Sick Until the End (Aello)

[Wrenmae]

76th of Spring, 512 AV The haunting creak of timber lulled the sleeping sailors deeper into Nysel's embrace. To the seamen, it was the quiet breathing of a living creature, the collection of timber, rope, and sails that ferried them over Laviku's domain. Above the swinging hammocks strung in rows, a skeleton crew maintained the course. They glided quietly, small lanterns hung above the captain's quarters wordlessly speaking their presence to anyone else out on the placid waters. The waves lapped weakly against the hull, swelling under, beyond, toward the near shore of the Syliran wilds. At night, everything wore disguises. The treelines was a jagged back, rolling up and down like a serpent frozen in mid-motion. The water glittered serenely, belying the tumult of predators swimming beneath. All was silent, nearly all. A thump toward the back of the boat, two men struggling over the rail. Shroud wore his tunic and wool pants, little else, bare feet pushing hard to keep his body from swinging over the edge of the ship and into the churning sea below. His opponent, a brawny sailor cut from seafoam and harsh sunlight pushing the mage farther and farther away from the safety of the boat, his teeth bright by moonlight but his eyes dark and unforgiving. An altercation earlier, nothing terrible, although it seemed that the fellow was a dear friend of Vellos, the mage Shroud and Ximal had dispatched in Sunberth. He didn't know how the information had reached the sailor's ears, but only that it wasn't by accident. Someone in Sunberth wanted him taken care of. Convenient to ambush him on a restless evening like this without his weapons by his side. His opponent was silent, his words spent in the hissed reproach Shroud had received as the only warning of his impending demise. Now the only language was spoken in escaping breath and creaking muscles. Shroud struggled, threw his fist up to clash uselessly against the craggy face that choked the life from his lungs. Only a moment, he needed a moment. And he had it. Casting his Djed forward through his eyes like a whip, he retaliated with a lance of fear and apprehension, terror that arrested the grip around his neck. Shroud used it to get a leg up, bent and then pistoning forward into the groin of his attacker, knocking him back cursing under his breath. Shroud touched wood again and leaned forward, trying to put distance between himself and the rail. He tried to yell, only to find his voice hoarse and thick, results of his near strangling. He strafed along the back of the boat, circling the sailor and heading toward the stairs. If he could make it down them, he could rouse the rest, maybe even get Rayage to help. The ship pitched, rolling with a wave that rocked the vessel sideways and sent Wrenmae spinning to the rail again. No sooner had his feet settled again than something huge caught his narrow body and spun it over the water. Shroud had no time to react, no time to cry out, he opened his mouth and only cold air filled it...followed by the frigid water. Both men drifted beneath the sea, pushing and pulling at each other, crushing and tearing. Darkness and larger shapes darted by their peripherals, blood clouded the water for a moment and then the weight was gone from him. Shroud saw nothing but darkness. Kicking toward the surface, lungs burning, he pushed from the sea and gasped at the salty air. The struggled had taken him nearer to shore than to the boat and so with a hiss and awkward strokes, he found himself on solid ground again. Retching water. Retching Zan The Sarawanki familiar spun up past Shroud, spinning in its uncertain shape before settling at eye level. "Well now," the familiar chirped, "You sure know how to make friends." "Shut up," Shroud coughed, spitting brackish water and wiping his face, "I need to find a way back to the ship." "Have you considered swimming?" The familiar asked brightly, "Or maybe fly-...oh right, you humans don't do flight." "Your sarcasm is noted," Shroud hissed, wringing water out of his cloak, "Perhaps you can temper than tone of yours with more helpful advice?" "Run fast enough to skip on water, like a stone." He scowled, "Perhaps I should see if you could carry me." "Oh yes," Zan mocked, hovering around his head, "I'd love to. You drowned on the way to shore you can drowned on the way back." "Funny," came the answer as the murderer moved into the forest clustering the skinny beach, "Perhaps I should have chosen a more solid familiar." "Perhaps I should have chosen a master with less of a bend toward trouble, boyo...awww, who am I kidding? I love you and your Vayt-touched antics. We make a good team." "Except when I need you." "Especially when you need me...who else is gonna cheer you up with an attitude like that?" Shroud smiled, despite himself. The familiar was right. Anyone else might have a knife to their neck, but Zan had the rare blessing of being tied directly to his life force. In that way, they were compatible...but only marginally so. "My only consolance is that my attacker may not reach the boat as well," Shroud said, pushing a vine out of the way, "I think I'll catch my breath here and try to morph and fly back." "Better for them if you stayed put," The familiar muttered, "A sick crew sails crooked." "Only for a few days," Shroud answered, reaching behind him and tweaking the Sarawanki, "Let's not get into a moral debate." "Wrenmae wouldn't like it." "Wrenmae is a coward. If he didn't like it, he should have cut his own petching throat while he had control." "Hey!" Shroud chuckled. "He won't, coward doesn't have it in him. Besides, what's so terrible about Vayt anyways? The god tests the mortals of this age. Everyone dies, plague is necessary, you'll come to understand...Zan, that those who survive the Blight do so because they are strong." "Like Ana?" He paused. "A fluke. The child has more grit than she realizes." "Big man, saying child. Aren't you a youngling as well?" "Sometimes," the murderer murmured pausing to put his back against a tree, "Sometimes I wonder." He looked up, past the foliage to the sky in patchmarked spots above, sighed again, "We'll wait here, at least till I'm ready to try a change." He took off his shit and hung it over a branch, did the same with his pants. "Best you shrink down in case of trouble," he mentioned to the familiar, "I need time to collect myself." "As you wish," the familiar said in uncharacteristic obedience, Shroud cast it a look. "Rayage was a fun fellow, I'd hate for you to miss that ship to opportunity." Shroud shrugged and slipped the now bottled familiar into his pants pocket, sliding down the trunk, and shaking water from his hair. Just a bell or two, then he'd be on his way. And when he returned to Sunberth, someone had earned themselves a dagger in the back.

[Aello]

Aello's ears prickled as a branch snapped. She thought that meant her prey was over there, but her magic hadn't picked up on it. Now, how could that be? Had the twig merely snapped on its own, or was she imagining things again? Or had something else simply fallen upon it, and torn it in two? The girl shrugged off her bunching muscles. Allowed herself to release the breath she had been holding in, allowing her chest to flex once, before it bunched back into her bony rib cage. The colors rippled angrily, as though disturbed by her breath. As though she were the one with enough wind to blow all their candles out. Inwardly, she sighed as her magic failed her in yet another attempt to find food. Her fingertips idly brushed the nock, strummed the string, as she stepped closer, towards the source of the sound, only to find nothing. Always nothing. It was as though the forest were dead now, despite the vibrance in their auras, the light of their lives. She shook her head lightly, as beads of sweat trickled down her brow. Causing her skin to glimmer in the ghastly light. It is growing late. The hours left in the light have left. Your time has grown stale. It is spent, your body too, her mind whispered as she crept through the forest. You should turn in for the night, for there is nothing left... it must be that wretched storm of season's past. Nothing has been the same since then. We have seen so much more madness at our heels, and not just those wretched servants of Rhysol. There has been more. Much more... Reluctantly, Aello loosened her grip on the string, allowing it to fall slack. She plucked the raven feather tipped arrow from the serving, and deftly, forced it back into her quiver with all of its counterparts. She breathed heavily, deeply, dismayed by her lack of luck. With the fact that it'd be yet another night of dried fruit and water. She was so sick of dried fruit and water. Sighing, she reached for her cursed blade. As much as she was disgusted by it, its familiar weight comforted her. The blood that lined it constantly fading into the light. As though the moon pulled its vibrance into a deathly pallor. She smiled weakly down upon the blade, as her thumb danced over the hilt. Allowing her to build up a slight warmth beneath her nails. Clawing the black, as her mounting level of hunger gnawed at her insides. It was a poor distraction for such troubles, but it was going to have to be enough. It was going to have to do. Growling inwardly, the girl strode forward as she laced her bow onto her arm, and simply, followed the flickering lights. Marching to the incessant drumming of her own heart. For several chimes she moved gracefully, almost silently through the dark forest. Slithering through the shadows cast by trees, crawling across the ground. Splitting low lying branches, ducking beneath them, forcing her way through brambles and bushes. The fabric of her long dresses catching at times. But this she ignored, this was not important. Only finding a clearing was, so she could build herself a camp, build herself a fire. And yet... her mind wandered. The lights straightened themselves out, and then expanded. Forming narrow lines. Like one's gaze when their pupils become slits; their lids blocking everything save a provincial view from their minds. A strange, clicking noise reverberated off her ear drums, and ricocheted through fleshy halls marred by mounds of dripping, brown wax, laced with orange. Her brow furrowed, as she stifled a mild cry of pain. Something was different, something was wrong. The lines were shaking. Vibrating, much as her string did after having released an arrow. There was something there, another presence. A disturbance within the confines of the vast forest grounds. Intrigued by something that could disrupt the auras with such ease, Aello chose to go and investigate. Struggling to keep her eyes entirely open as she glided along, she kept to an easy, sheltered path. Following the vibrations; ribbons of color, which enraptured her and pulled her along blindly, until she made her way to the edge of the forest. There, she stopped, and waited as the colors expanded, and then many, but not all, faded away. Coupling with the air to form the ethereal. There, with her free hand resting against the tree's twisted, and gnarled bark she could see two new auras. One belonging to a man of magic, and another to a familiar. Startled by her find, she leaned in a little closer, her fingers settling into the diamond back of the oak she concealed herself behind. Her muscles tensed, her breathing slowed as she watched them. Listened to their idle chatter. Her fingers sinking into the muck; collecting dirt and grime behind the nails. She had gotten dirty. She was dirty, for this was not something she thought either party wanted anyone else to hear. This was something they thought they shared in confidence; falling on a single, deaf set of ears. And yet, they spoke about it so casually, almost jovially. Confused by this, her brow furrowed. By the notes in their words she could decipher little of further meanings. Hidden meanings. Of their relationship beyond what their intertwined auras told her- that they were master and familiar. She watched their forms. One bottled, the other spilling fluid with tightly bound fury. Coiled like a snake, waiting to be released from its pit. At this, a sinister smile crossed the girl's lips, as her fingers pushed against the tree all the more for support. What could have someone so alluring, in both aura and body so tense? Aello could hear metal crashing against metal ringing in the back of her mind, and yet, it meant nothing. For this was not of him. It was of another. Through the veil of sparkling stars; the wavering night sky cast by her magic, Aello walked. Her legs pulled by a force she couldn't describe. Dirt spilled from the tips of her fingers as her sweaty palm circled her cursed dagger. The metal shimmering against her side. "Care to tell me more about your familiar?" she asked first. "For I thought they were merely a myth. Something of a wife's tale. A legend." There was a pause, "and of what you spoke of together, just before?" Aello asked. "Something about a god, Vayt. Do you serve him?" There was a long silence, as the woman grazed over the man's form with her dark brown eyes. Dripping wet. So easily defined now that his clothes clung to him. She couldn't help but smile as her eyes settled on his own. "Or would you rather begin by explaining what you're doing alone in a forest, sopping wet?" she asked. Stifling her urge to chuckle, for that alone made her thing of a mangy dog, and this man. This hypnotist, and morpher, was anything but that.

[Wrenmae]

She ghosted from the trees like mist and smoke, alive in the moment of her speaking where she had not existed before. Shroud cursed under his breath, hands dropping to where his daggers should have been, pausing as he realized they were safely wrapped in another pair of clothes on a ship floating toward Zeltiva. He forced his grimace into a smile, having only the moonlight to see her by. One could not call her pale without being inaccurate, she was more fair, like carved marble or clouds...the black hair waving down her shoulders only pronounced her appearance, so much more ghost-like than any ghost the murderer had seen before. She was confident, had to have been to remain so quietly among the leaves and branches while he blathered on. Blathered on. Damn, she had overheard him. How to control the situation? His first thought was one of manipulative or malignant purposes. She couldn't be all that strong. She was a thin girl, willowy by some extent...but he dismissed the idea immediatley. In order to survive in the Wildlands alone and move with such eerie silence...attacking her would be foolish. He couldn't waste Djed on hypnotism or risk having too little to return to the ship. Instead he let his hands fall slack, removing his shirt and wringing it out, hanging it over a tree branch. "You might say I had a disagreement with a sailor," he answered carefully, "And you? Am I approached by some goddess of shadow and stealth or do you make your life beyond the walls of civilization?" He removed his pants as well, wringing those out before tossing them over a branch as well, "I'll accept either, a near drowned man cannot be picky on who he meets when he drags himself ashore." Sitting gingerly against the tough bark, he waved at his flask and shrugged, "My familiar was given to me in Alvadas, we share thoughts...although he is not from this plane. Not much more to say than that...save the name he gave himself..." He closed his eyes a moment, "Zan." Open again, watching her, careful. "Vayt is god of Plague and Pestilence, you could say I serve that aspect...yes. And he saw fit to mark me his own...or at least favored." Another shrug, "The weak expire and the strong grow stronger, can one truly judge it abominable if Vayt infects all equally?" Chuckling, he held out a hand toward hers, dark eyes flashing curiously, "And you? Girl of trees and leaves? Have you a name and reason for being?"

[Aello]

Aello chuckled, her lips curling into a delicate smile as her features lit up with the concentrated power of the sun. The edges of her eyes etched with feet similar to Yune's, that of an aging sparrow. "Hardly a goddess, but mortal enough," she replied simply. "Having met with the lady death on quite the frequent basis." There was a slight pause, "trouble tends to follow in one's footsteps," she added simply as her smile faded back into her features. Melting; allowing her face to mold into the blankest of expressions. A state of obscurity which would keep the hypnotist on his toes; constantly guessing just what it was she was thinking and feeling at any given moment. Her thumb trailed along the length of her dagger's cursed hilt. Following the simple length of smooth black, darkened by her own shadow. The light of the moon as it crawled against her skin. "Which may or may not have anything to do with the fact that we are now both in this desolate place. Lost behind a web of trees, so very far from any sort of civilization. Any city known to man." There was another slight pause as the girl tilted her head to the side, allowing her long mane of flowing brown hair to cascade down the length of her shoulder, the frayed ends halting at her lower back. Aello's eyes sparkled all the more, reflecting the few stars that dotted the sky. Her gaze followed his simple movements, the removal of his clothes. The lines that formed his body. Indentations that marked scars, the beginnings and ends of muscles. Places where he had lost a lot of fat. She watched as his skin rippled as each of his muscles flexed, his bones creaking to pull everything away. To expose himself to her completely, despite the prying eye of her magical scrutiny. Her cheeks reddened, warmed a little, as she followed several teardrops of moisture trickle down his skin; glistening in the light of the moon. Embarrassed by her unwillingness to turn away, Aello forced herself to sever the strings, to deter for only a moment. But what use was it when her magic could still see? Sighing inwardly, the aurist snuffed the flames. The colors fled. A single brow raised into a high arch. Mirroring the supple curve of her father's old bow. "Now why serve a god of the plague?" Aello asked simply. "What would be in it for you?" There was a slight pause. "Not that there is any reason for one to judge, considering whom they serve. The lady of death; Dira herself." Aello's head rolled upon her shoulders, and soon, righted itself. "Perhaps then, that makes us similar, in that our gods deliver the end. Yours perhaps, a bit more slowly than my own. Only in that yours weakens, driving the body to the brink of destruction. Driving us into the arms of the lady who shepherds us in the world beyond, until we return to this plane." Her thumb idly stroked the hilt of her dagger once last time, before coming to a halt. "And yet, if your soul is so dark, why not simply serve another? Those associated directly with evil, or with death, if you seem so keen on destruction. Strange, strange indeed you should choose that god as your master. Unless..." Aello's voice trailed off for quite some time. "Unless you had no say in the matter. Were simply born this way, as each of the Konti are marked at birth by either of the twins: Rak'keli of the healing hand, or Avalis of divination." There was a pause. "Perhaps you didn't choose him as much as he chose you, and you simply, rose to the occasion. Carried out his will; showed your appreciation for his favor." Again, Aello's speech came to a halt. Her eyes trailed back to him. "Perhaps that is reason enough for your existence. So very unlike mine. Not that you need know much of the matter, unless you wish to draw it out with the power you wield. Although, weaving a web upon one who knows of your nature as one of the twisted, a sort of spider, should make it all the more difficult. For even the finest, most silver silks can be spotted in the moon's pallor." With a small flick of her wrist, Aello began to twirl the dagger between her fingers. After but a chime, she shoved it into is bed; the sheath that lined her thigh, in a single heartbeat. Her lips curled into a cruel smile as her eyes settled on his own, daring him to question her any more. "Now, that leaves one final question, now doesn't it, child of Vayt? Child of pestilience, pain and plague." There was a short pause for effect, "what might your name be?"

[Wrenmae]

Shadows played about Aello's face like moon-dappled moth wings. She faded in and out of darkness, her blade heralding flashing eyes and glittering teeth. Shroud, his exposed skin kissed by evening's lips, only watched her. His back was against a tree trunk, the rough contours of bark screaming sensation into his skin. He needed to be alert, to stay alert. Regrettably, the murderer was unarmed. She manipulated the dagger with such grace and speed it scarcely made a passage through the air, only shimmers and the clank of metal against metal as it slid into the sheathe. Shroud smiled at her, letting his natural magnetism work where his hypnotism might not. She hadn't exactly accused him of it, but she did suggest he take information from her with his 'power', and that unnerved him. She was an aurist, had to be, a magical discipline he had little experience with himself. So, manipulating her with Djed was out of the question. If she was even suspicious of his activities, he could kiss his life goodbye. He hadn't the offensive magic necessary to attack her, not do so and still make it back to the retreating ship. He was sunk in the most literal and metaphorical sense. But Gods, was she intriguing. "Fantastic deduction," he congratulated, clapping his hands together twice, awakening the night around them with sound, "I was chosen, not so much chose. Ware well your proximity or you'll feel what happens when Vayt marks a favored." He smiled, putting out both hands, "No violence intended. Had I control of the power, I most certainly would exercise it. Alas, the God of Plagues does not like the idea of choice in his service." A chuckle caught at his throat, moved his lips to smile as she spoke, nodded. "Ah, Dira, Lady Death. How does the service to the inevitable treat you, Lady..." he trailed off, indicating she should include her name in the pause, "Is she a kind Goddess? Do you see her often?" His eyes danced, "Does she smile when you bring that blade down upon your foe?" He drew back, calmer now, squatting naked and then standing, shaking water out of his hair. "My name is Wrenmae, but I prefer Shroud. Speak your stories and I'll speak mine. If you were going to kill me for my magic, you would have already. So why not put our poisoned words away and share the evening? I'll be on the winds before dawn to catch a ship...but we have some time together before then." He patted the root beside him, his pale skin bright with Leth's heavenly kiss. "Come then, a night will not kill you in my presence, though you may feel it on the morrow." His neck cracked, and he brought his hand through tangled locks, "You seem a strong girl to hunt alone, certainly you don't fear a little cold...do you?"

[Aello]

"Your condescension remains unnecessary, and undesired," Aello commented, as she took but a single step forward. "And as for the goddess, she is kind enough, considering the power she wields; that which is her domain. Patient. Sensible. Just. Not oft leaving her lair, a spire within Black Rock, to visit. But when she does take the time, it is enough. In that it reminds us of our true course in this singular life. Fleeting as it can be." There was a slight pause, as the girl considered. "She only smiles when those who would extend that time are destroyed. Those that would serve to unbalance this world; the natural flow of the cycle. All else she can wait for, and receive with open arms when the sands of time dispel." With that she took several more steps forward, closing the gap between herself and Wrenmae, his form merely shrouded now by the darkness. The shadows cast over his fluid-lined flesh by the light of the moon. "Aello," she commented dryly, as though in response to his name, as she took a seat beside him, and set her weapon down. Slipped her pack off her shoulders. "And as you said a night will not hurt. Simple sickness wouldn't bother me any." She shrugged as she glanced up at the sky a moment, wary of him now that he seemed reluctant to conceal. "And as for hunting alone... it is only for the strong. Perhaps that is why you have slipped from your ship. Your body being weak; as you have grown dependent on your gift's ability to ravage the bodies of others, keeping them from you. Your words to dissuade, and assuage fears, so you may skip about unnoticed, and unscathed." Aello sighed as her eyes tore away from the moon, and darted back to him. "But, although some may look like little, they are something. There are some who can scarcely be stopped by anything anymore." She shook her head lightly, "even by those who never miss their mark. By those who wield all sorts of magic." Aello chuckled, her lips curling into a soft smile. "Even that which you carry, gifted by a god." There was a long, drawn out pause then, as Aello too, began to run her fingers through her long brown hair. "Say Shroud, do you know many others like you? Who bear the same mark, or curse as you seem to see it. At least, every once in awhile, when you come to realize that your very presence could weaken, if not kill those you love, if prolonged."

[Wrenmae]

His only response to her first words was a wolfish smile, curling up along his lips and lighting his eyes with glittering illumination. She did not walk to him, did not stride, she practically sauntered. There was a simplistic sexuality in her movements, the kind of hip-swaying gait only a woman could wield. Her dress fell around her shoulders and body like a guise wrapped in gauze, a body prepared on a burial slab. Perhaps that was fitting, considering her Goddess. Shroud almost subconsciously shifted toward her when she took a seat, a movement so innocuous it could have gone unnoticed. Cryptic as she was, condescending in her own haughty way, he liked her. What more could be said of strange events and fatestruck meetings? He was thrown to the sea and emerged unscathed. He strode into the forest and met a woman when he could have easily met a wolf. And that woman, this…Aello, knew his secret now. She, the first of her flesh and blood kind to know the gnosis carried on his soul. Somehow that felt right, it felt fitting. Her body was hardened by the forest around her, supple shoulders belying the taught muscles beneath. To keep her deceptively soft form and to be so strong and cunning… Shroud grinned, imagining the men she’d left to bleed for not seeking to know her better. They were both deceitful, in that way. Shroud did not appear the grand manipulating, plague-ridden, murderer he was. He had Wrenmae’s handsome face, his boyish charm at times. His body was thin, narrow more like, tempered in Sunberth’s fire and yet appearing almost frail from a distance. Both held power within them that few expected. Now she knew his power, knew and yet took a seat close to him. He liked her. He really liked her. This…This Aello who devoured sickness and hunted alone. “I fell because I was caught unprepared,” he said, shrugging, “And of my opponent? He never surfaced.” Another wolfish smile, “A sailor and a storyteller pitch beyond the deck. Who shall survive? Miza’s on the sailor to swim to safety, but the storyteller was the victor in this strange retelling.” He chuckled, resting his arms atop naked legs, shadows defining the shape that swung beneath. He cared little. “Your Dira abhors the nuits then, does she?” He nodded, it seemed to make sense. “I’ve met five in my travels, a somber lot…I imagine you hunt them then?” Rayage was on the ship a distance away, ever growing farther toward Zeltiva. Idly he considered telling her. “Not hard to do, I’d imagine, if you knew what to look for.” He held up his hand and pinched his nose with thumb and index, “They don’t have a reputation for pleasant odor.” The trees shifted above them, caught in Zulrav’s breath. Moonlight dappled across their foreheads and bodies, highlighting shapes, pooling on skin, alluring. Shroud raised both hands and brought them through his hair, shaking out the last of the water droplets. “I’ve met men and women both who claim they cannot be stopped. Most lie dead. I make no such grand claim. I am mortal as the rest of them, and I take care to recognize that weakness and prepare.” He glanced to the sky and laid a thump on his forehead, letting it slide down to his lips. [color=#ac8166]“Your Dira will not take me tonight…nor tomorrow if I have my way. I expect to be taken only when I allow it, or when my challenges overcome my preparation.” Shrugging, he laid back against the bark, exposing his body to the moonlight and closing his eyes. Those eyes. Those dark eyes. “Love is a wasted emotion,” but even as he said it, the words felt contrived and forced, “Unnecessary attachment beyond use. We couple for pleasure or children, we learn for survival.” He sighed. It wasn’t that he truly believed that, it was more that he had never experienced it. Shroud, as he was, had never formed much of an emotional link to anyone. The closest he had to a friend was Mok, a man who had vanished, and Rayage…a nuit who hadn’t noticed his departure. There was Ana, of course, but she was more property…the affection one might give a cat. Was that true? Shroud grimaced, blowing exasperated breath from his nose and crossing his arms over his eyes, “I have never met another like myself. Not in the eleven years I’ve been marked, not a soul. I’ve caused the deaths of two families already, and I abandoned two more to spare them the same fate. Pointless, really. I was a different man back then. Different than I am now.” Raising a pale limb he glanced at Aello with one dark eye, eyebrow quirked, “And you, Aello of Dira? You hunt alone…are you without family as well?”

[Aello]

"Any of the undead that crosses the path of one who follows the lady Dira dies," Aello explained. "The god that rules them, and the goddess that resides over death being mortal enemies." With that, Aello chuckled. "In that we agree, their kind are not too difficult to find, seeing as they often keep themselves cloaked, even in the most dismal of weather. In that they give off the most putrid stench of rotting flesh." The girl paused for a moment, "and if not that, there are a number of other ways one can come to tell. Especially when you often travel with wolves by your side. Those whose sense of smell, and of detection are far greater than your own." Again, Aello chuckled. "But do not fear, for not a single one shall show themselves this night. They are too far to the north to come to the aid of their mistress. To hear her call." For a long time, Aello fell silent, "the same can be said of the birds. They are too far north, guiding the eyes, to be able to deliver their songs." She ran a hand through her hair then, tugging apart the strands. "There are no others, all of them having died many years ago in a fire. Both parents, a younger brother. It is only me and the animals now," she commented as she looked up at the sky. "Although, they don't come to visit me often, only when they are in need." Aello sighed. "But that doesn't mean it has to be the same for you. If you have the need; not all death is like that. So solemn. So final." Aello paused, allowing her words to sink in as she pulled her hand out of her hair and set it in her lap. She glanced down at it, as she ran her fingertips over the dirtied fabric of her dress. "Have you ever wanted to meet another?" Aello asked. "Someone like you? Someone who carries the same burden, of Vayt's mark? His blessed?" Aello paused for a moment, her eyes sparkling as she reconsidered her words. "Or rather, someone who has?" Her fingers fumbled with the folds of her dress, weaving them through before squeezing and untangling limbs, over and over again. She smiled weakly, before looking up at him. "It can be done, you know."

[Wrenmae]

“Traveling with wolves and birds,” Shroud muttered, a faint smile ghosting across his lips, “My, my, aren’t you a wild woman.” An owl hooted in the night, echoing itself a moment later. Shroud did not look to where it called from, instead felt the noise across his skin. The crickets were a constant, summer cicadas quieter now in the absence of sun but still chuffing their endless song. So much noise here in the forest, the ever present hand of life. What if he were to walk through it? To touch the trees and branches? Would they wither and die? Would he carve a scythe through this land if he stayed? The idea was exciting. Lady Dira be praised, it was exciting. “If your friends remain North, why venture so far from their side?” He watched her weak smile, shy almost, unused to the human interaction after so long amid brambles and thorns. Good. She was weak, or at least a part of her was. No one could be carved of stone and seasalt only, no baby was born silent and aware, flesh like wood and fists like thunder. She was a woman, after all, given to the same inherent weaknesses born in all her ilk. There was a softness in her body, the alabaster curves of her face. His gaze lingered there, drinking in her unkempt beauty. In his mind he ravaged her, here beneath the skeleton branches of the old oak. She cried out, hair splayed like a river, she bucked and writhed with resplendent energy. He looked away. “Meet one of my kind? Can that be done?” his gaze was skeptical and he hunched his shoulders, arms resting on his knees, “Is that the power granted to you by Lady Death? Can you pull souls from the beyond to palaver with?” The idea was exciting, invigorating even. What secrets would the dead have to tell him? How does one contact Vayt? How can one control this plague upon their skin? The tantalizing thought of knowledge kept him rooted on her words, following her sentences to their conclusions, hungry for more. Shroud leered with a cannibal’s grin, all teeth and desire. He saw her in two realities. One here, the strong wild woman born of wolf bones and knotted roots…and the other was the lover twisted beneath him. He liked them both. “If it can be done and you’re offering…” he trailed off, then held out his hand to the darkness, “Let us see what we can learn of the dead.”

[Aello]

"There were a few matters which needed to be tended to... alone," Aello replied, as her eyes danced over him. Noting the way he turned away, as though uneasy with the weight of her question. Just what was being offered, in only a simple passing of parted lips. Wondering why he couldn't quite handle the intensity of her gaze, when his own eyes could be so very piercing. For a long time, she could only stare at that which remained unadorned, her eyes searching for blemishes. Imperfections upon the soft sheen of moon cast skin. Small tell tale signs that there were mars to this man's beauties, lies held within his speech. Disquiet in his heart, his desires. Losses in his life. Yet, she could find nothing, no matter how her eyes pulled apart the pores; the red splotches where weight had rested too long, throwing flesh into frenzied heat. Little did she know this was another gift of the god. Something that plagued Wrenmae, in that it obscured his form so. Hid him behind a mask of innocence and grace, although his very core, his soul, was enough to make any grown man shatter. Let alone a formless woman. "Of course it may be," Aello whispered. "If only we have the knowledge, the skill, and the overall desire to call." There was a pause, "and they wish to answer us." A wave came over her, bathing her cheeks in a soft pink, which forced her to avert her gaze. To look at the ground before her, as opposed to the man by her side. There was a glimmer in her eyes then, like the moon reflecting off a pool of silken water. Rippling against a grazing touch. A pebble tossed into the pond. "It is not a gift from the goddess, but a skill learned over the years," the spiritist went on to explain. "With but a single vial of the mist, that which makes the dead, I can summon them from this plane. Call to them, and have them hovering before us within the blink of an eye. But... that is not your wish. To have one of the souls that lingered, but one that has moved on. Returned to the arms of their master, Vayt. These ghosts are a bit trickier. They don't always come to me. I don't know why." It was then that Aello turned away from him, ashamed with herself. With her own inabilities, her weaknesses. For a time, her head hung. Until the feelings wavered. "Your hand," Aello whispered. To receive no response. She was too quiet. "Give me your hand," she said a little louder. Assuming her demand would be met with some level of hesitation, her head jerked around. Her left hand came forward, her fingers sprawled, wrapping around a slender wrist. She tugged it forward as she reached for the hilt. Fingers choking the grip as she tore it away from the sheath, twirled it, and brought the bloodied blade against a soft palm. A deep red bead rose from the severance, dotting Wrenmae's clear skin. Like a furling rose petal, fallen to the forest floor. The liquid seemed to sizzle against the bed of flesh. Velvet being worn smooth, bristling as the tiny fronds that comprised it were torn apart. The girl closed her eyes as she drew the dagger away, and leaned in a little. Sniffing it. To her it seemed to smell like nothing. Startled, she drew away, opened her eyes, and returned the dagger to her sheath. "As was expected," she muttered as she let go of his wrist and withdrew. The girl took a deep breath in through her nose and out through her mouth, "speak of your god, for an invocation will be needed to make one of them come," Aello instructed as she reached for her bag and retrieved a glass jar. She tore the lid off in a heartbeat, before drawing her dagger, and sliding it across her palm. This time, she didn't flinch. Not in front of him, as her skin split, and blood came forth. Cascading down the edges of her palm, her clenched and trembling fist. She grit her teeth as she watched her blood sparkling in the light. Listened to it plopping against the glass. Watched drop after drop explode on impact; splash against the jar. Dirtying it. "It may take more than a few veins to get what is needed," Aello explained. Her eyes flashing dangerously, or perhaps with determination. It was difficult to tell. "Your blood would never have done."