That which walks at night (Paragon)

[Lyra]

90th of Frost, 121 AS

A soft humming echoed down the stone streets of Zaichaer as Lyra walked. It was an old tune, an old song she had not sung in a very long time. The city was asleep, though from the corners of her eyes she could see half shadows moving as those that could not walk in the day scurried quickly while the moon reigned high above. They had arrived just the day prior, and Brenner had shown her nothing but hospitality ever since she had set foot back into the city that hated her and her kind. He had even provided for her change of wardrobe, a simple dress of dark cloth that fell to her ankles and slippers to match. Lyra hated the slippers, but she did not wish to dirty her feet with mud of the streets.

The buildings felt so tall, though as she looked at them she realized that most were no more than 2 or three stories. That sense of height seemed to come from the architecture, as each building seemed to loom over her like some creature watching her travel roads she was not meant to tread on. It made Lyra smile, for that sense of foreboding was what drew her out that night. During the day the truth of a place was lost in the illusion of light, but at night a city would show its true colors.

Pausing at the corner of a building Lyra pulled a small knife she had borrowed from the kitchens on her way out. The cook wouldn't mind, and the maids she passed would not remember her passing. Even from a distance Lyrielle could feel her whispers at play, distracting and pulling their minds away from the strange woman Brenner had brought home with him. It made her smile grow and she began to carve a small symbol in the wood near the base where two buildings met. It was a small glyph in the shape of a coiled snake, with eyes that seemed to follow her wherever she went. With a breath a trail of black smoke flowed down and splashed against the glyph, a soft glow of red and purple shining for a brief moment before fading. The glyph itself faded as well, barely noticeable against the grain of the wood it was carved on.

[Paragon]

P A R A G O N

“You are a difficult one to find, Lady Lyra.” The voice that cut through the dark was that of a woman’s. There was no sound that accompanied her footsteps but she stepped out of the dark and into Lyra’s path. She wore a black gown and cloak. The hood was drawn up but from within the hood, a pair of scarlet eyes stared at Lyra. Her pale skin made her seem ghostly when contrasted with the dark black of her attire.

“I must admit, I have been wanting to speak with you for some time. Imagine my surprise when it reached my ears that you arrived in the city. With the triumphant Commander, no less.” The woman closed some of the distance between the two of them.

“Venetia.” She curtsied. “May I walk with you this evening?”

[Lyra]

Lyra paused in her humming as the woman spoke. She had heard no sound, not even a whisper in the melodies of the world to announce the woman's approach. Slowly she stood and turned to look back at the woman as she completed her greeting, taking in her appearance before turning to face Venetia fully.

Red eyes. Lyra thought to herself. A cloak and robes of good quality, black as night and pale skin that stood out starkly against the dark color of the clothing. She studied the woman for several seconds.

"It is rare that I wish to be found." Lyra said in a sardonic tone, "Yet somehow I can never avoid unexpected visitors."

The words brought to mind others in the past who had done similar to her. The Iron Queen and Akrivar soon after. The Dark One twice, both quite jarring experiences. Rickter from time to time, and that damnable man Fletcher who never appeared when wanted or requested. Those, however, Lyra had known before the encounter, even if they had appeared without warning. This woman, Venetia, Lyra was certain she had never met before. Vaguely she recalled a failed witch burning in the area, whose name might have been similar, but despite her efforts Lyra could not bring forth a clear memory of the events that had transpired. Still, this woman had shown interest in her, and displayed a level of humility that even Lyrielle approved of.

Lyra came to a decision, and with a smile she motioned with a hand for Venitia to walk with her as they traveled to her next destination.

"You may accompany me, Si'fera. The night is long, and I would not turn away one who seeks me." She did not bow or curtsey in return, and as they walked Lyra said, "Call me Lyra. Tell me, how is it you know of me, and my coming here with the Commander? I am of no importance, but if it is a connection with the Commander you seek perhaps something could be arranged."

As she said the words she wove magic into the woman's melodies, looking, listening for the truth as she used open questions to draw out the woman's true intentions. She had called her Lyra, Lady Lyra, which meant she likely knew more about Lyra than she would like. Still, it was all a game, and Lyrielle enjoyed the back and forth. It broke up the tedium of the day, and was a distraction from the looming tasks that were ahead of her.

[Paragon]

P A R A G O N

She fell into step with Lyra, crossing one hand at the wrist as they walked. Entering into her melodies, Lyra would find her presence welcomed. Almost innocuously her Mesmeric probing was guided to different trains of thought. Excitement. Admiration. Anticipation. Lyra was practically drawn into Venetia's mind, the stream of her thoughts falling into a harmony with the ancient sorceress. Over and over, the ideas that Venetia was friendly, an ally, and a positive opportunity joined Lyra's music.

For a Mesmer of Lyra's caliber, it was immediately clear that she had met another Mind Singer. One that was spinning a delicate web that, if Lyra so chose, she could wrest herself from with ease.

“I am well acquainted with the Commander.” Humor entered her thoughts. “Self-righteous men are always so much easier to convince than righteous ones.”

Lyra’s probings were guided to a different melody. Within the music of this woman’s thoughts were presented the memories of a humble meeting between a witch garbed in red and a soldier. A meeting that set the man on a path into the Warrens and from there? To terrible ends.

“I would argue, Lyra, that you are perhaps one of the most accomplished witches in Karnor. The proprietress of Ale’ephirum has done such wonders for herself. I have studied some of your work over the past year.” Excitement swelled within the woman’s thoughts. “Such mastery of the Scripts.”

Venetia’s eyes followed the movements of some evening walkers, her expression blank as she watched them.

“I have come seeking knowledge. In exchange, I would offer my own.”

[Lyra]

As they walked Lyra listened. She felt herself being drawn to specific thoughts and noticed the threads as they were woven around her symphonies. Venetia was another Singer, but rather than be off-put Lyra felt her interest grow. She ignored the melodies as they were woven into her symphony, but did not stop them from continuing. Her opinion of her unexpected companion was steadily growing, for her methods were simple, subtle even. She played on Lyra's apparent arrogance and were she not who she was Lyra might have been drawn in. What it showed though was that Venetia was skilled, and she seemed to respect Lyra's own talents as her touch was gentle and leading instead of forceful.

"I have found the Commander to be... delightful in his unwavering focus." Lyra smiled, letting the humor from Venetia show in her own symphony. Their walk was not a long one, just a few streets over to another unassuming shop half obscured by a larger building. The sign that swung over its door showed a needle and thread.

So this Venita knew the Commander, and from the impressions given Lyra suspected she might have played a role in his little venture into the Warrens. Had she planned for the accident that befell the commander? Or was she somehow connected with incidents at the reception? Given the information she had these thoughts were barely more than speculation, but given her age, Lyra thought she could sense the telltale signs of manipulation when she saw them. When she looked at Venetia again her gaze lingered on those red eyes, familiarity flickering through her mind but she could not place it.

"I had not known my name had spread this far in Karnor." It was a surprise to hear that the name Ale'ephirum was known even in Zaichaer. She would not have been surprised to learn that officials with the city knew of her because of her ties with the Prince, but that this woman knew of her as well was unexpected. Crouching down Lyra took the small knife in hand once more and began to carve the same glyph as before with practiced motions. The curled serpent with this mouth open, eyes wide and staring.

"The scripts are my passion." Lyra said honestly, eyes still focused on her work as she finished the last line. She then breathed out and a thin line of smoke flowed from her lips and spread across the glyph. It glimmered faintly before the smoke was drawn in, and the glyph faded as the other had against the wood. Now complete, it gave off the impression of connection, hiding and waiting, and with Lyra so close it was obvious that it was linked with her directly in some way. It also felt unfinished, like a single link in a chain still being forged.

Stowing the knife Lyra began to walk toward a new location, though her pace slowed so she could look at Venetia with an openly curious expression, "It is rare that I meet one who uses the correct term for my craft, so I will indulge you and ask. What is it you seek from me, and what do you think I could gain from you?"

The words were simple and matter of fact. Lyra was certain that her knowledge would be of use to this woman, but her own symphonies did not sing with pride or arrogance. She simply knew it as fact, and there was genuine curiosity as to what Venetia thought would actually be of interest to Lyra.

[Paragon]

P A R A G O N

“I am an avid student of the Scripts. Your work reached me. That is all.” Honesty colored Venetia’s symphonies. She watched with rapt fascination as Lyra carved her mark into her chosen surface. She assessed the mark with a scholar’s eye, clearly taking in the details and intuiting the meaning from the way the pictograph was assembled. When Lyra turned to her and posed her question, Venetia eyed the woman steadily.

“What if I told you that I could give your work new life?” Venetia did not specify which work. “What if I could give you a tool that would empower your endeavors to new heights?”

The witch glanced down the street, her eyes narrowing as a pair of uniformed Reconciliators turned the corner. She pursed her lips, clearly gauging whether to move their conversation or to act as though nothing were out of place.

[Lyra]

The symphonies spoke of honesty in the woman's words, but Lyra did not believe it fully. Even before she was broken the numbers that truly reveled in the study of the Scripts were few, and that number seemed to have dwindled over the centuries until scrivening itself was seen more as an addendum to a mages magic instead of a necessary part of it. That this woman showed interest because of a fascination in the scripts and happened to hear of Lyra's work was not unlikely, but given their meeting thus far Lyra suspected that it was a pretense. Still, she found it somewhat nice to be acknowledged, even if the other person wished something of her.

"I would say it was a bold claim." Lyra smiled, "A singular tool that would let my craft reach further than it ever has? That is perhaps a mage's dream, but the reality is rarely so convenient."

Lyra saw as the reconciliatiors turned down their path, and a flash of anger seared her symphonies before it cooled to ice. The uniformed men eyed them as they drew closer, and with a smile, Lyra would take Venitia's arm and lead them down another passing street. As soon as they were out of sight Lyra breathed out a billowing cloud of smoke, which quickly spread out and sank to the ground. She wove a series of melodies into the spreading whisper, songs of disinterested, stochastic notes of that disrupted thought, a growing sense of uncertainty, and a tingling unease that was just at the edge of fear like when one stared down into a dark basement at night. They were not far from their last stop, and as the smoke touched the carved glyph it came to life. In the small area where Lyra had been traveling her marks awakened and began to leak a thin mist of black that sank and spread out across the ground, the whisper spreading until the area was covered in ankle-deep smoke that gave off soft sounds and murmurs, spreading the whispers and melodies to anyone who stepped inside the mist.

While the smoke spread Lyra lead them onward, continuing her conversation as the two order members paused at end of the adjacent street, looking rather confused as if they had forgotten why they had come this way before turning back the way they had come. Lyra felt them move away and returned her attention to Venita.

"I am somewhat of a dreamer, so I am curious. What is this tool you believe will elevate my craft, and what do you wish in return?"

[Paragon]

P A R A G O N

Venetia watched Lyra with interest. It was clear that she was taking mental notes on what the sorceress was doing as the smoke billowed out. Her eyes went to the two Reconciliators as they were persuaded to move onwards to somewhere else. A soft chuckle escaped her lips as she watched.

“Impressive.” Seemingly satisfied with what she had seen, Venetia reached up and undid the laces of her corset to be able to expose her chest. She opened her blouse to display a mark that was carved directly over her heart. It was as red as blood and seemed practically alive. Simply staring at it evoked feelings of Vitality, Life, thoughts of Flesh, and even the coppery iron tang of Blood.

“I can give you a new means of controlling not just minds but bodies as well.” Memories would present themselves to Lyra then. Whispers from Lyrielle of a magic as ancient as the Hytori of Silfanore. The power to weave life into new forms. A form of spellcraft gifted by the Goddess of Life and twisted by the Mistlord of Knowledge and Undeath. One of the foundational keys to the ancient empire that once stretched across the stars. Thought lost to the mists of time, purged except by those who clung to the blackest of arcane arts. It was a gift practiced by Ilixidor the Betrayer himself.

A single word echoed across Lyra’s thoughts.

Kyntori. The Children of Blood.

[Lyra]

At first, Lyra was confused by Venitia's actions and raised an eyebrow at the woman while she undid the ties of her clothing to reveal herself. When she saw the mark however Lyra grew still, coming to a halt in the street as she openly stared at the mark as one might stare at a flower in the desert. The memories came in a flood, broken and fragmented, but powerful as pieces of her past that were colored red surfaced one after another. She saw a palace of silver towers in a field of gold, whole and beautiful before the tallest cracked and crumbled as a mighty hand pushed it aside. She was in a room with a woman with hair like the sun who filled her heart with such pain that were she whole she might have weapt. Lyrielle laughed and spoke in a broken language Lyra couldn't recognize as the mark on Venitia's chest seemed to vibrate with life itself.

Without thought, she muttered several words in a lilting tongue that seemed a step away from singing, but the last word hung in the air as Lyra said it in disbelief.

"Kyntori..."

The next memory that surfaced made the breath catch in Lyra's throat. She saw a room, large and domed lit by blue mage lights that hung in the air at the parameter. She stood in the center of the room, a girl with hair made of golden fire on a raised dais not far from her. Someone stood on a platform in the air above her, and as she watched the room burst to life as arrays of scripts ignited and rose from every surface of the room where they had laid dormant. They spiraled in complex three-dimensional patterns, and where they met they formed new glyphs which formed new patterns in an endlessly everchanging cycle. The walls fell away, and when she looked down Lyra saw the circle she stood inside of was framed by a series of designs that began to spin, and when they overlapped Lyra could see the rune of life take shape.

Anger, betrayal, loss, fear, agony. These things came and went through her soul as she looked at the mark, though only moments passed.

“You know not who you are because you have chosen not to know. You know not what you know because you have decided to cling to what was instead of what is.”

The words came unbidden to her mind as she looked at that mark. She remembered that night as she flew through the sky in the arms of a demigod, that sense of longing she felt, the moment of clarity she had when she realized that what she desired was there before her, but she could not see the path to it beyond the cryptic words of that enigmatic creature. On that day she had confirmed that she was broken a part of her had simply accepted that fact. She had thought she needed to collect those fragments of herself, and so had created ties to the powerful, sworn oaths, gathered tools, negotiated deals and used and manipulated others to achieve her ends. She had taken a corpse and forced it to serve her purpose, created new works of magic, carved a place for herself in an age that had all but forgotten her. All of this she had done for the purpose of becoming whole once more, and even now what she did this night was to achieve an end that would put her one step closer to mending what was broken.

That mark represented something else. When she stared at it she could hear that creature's voice loud and clear as if she stood in its presence once more.

You have been made to believe that you have lost something. Have you? What is it that you have lost that you cannot regain?

She had thought its words had been meant to push her to find all of her fragments, to regain what was lost.

The Od is a prison. Lyra could feel the empty gaze of the Aidolon on her as it had spoken these words, It binds the thinking of those within it.

Something changed. Something clicked, into place, or broke, and suddenly Lyrielle could see the whole of it, everything she had done, forming around her to this moment. The living dolls, linking souls, the black blood, each and every event and fortuitous encounter suddenly seemed to connect and converge on that mark, and then Lyra understood.

One of those broken memories remained longer than the rest, those spinning glyphs that seemed to defy logic and reason, their forms were burned into Lyra's mind as no matter how broken her soul Lyrielle could never forget that day. She saw the city then, Zaichaer laid out as if from below, stretched out with points at specific locations highlighted in silver. She saw an overlay of that schema in her mind, and in seconds it was broken down and refined. Lyra saw it, the purpose of her obsessions up until this point. She saw the answer that the Monument had alluded to, but she had been too blind to see. That mark of the Kyntori lay at the center, and from it stemmed all of the linking pathways that connected the age of dreams to this small, insignificant speck of a city.

Lyra looked up to meet Venitia's eyes, her symphonies settling into calm tones as her smile broadened to the point that it felt as if it might split her face in two.

"Please, tell me more."

[Paragon]

P A R A G O N

“Now that is a word I have not heard in a long time.” Venetia looked at Lyra with newfound appreciation. It was not flattery that she spoke but honest admiration of obscure knowledge. “I see you are familiar with this.”

She brushed her fingers over the mark on her chest. Slowly, she wove her blouse back into place.

“Kyntori. Blood Child. Vitalis as it is known in the histories that speak of it.” Folding her hands together before her, the witch looked out into the dark of the city, pensive. “It has many powers. Most think it a magic that is dead and gone or in the hands of madmen driven to worship a long dead god.”

An indulgent smirk tugged at the corner of her lips.

“To that I say, we are all a little bit mad.” Pulling herself from her musings, Venetia spoke plainly. “Your work with the scripts is reminiscent of things I have seen in only some of the most carefully guarded archives. It reminds me of the spellcraft of the Ritualists of the Silver City.”

Silfanore. The fabled capital of Sol’Valen, where magic suffused the air and permeated the world down to the very bones of the earth.

“What do you know the Art of Godcasting? What do you know of Archmagic?”