"One's oath is often all that can be given." Lyra leaned forward, her hand held out inviting until Imogen took it, "These words are accepted."
There was faint, nearly indistinguishable ripple in the air as she said this, but the aether quickly settled down and Lyra looked down at their clasped hands. Turning so that Imogen's hand was on top, palm pointed downward, Lyra used her free hand to trace a pattern on the orc's skin with one long nail. At first drawing was a light scratch on the top of Imogen's tough skin, but after the third pass a thin trickle of blood began to ooze from the patters that steadily deepened.
"The body is simply a vessel for the soul, the mind a library for the experiences that are cataloged therein. Without a mind or body it is difficult for a soul to communicate, for the way it and the living perceive the world is vastly different." Lyra's eyes were focused, and as she smoke the black smoke around them swirled and collected around them, tendrils of it slipping into the growing mark on Imogen's hand as the air around them vibrated with power from Lyra's intent. Just as the flow of blood became enough to run down their hands and fall onto the ground Lyra pressed her other palm against the carving and looked up at Imogen to meet her eyes. Gold rimmed with scarlet. A prickling sensation, followed by burning and inching came from brand, but as quickly as it started it was over.
Releasing Imogen and stepping back Lyra smiled, "I grant you this boon. Fifteen times you may pierce the veil and see the souls of the lost. Fifteen times may you give those souls form enough to speak of their experiences."
Lyra continued to look at Imogen as she licked the orc's blood from her palm, "Remember your oath when the time comes, and we will remember your kindness in turn."
► Show Spoiler