fate apropos of any trepidation the elf may possess.

As such, the boy blinked, both disturbed and excited, galvanized, even, at the concept. The promise of power was enough to catch his interest. The intrigue of the spirit’s origins and meeting a veritable legend in the flesh had him absolutely spellbound, fully enraptured with the idea. The creature he’d bound himself to, the woman who encircled them– they were beautiful, elegant entities, embodiments of night itself. He was more than happy to fight in their war, whatever it was, whenever it would be waged. Loyalty was not a thing the boy knew, in truth, but this path aligned so well with his own convictions that he did not need it. His passion came from within.

And poor Vergil, roped into this…but he had no say. It was follow along or…what? Lose Hector? Die? Be thrown to the wolves? What life would that then be? So he brooked this development with a stony expression, jaw tight, saying nothing.

That is, until the curious red-ringed eyes turned back to him and asked a question regarding his previous answers. “Our leash is held by one of Ailizane’s most ambitious souls…mortal as he is, or so we are told by some. Others believe otherwise. He deifies himself to his people, shirking those of divine nature for his own ego. An Inquisitor by every definition, a conqueror. A pompous, short sighted fool– all things describe him.” Vergil spoke of his master in these vagaries, but he had no doubt the woman of whispers that floated in front of him would recognize of whom he spoke, long lived as she was.

- - -

Aidolon Speech

'Thoughts'

"Kathalan Tongue/Speech"

"Vallenor Tongue/Speech"

"Common Tongue/Speech"

"Mythrasi Tongue/Speech"

[Lyra]

"If it be your desire, Si'fera, then let it be so." Lyrielle looked back at the Aidolon, eyes glimmering with approval at the determination the creature displayed. To her eyes it seemed so small, so powerless, yet she knew that passion. She had walked the path as a broken thing for longer than these children had been alive, and she knew the dull ache that came from the loneliness of nothingness. To exist without purpose, without self, without interaction. Bathed in darkness where the sensations of the world could not reach. Yes, Lyrielle knew well what this creature must have felt before the bond it created with the young man. Lyrielle would have done similar if such an opportunity was presented... but fortunately for her the path to her freedom came with far fewer fetters.

To find one of her blood still alive in this age brought a storm of questions to Lyrielle and Lyra's mind. What became of her children? Did they perish when she were imprisoned, or some time after? Was her blood hunted by the dredges of the army of light? Her eyes trailed the Aidolon as she thought, another thought coming to her as she wondered how it was he had come to this state. Was it simply due to exposure in the aetherium, or was he broken as she was? Questions upon questions would come in waves, but the more she thought the less Lyrielle found she could focus on any one. Lyra was the sort to agonize over such details, but Lyrielle remained more interested in the present.

"If you live, little one, then does that mean that there are others?" she mused aloud, gaze drifting away as she lazily hovered in circles around the group. If it were true, and more like this child existed... What did that mean to Lyrielle? The thought made her face twist in distaste, and instead the outsider returned her focus to Vergil.

His words gave her little information to work with. In fact, Lyrielle realized much that the man said could be considered equivocal, if not untruthful. Still she weighed his words with as much importance as she could bring to bear in their conversation, and yet she found her focus drifting to Hector instead.

The little one had called him a leech, a beast, and a predictor. The boy's features gave no hint to such proclivities, yet through the veil she could not mistake the truth in the aidolon's words for Hector's soul was twisted beneath a layer of ephemeral beauty. Another look at Vergil showed that the two shared much in common, but of them the older man was the most stable, like chiseled stone while Hector was yet unmolded clay. Child like perhaps, but maybe that would be of use to the little shadow. Children were often easily manipulated, turned to others wills.

"A dog, a pup, and a child of mine wandering in the territory where we collected ourselves just recently. Were we inclined to humor that one, we would consider it fated, or maybe destined?" The edge of seriousness was completely gone from her tone now as she slowly walked in the air around them. One hand reached out to touch Hector's shoulder as she passed, trailing a finger over his shoulder as she moved to Vergil's side and laid a hand on his arm.

"We will consider this meeting a pleasant accident... Yet tell us." She looked up to search Vergil's eyes, and then Hector's.

Leashed or not, a hound was a hound and they all hunted for a reason. With their initial exchanges complete, Lyrielle now began her next dance. Whispers in the shadows began to rise again as the smoke around them began to spin. Voices of women, children and men of all ages, cries of the lost, ancient people who were trapped or tricked by the lady of whispers and had their minds and souls taken by the black mist that now surrounded the three. Lyrielle unfolded herself further, spinning threads of aether in the air as she tugged at their symphonies, delving into their minds upper thoughts and pulling out information she desired.

She pressed down on feelings of fear or uncertainty, and gave more volume to confidence, curiosity, and desire in both men. Her humming began once more as she considered.... but no. The young one was claimed. For now she left Hector be, and focused her full attention on older man instead.

Rising up Lyrielle stroked her hands along his chest and cupped his cheek. Her smile grew wide once more as she leveled her gaze fully onto his, her magic spinning faster as she asked him directly.

"What is it that you desire?"

[Hector]

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He had wandered alone for what felt like a hundred mortal lifetimes. Waning further, gradually, into nearly nothing. Though he and Hector had not started out with the intention of ever actually being more than a tool for the other to use, there was a rather stark contrast when one goes from crushing, overwhelming loneliness to being bound to another soul. The contract that the two had forged led to a genuine sort of fondness the two held for one another, though the spirit was far less likely to admit to this or show affection in any real form, believing that such a thing would display some sort of weakness on his part. Hector, on the other hand, did not care about being perceived any which way and was far more open with his emotions; in the past, he’d made his admiration for whatever he’d bound himself to quite clear despite the danger it posed to him.

To the care he’d been shown by this ancient ancestor, the true progenitor of his line, the spirit rang with a pretty yet haunting sort of melody that resonated with both appreciation and determination. So serendipitous was this encounter, it was now that he found himself, for a moment, without words when she inquired about the viability of finding any more of her bloodline living.

The wisping tendrils of his fog would swirl almost in contemplation. “ᴵ…ᶜᵃⁿⁿᵒᵗ ᶜᵒⁿᶠᶦʳᵐ ⁿᵒʳ ᶜᵃⁿ ᴵ ᵈᵉⁿʸ ᵗʰᵉ ᵖᵒˢˢᶦᵇᶦˡᶦᵗʸ ᵒᶠ ˢᵘᶜʰ ᵃ ᵗʰᶦⁿᵍ…ᴵ ᵒⁿˡʸ ʳᵉᵐᵉᵐᵇᵉʳ ʷʰᵃᵗ ᶦᵗ ᶠᵉˡᵗ ˡᶦᵏᵉ ᵗᵒ ᵇᵉ ˢᵗʳᵘᶜᵏ ᵈᵒʷⁿ. Mₒₙᵤₘₑₙₜaₗ agₒₙy ᵃˢ ᵛᶦᵗᵃˡᶦᵗʸ ʷᵃˢ ʳᶦᵖᵖᵉᵈ ᶠʳᵒᵐ ᵐᵉ, ᵃ ʰᵒˡˡᵒʷ ˢʰᵉˡˡ ᵒᶠ ᵐʸˢᵉˡᶠ ᵗʰᵉⁿ ᵗᵒˢˢᵉᵈ ᶦⁿᵗᵒ ᵗʰᵉ Æᵗʰᵉʳᶦᵘᵐ. ᶜʳᵃᶜᵏᵉᵈ, ᵖᶦᵉᶜᵉˢ…ᶜᵒⁿᵗᶦⁿᵘᵉᵈ ᵗᵒ ᶠᵃˡˡ ᵃʷᵃʸ ᶦⁿ ᵐʸ ʷᵃⁿᵈᵉʳᶦⁿᵍ ‘ᵗᶦˡ ᴵ ʷᵃˢ ⁿᵃᵘᵍʰᵗ ᵇᵘᵗ ᵈᵘˢᵗ. ᴵᶠ ᵃⁿᵒᵗʰᵉʳ ʷᵃˢ ᶜᵘʳˢᵉᵈ ᵗᵒ ˢᵘᶠᶠᵉʳ ᵃ ᶠᵃᵗᵉ ˢᶦᵐᶦˡᵃʳ ᶦⁿ ⁿᵃᵗᵘʳᵉ, ᴵ ᶦᵐᵃᵍᶦⁿᵉ ‘ᵗʷᵒᵘˡᵈ ᵇᵉ ᵖᵒˢˢᶦᵇˡᵉ ᵗʰᵉʸ ʸᵉᵗ ˡᶦᵛᵉ. Mᵢₙₑ waₛ a ₚᵤₙᵢₛₕₘₑₙₜ ₜₒ daₘₙ ₘₑ, ₙₒₜ ₖᵢₗₗ. Sᵤcₕ ᵢdₑaₛ ₒf ⱼᵤₛₜᵢcₑ ₑₓᵢₛₜ aₗₗ ₒᵥₑᵣ…ₘₒᵣₑ ₒf ₒᵤᵣ ₖᵢₙ ₗᵢₖₑₗy ₛᵤccᵤₘbₑd ₜₒ faₜₑₛ ₘₒₛₜ ₛᵢₘᵢₗaᵣ, daₘₙₑd ₜₒ ₜᵤₘbₗₑ ₜₕᵣₒᵤgₕ ₙₒₜₕᵢₙg aₛ I waₛ…” His words had a sort of pained bitterness to them the longer he spoke, cascading into a sort of vicious anger at the realization that more of his bloodline might be wasting away in the same manner he had been.

These words interested both of the vampyres– fascinated at the concept that these shadowy beings still graced the world at all. What sort of portent was it, really? The notion that these once vanquished entities yet still lived? Of course, to many this would be rather ill…but to Hector, the idea made lavender eyes almost glitter with his excitement. Vergil’s interest was strong as well. Having now stared into the void of both entities, he found that when they looked back at him, some of his longer held morals started to melt away.

It was always painted, historically, that it was a markedly good thing these creatures had been defeated, but as it turns out, their conquerors held the same propensity for remarkable cruelty as the beings of shadow themselves. The malice it would take to consider it fair to damn a creature to wander in nothing, broken to the tiniest fraction of what they once were was surfeit to what was necessary. Conquerors were always hypocrites, so time was teaching him. How much of what Vergil had learned over the years was even true? How much information had been lost or hidden regarding events so long ago? It was all so fascinating, both on academic and personal levels. He sat now in a sort of quiet contemplation while the Lady of Whispers gave her attention elsewhere.

Her words met the ears of all of them, two sets of eyes and the unknowable gaze of the spirit looking towards Lyrielle as the woman floated ‘round them once again. Her touch was met with little external reaction from either man, seemingly entranced as they were. The question she posed was a hypothetical one, but it rang true to all that heard– if one were a believer in the weaver of fate, one might think this drawing together of four creatures was set up with much deliberation.

What next unfolded was a thing of dark beauty or ghastly nightmare depending on to whom one asked. Tendrils of the inky smoke began to whip at the edges as if blown by a breeze, slowly beginning to spin– a languid vortex of the blackest night surrounded the three. In tandem with the swirls of fog the soft whispers began to rise into a sort of crescendo in the darkness, a cacophony of voices enveloping all within. And yet, the spirit would appear to undulate his form, expanding outwards, his wispy edges catching in the ancient one’s shadows. The ætheric threads, coruscant in this preternatural night, made everything all the more bewitching as Mesmeric magic thrummed through the shadows.

With great grace of movement, the Lady of Whispers shifted her focus now to Vergil. This was, to him, somewhat surprising as Hector looked on with ample curiosity and the spirit waited with an odd sort of anticipation. Her movement ceased in front of the man where she then reached out to touch him, hands delicate and pale as the moon yet steeped in velvet night all the same. Upon contact with Vergil, she would detect a flutter in his chest from the brief pause of his breath followed by a slight uptick in heart rate. He, however, did not react external– eyes of gold meeting her gaze held steady, visage remaining stony yet intrigued.

One would also note that he ran a lot warmer than one would come to expect, even from one of his stature. This would be due to numerous additional changes the man had previously made to his biology utilizing Vicissitude. Nonexhaustively, such alterations included modifications to his vascular, musculoskeletal, endocrine and nervous systems, which altogether resulted in a complex web of consequences, the most surface level noticeable of which included a marked increase in internal temperature and very dense musculature. He lived and breathed as a machine for war, altered and stabilized by consummate knowledge of anatomy and physiology.

This might strike an observer capable of reading his soul and Symphony as…a strange or perhaps fascinating choice. The man was, for all intents and purposes, rather pacifistic, or at least as much as one can be whilst afflicted with the rune of Vitalis. He avoided conflict as much as possible and utilized his rune, for the most part, as a healer, a doctor, a surgeon. Scholarly, almost, one could perceive him as a man with great curiosity and academic interest who did not seek out violence of any kind, and under normal circumstances, chose diplomacy over brutality.

So one might then wonder why it was he chose to make himself into what he currently was physically. Beneath all of that, beneath all of his layers of discipline and self control did, in fact, lay the monster near to all vampyres were. Anyone who was willing to accept this rune in the first place had a penchant for cruelty, no matter how buried it was. Cruelty unto themselves. Cruelty unto others. Living and feeding as a vampyr, too, only served to both draw out and reinforce these traits, however dormant they were at the start. And for this one, such was the case– though the only indicator thereof would be the strength and power he'd imbued into himself. Woven now into every inch of his body, he was the monster who haunted the night in all those childhood fairy tales.

So what, then, did a man like this desire?

At the question, his eyes drifted closed if only for the briefest of moments in tandem with an exhale. "To walk this world as a figure of myth, as are you. Ambitious, perhaps, but how else would I tread my ideal path? How else would I have both the time and power necessary to sustain myself if my goal is to perfect the art of fleshcraft? To become master of body and soul, viscera and spirit, far beyond the limitations of my own. Through Vitalis, Necromancy, any other avenue– I desire nothing less." Vergil spoke with great conviction, though his voice held low and steady. Voice warm with a deep bass pitch, he sounded almost soothing yet with an undeniably predatory edge.

- - -

Aidolon Speech

'Thoughts'

"Kathalan Tongue/Speech"

"Vallenor Tongue/Speech"

"Common Tongue/Speech"

"Mythrasi Tongue/Speech"

[Lyra]

His skin was hot to the touch, his body odd in interesting ways. Strong muscles and greater vitality than one would expect, but then from his soul Lyrielle could see he was no mere man. She had suspected it when they first met, but now it was all but confirmed. He, and likely both men, were vitalis mages much like herself. Her eyes skimmed Vergil's body before glancing to the side at hector and his aidolon, but her attention quickly returned to the older man.

"A complex desire." Lyra assented, "Vague perhaps, but you are still young and have much growth ahead of you."

Lyrielle pressed her body close to the man's, wrapping her arms around him until her face was mere inches away. Her smoke wove its way into his clothing, his hair, as she enclosed him with her very essence. She played idly with a strand of Vergil's hair while her other hand continued to explore, cupping his cheek and trailing down the muscles of his neck and chest.

"Figures of myth become so by chance more often than intent. Few even wish it to be so. To become what you desire is to suffer, and the path will not be completely of your own design. You may curse your hubris for seeking what others would rather discard." One nail dug into the man's skin, causing a small trickle of blood to flow from his cheek, "You already possess the means to your end. We can feel it, to you flesh is but clay."

She paused to lick the blood from the man's cheek, taking a moment to savor the taste before asking, "What does it mean to you, to be a figure of myth? Is it to hold a supreme power over others? Is it to live a life of immortality? Is it to be a creature feared or honored in story and song?"