Fa7an

The missive was brief:

Sir Seldan,

We must speak. The arcanist dungeons. <A date and time range is given>

Faranmidahn

The little knight is wearing a humble suit of kilted leather armor and her weapons' belt, sitting at a little stool in one of the empty cells, cradling a little white spider that looks like it was covered in coconut flakes and fur in her hands, stroking it's body with her thumbs as she waits.

Getting down here took some time, but Seldan knows the drill and forewarned Malik of what would be expected. He lays aside all weapons, armor, and magical items at the checkpoint, wearing only plain shirt, trousers, boots, and holy symbol when all is said and done. The guards seem to know him here, although they give him a bit of a quizzical look, and the conversation is quite amicable. He even introduces Malik, and explains that they're visiting some of the sick down here.

He seems to know where he is going, even in this rat maze of a dungeon, and makes no comments on the close, stuffed feeling for one with arcane senses, as if he's used to it.

It seems that Malik has a bit more magical equipment than Seldan does. By the time he removes everything with an effect, he's essentially down to just his pants and a loose shirt, bare feet padding along on the stone. Malik gives Faranmidahn a polite nod, curiosity in his eyes. Malik, though, seems far less comfortable with their surroundings than Seldan is, shifting his weight nervously as he looks around at the runes engraved in the stone, wrapping his arms around himself as if to ward off a chill of some kind.

Faranmidahn looks up from her familiar, looking like she's skipped a few night's sleep, or she's been riding the rollercoaster of emotions. Or both. She gives a smile of lead crytstal, a crafted and fragile thing, to the couple, rising to her feet, "Gentlemen... thank you for seeing me, here." She clears her throat and gently sets the little spider down before unbuckling one side of her armour and withdrawing a note adorned with a snowflake from underneath to offer to Seldan.

Seldan furrows his brow, his reaction to a notecard look that should be familiar to him much more puzzled and much more composed than it should be. He looks at Faranmidahn with more than a little concern, then opens the notecard.

Malik's eyes widen as the note is taken, looking to Seldan. "I don't think..." Though whatever he was about to say, it seems that he thinks better of it, instead just stepping off to the side and letting Seldan pick up the card. Whatever cold feeling went through him before, it seems to have rebounded on itself again, goosebumps rising from his arms as he looks at the snowflake symbol.

Faranmidahn looks vaguely surprised that the note doesn't mean anything to him, then looks quizically at Master Malik. The note simply reads:

"All the magic in the world can not undo tragedy."

The little sorceress lowers her gaze, "That was left for me in the Desolation." Her voice quavers some her, "A research camp... studying the Everstorm... M-my parents..."

Puzzled, Seldan stares at the note, then looks at Faranmidahn, then searchingly at Malik. "It seems clear that it is from Her ...." he begins, then looks closely at Faranmidahn. "She has done something to your parents?" He's -way- too composed, and confused, and he looks at Malik again, as if searching for help.

Malik steps forward, taking the card this time, looking the writing over. "You received one as well," he tells Seldan. As if that were enough to explain everything. "It was the token that you offered the Queen." He stares at the notecard in distaste, turning it over and staring at the snowflake symbol as if it had some sort of secret that he could unlock, if only he could see through the pattern. "It seems that you are not the only one that she's targetting. With the same cryptic message, even."

Turning his attention back to Faran, he asks, "When did you receive this?"

Faranmidahn closes her eyes and sighs, "I tried to warn them..." she says miserably, "The night at the Soldier's, when I realized Cryo's brand was a focus... when I realized I... before I w-wuz c-c-cured..." and her hands come up to her face, and she moans, "I told her where to find them!" and she sinks to her knees.

Feeling her pain tug at his, Seldan closes the distance between them and reaches for the lucht's tiny wrists, as if to pull her hands from her face. "Faranmidahn. I need your help, to understand." He gazes wide-eyed at her, entreating. "I lack some of my memories, given in return for an item that will help Cryosanthia find hers. I do not understand, and you speak as though I should. It must bid you explain. What did she do to your parents? Cryosanthia can be used as a focus? I know ... that she took my mother, but that is all I know."

Malik looks between Seldan and Faranmidahn, confusion passing over his own face at their reactions. He starts to speak, then cuts it off, closing his eyes as he looks down at the ground, tapping the card against his leg. One breath, and then two, as he considers his reply. "Yeah," he tells Faran. "Maybe. It could very well be that you did. She certainly saw Seldan's mother through Cryosanthia's mark. We all saw it glow when we found the rest of the bodies."

Turning his attention fully to her now, he continues. "Or it could be that a powerful fae creature knows a simple divination and gleaned that information out of the Sea of Mana as easily as a child plucks a fish toy out of a fountain. We'll probably never know."

Kneeling down in front of her, he sets the card off to the side, carefully. "Here's what I -do- know," he goes on. "This thing, right now? This feeling of guilt and confusion and defeat? It's a heavy weight, right? Like iron, in the pit of your soul, weighing you down? Not terribly useful, one might think. At least, not like that." He pulls his legs under him. "But that little flicker, deep down? The one that's keeping you from thinking straight? That's pain. That's -anger-. And angry? Is /good/. /Angry/ gets shit /done/. Anger is the fire that you need, the coals that you stoke to turn that heavy lump of iron into a -weapon-. Something actually useful. It's how you take that weight and give it an edge. So long as you tend it correctly. Tend it -smart-. Keep the goals going just enough that they don't burn the house down around you."

This last part seems not entirely addressed to Faranmidahn, though, as he's half looking over his shoulder.

Faranmidahn's wrists, what resistance they offer, is miniscule compared to the paladin's intent and, as her hands do come away from her face, it's every bit the mask of grief expected. Seldan's words starts to draw her eyes upward, vaguely confused, though Malik's initially aren't a great deal of help, she seems to lock down on 'angry gets shit done' and she tries to push everything back, to hold it at a safe distance to 'look at' without it tearing her resolve down anew. She swallows and takes a breath.... and does so again before, still somewhat shakily, "F-forgive me, I-i'm still... " She chokes back something else and, "The camp was.... the same as the Soldier's Defense.... All those people.... even D-daddy's" Not 'Father's, "mount.... frozen where they stood. My parents weren't there.... they weren't there..." She seems to be grasping at the hope they're still alive, somehow, "The..." She straightens and looks up, "The research journals! She took most of the research logs too!"

The sense of what Faranmidahn is saying seems to sink in on Seldan, very, very slowly, the entreating look turning to one of shock ... then grief ... then anger. The selfsame progression as when it happened, only much, much more muted. He is still in control, still holding those wrists, although a little more gently. "She ... froze the entire camp to death? And the Soldier's Defense? And took my mother?" Seldan looks quickly back up at Malik, sudden, hot understanding running through his veins. "That is why ...." Instinctively, he pulls the lucht to him in a close hug, if she'll allow it. "This do I swear to you. We will find all that has been taken, and she will pay for the lives she has ended and destroyed. I will see her thrown down for this. Blame not yourself. You did not know, and nor did any of us. We must now be more cautious, and speak freely before none who bear the snowflake brand.

The white-hot fury that Seldan showed last time is not in evidence, and by the time he is done, his tones are steady.

Malik doesn't have much more to add to this. He's said his part, looking down at the notecard once more. "For what it's worth," he tells them both. "You have my sympathies. But something in my gut tells me that they're still alive. It would be too much trouble to simply take them and kill them when she could have disposed of them on the spot. And I don't think that it suits her game."

SOmething in Faran's words though draw his attention. "Research journals?"

Faranmidahn manages not to squeak as she is suddenly and fiercely drawn into Seldan's embrace, though it's a close thing. She buries herself in the man's chest, "...everyone.... all those people.... Gone... just gone!" she moans. She hugs the senior knight as tightly as she can, realizing that she just reignited the anger Seldan had just had soothed by indirect means, "Seldan, I'm sorry, I'm s-so sorry!" With Malik's input, she turns her gaze to him... "Experiments." she hisses the word like a curse, "She's a monster... she'll do things to them. Maybe what she did you Cryosanthia's mind... M-mother was there with her colleagues, studying the Everstorm.... When I got to the camp, most of the research was taken."

Seldan, too, looks up from the embrace, his expression impassive, with just a trace of anger behind his eyes. His self-control is eerily good given the situation, and he picks Faranmidahn up, settling himself on the cot with the lucht in his lap, should she allow it. "The Endless Winter is much in comportment like your own mother, Malik, only worse. She thinks nothing of tearing people apart and sewing them back together, to see how they will react. Tear a tendon from a muscle to learn how much resistance is present. Use magic to remove a soul from a body, and replace it, with complete detachment. I spoke with Menel at some length, ere we removed him from this place, and he had much to say, of her. She wields magic as naturally as she breathes, and thinks nothing of its use for any purpose."

Something in Seldan's words seems to ring with the wizard, his eyes flicking up and widening, something akin to shock on his face. Or possibly a bit of horror. "I..." He takes a breath, looking to Faranmidahn. "I apologize," he tells the lucht. "That was -- unnecessarily harsh, I think. You have every right to grieve, and be afraid. But don't let those feelings dominate you, or she wins." For the moment, though, he merely scoots back a bit, moving to the edge of the circle and looking pensive.

Faranmidahn isn't in a position to fight, physically or mentally. In her right mind, a lesser acquaintance, perhaps her ire would spike, but now... something basic clings to the comfort afforded in what circumstances allow. The description of every horrific possibility Faran's been tormenting herself with for the past week drives her to tuck in a little more. She takes some time to edge back from the emotion again and she turns her face out to look, eyes almost solid pink, and puffy, "....I... I understand."

Seldan offers what comfort he can, in that embrace, although something in him sits just a little straighter. "It is not far from my mind, either, Faranmidahn, but it is in my mind that Master Gitanos here did not understand the full truth of the matter as those closer to the situation do. I have shielded him from much, and that is my error. But, it is as he said. Do we let ourselves fall, she wins, and I did not leave my blood on the floor of the Draco Solis' holy temple to permit that." He smiles down at her, his self-control eerily good compared to past days, and what she'd seen at the Soldier's Defense.

Malik says nothing as to whether or not he's been shielded from the truth. He barely seems to react to the descriptions of what Seldan says the fae woman is capable of, distacted by something else. But now, he looks back to Faran, asking, "Is there a reason to suspect that the everstorm is connected to the fae woman? Has such a possibility been mentioned before? Or could it simply be that she was curious, as well?"

Faranmidahn looks up into Seldan's eyes; that control, that evenness too refined, too much like CryoSally and it discomfits her out of reasonable measure. The fact glimmers in her eyes, before they are turned toward Malik for his question. They lower, half lidding in thought, then refocus upon him, "I... don't know. There was only a little left behind. She... she had all the time she wanted. To be anything less than thorough doesn't seem like her." She fidgets a little, then, "We.... saw the materials arranged with the... victims and their effects. We may be able to ask the arcanists what was missing, perhaps the specific topics would reveal another weapon to use against her."

"Or perhaps what was missing was what she did not know and was therefore of interest..." Seldan begins to speak, then starts and lowers his eyes, curiously diffident. "Forgive me, I speak out of turn. I am

"Or perhaps what was missing was what she did not know and was therefore of interest..." Seldan begins to speak, then starts and lowers his eyes, curiously diffident. "Forgive me, I speak out of turn. I am not an expert in the field."

Malik nods. "I think it useful to know. I'm not sure that any of us are experts in the mind of the fae," he sighs. "That -- is not a field of knowledge they tend to teach in wizarding academies. Save for the truly obscure. That is a question still best suited to others. But as this is about magic, perhaps there is more overlap." He pulls a knee to his chest, thinking. "There are too many unanswered questions. And too many uncomfortable answers already."

Faranmidahn closes her eyes a moment and tries to get herself composed while mulling over the situation, "The Everstorm is... an after effect. Perhaps she's looking to undo the cause or... find a way to tap into it's power?" A deep breath, and she brings a hand to her face, "Or... maybe to keep us from doing so... Gods...! I'm so tired...." And then, little Zephyr, the mouse sized white spider scurries toward the cot to climb up and rejoin her mistress, though she seems to hesitate near the human holding her and goes into a little bobbing dance nearby.

Seldan does not answer, seeming to withdraw from the topic of conversation, but instead puts out a hand, palm-up, flat on the bed, as if intending that the spider crawl into his hand. If it does, he'll put the spider immediately onto Faran's knee.

"Possibly," Malik says. "She does seem to be collecting power. Not necessarily just magic. Though the two are often hard to distinguish." He watches as the spider crawls closer, an eyebrow raised, then looks to Seldan. "There are still too many unanswered questions."

The spider draws back a couple of inches, pivoting to look at him for a moment, then she braves the human's intentions and boards the offered platform. Once faran's familiar is settled, she sets a hand lightly nearby and begins to stroke her shell with a thumb, "Thank you. Sir Seldan, this is my new... and so very patient friend, Zephyr. Zephyr, this is Sir Seldan... and Master Malik. She knows... she's a sweetheart, she just knows I'm upset." She looks up at Seldan again, uncertain, and she reaches a little hand up the paladin's face, though her shorter reach means her fingertips just barely graze the underside of his cheekbone, "No, Seldan.... you of everyone I know may know her best, at least, enough to access. Even what Cryo knows is what Sally's allowed her to keep. Cryo... is she cured? Do we know?" Then, "I... when you cured me, why is it only that one sith, or yourself made the attempt? Could a second or third caster not somehow add their own dispels to sever the anchors the... entity relies on? Or somehow aid the primary in augmenting their cast?"

Surprised by the touch on his face, enough to pull from whatever shell he'd withdrawn into, Seldan looks down at Faranmidahn, his eyebrows lifted. "I ... cannot say. I have never attempted the dispelling magics in concert with others. It seems like it might perhaps be a ritual, a field of magic better suited to wizards. But - so long as the magics are compatible, linking the effects for additional power should be possible using Ogalanan's Axiom." He does not, curiously, look up at Malik. "As for Cryosanthia, she is indeed cured of the plague, and seems hale and well, but she is not free of Her influence. She did not attack me today, but I dare not claim her free."

He adds a very small smile. "We must be cautious, in dealing with the plague oozes, that those who beat them back have no open wounds. Even dead, getting their remains in a wound is ... unpleasant."

Faranmidahn frowns deeply and sighs, "I'm so sorry that happened, Seldan... we... managed to settle her down soon after she lost your scent." Her eyes low, as does her hand, the pair of them cradling the fluffy arachnid to her lips for a gentle kiss before depositing her on her shoulder, "The brand is something else I've.... pondered trying to distract myself from... " From 'that', "The brand must be deeper than the scales, or she'd have molted it away during her time in the Tower..." She looks to Seldan's partner, her eyes still troubled, though a little contrite as well, "You were... not necessarily wrong about using the Brand against her through deception... I was... hasty, but I still worry that the ruse would not hold overlong. I... do apologize, Master Malik. If I could.. presume of your greater study in magic I'd ask another question. Could her brand be some kind of augmented Arcane Mark? I... when.... I think on the matter, my thoughts on the magic feel low rate and worthless, and I can only imagine a physical..." she swallows distaste, "A physical solution and I.... I love her, I want there to be some other way... do you think it possible?"

This time, Seldan does look back up at Malik, waiting for an answer, although it is to Faran that he speaks. "The error in truth was mine. I should have allowed the spell to fizzle instead of attempting to realign it, I think that simply caused her a great deal of pain. For that, I apologize, although she assures me that it is not my doing. She is cured, and for that am I grateful."

Malik considers the words, looking between the two of them. He's quiet for some time. "Yes," he finally agrees. "There is another way. There is -always- another way." But, as with all things Malik, there comes a follow-up. "The question is, what price are you willing to pay for it? The other way might not be an efficient way. It might not even be one capable of achievement in this lifetime. What amount of suffering are you willing to tolerate to do so?" He gives a little shrug. "I've not had the opportunity to study the marks with any great detail. They don't seem to me to be the work of epic magics. They could be undone, with enough time, most certainly. But I cannot say for sure without more time. TIme which may very well cause others pain."

The albino shakes her head and sighs, "It... was a mistake, but we know better now..." she tries to assure him. Malik's words again spear her attention, though, the comfort they offer is present, if scant. A thoughtfull look takes her features.

About that time, a guard, bemused, eventually comes down the stairs and down the corridor to stop outside the appropriated cell, cast a curiously speculative eye at the scene for a moment, clears his throat and,"Ah.... Miss Knight?"

The appelation makes the lucht squirm again, but she looks resigned, "I'm not-..." she trails off, glancing to Seldan, then to the guard once more, "Nevermind. Can I help you?" as she slips down out of the man's lap.

"There's a, uh... a package upstairs for you."

Surprised, Seldan lets the lucht go, watching the exchange. "Even so, and yet ... dispelling the mark might be worth the attempt, at least to understand what it does. If someone with it is willing..." While Faranmidahn is gone, he turns to Malik. "It is for that reason that I am wawry of another attempt of dispelling upon the ill. How much suffering do I create, do I err?"

Malik shrugs. "Less suffering than you enable should you refuse. Most medicines are unpleasant under the best of conditions, which are not what we are working with. Sometimes, to save a life, the patient must suffer. Everyone experienced in healing learns this at one time or another. Magic may make it more pleasant, but it does not guarantee it." He frowns, looking down at the dark veins on his arms. "You and I both know full well that the cost is sometimes worth it, even if it cannot be seen at the time."

Malik shrugs. "Less suffering than you enable should you refuse. Most medicines are unpleasant under the best of conditions, which are not what we are working with. Sometimes, to save a life, the patient must suffer. Everyone experienced in healing learns this at one time or another. Magic may make it more pleasant, but it does not guarantee it."

Faranmidahn, herself bemused by the message, leaves the letter in Malik's keeping as she murmurs, "Who even knows I'm here...?" and follows the man up the stairs.

It takes a little while to get up the stairs.

Then... comes a shrill, inarticulate shriek. A rabbit getting stepped on.

A child breaking a few bones...

...or something breaking a Lucht. <halfling>

Seldan's on his feet like a shot, eyes wide. "Come, quickly! I shall lead." Without asking further questions, the paladin sets off at a run, finding his way unerringly back through the corridors towards the guard station, ignoring the prisoners and sick folks in other cells here and there.

Malik hears the scream, clearly debating whether it's a good idea to leave the anti-m... and there goes Seldan, not even questioning it. The wizard groans a bit, rolling up to his feet and running after the paladin. "Seldan! WAIT!" he calls, hesitating for a heartbeat as he looks behind him once more, then follows along again, cursing valiantly in that flowing tsuran tongue.

The guards mill about the table and the sorceress amongst them on her knees, her head twitching as weak, incoherent mumbling tumbles faulty syllables past trembling lips and before her; a narrow box wafting frosted air from amongst the opened petals of white wrapping paper. One of the guards, a relative youngster, is busy heaving his guts out in the corner as the other intone shock and dismay amongst each other, not deigning to approach her. Meanwhile, poor, tiny Zephyr is franticly pawing at her chin with her forelegs.

Seldan dashes through the archway into the guard checkpoint at a full run, and as soon as Malik runs through the archway, he'll find that his ears unstuff and he has magic again. At the tableau before him, he scowls blackly and strides over, peering into the box, but when he does - at least he's got a stronger stomach than the guards. His own features go ashen, and a shudder rips through him, but his scowl doesn't leave, his entire bearing steels, and white-hot fury flashes again behind his eyes, blowing away the diffidence, the hiding, the shell like so much chaff before a hurricane.

"It may yet be saved, if preserved swiftly enough by magic," he tells the guards. "She would goad us into moving too hastily and unprepared. Well, we prepare swiftly, while her prisoners yet live. Malik, we arm and take Faran and this," he nods to the box, "to the Temple of Daeus. We do not destroy it. Can you see what manner of magic may lie on the box? A mark?"

"Faranmidahn. I am here." he leans down and murmurs to the Lucht. "Cry upon my shoulder."

Malik slows as he approaches the box, looking wary. The frost, the snowflake -- there can be no question as to who the box is from. And an infinite possibility as to what it might contain, none of it good. He moves forward a bit more cautiously, peering over the lid -- and the sight within is every bit as horrific as he expected, and more.

Turning away quickly, lest his stomach betray him where his mind at least urges him to move, taking a step back. But he at least does what is asked, activating the sight and trying his best to observe. Carefully. From a safe angle.

Faranmidahn is still twitching head canting and shaking unevenly as she chokes out several more sounds, until finally comes a stammering, "N-nn-no!" She swallows, and tries to turn her head away though her eyes don't, can't leave the horror that's been sent to her. A quick pant, breathless and rasping, and another comes with the start of a cry, 'We arm' and on the next, shuddering try she takes in enough breath to unleash a cry of rage.... another gasp, a wail of horror.... and she looses herself into Seldan's shirt, as a wounded animal keening it's last. <halfling>

Seldan presses his lips tightly together, when the ill-considered wording draws another cry, but he simply scoops Faran up like a cild and stands, letting the distraught knight howl into his shoulder, using his free hand to stroke her hair, his own features a mix of sudden dread, fury, sympathy, and perhaps just a touch of embarrassment that may not be easy to spot. "Close the box as soon as you may, Mal." He stops trying to gather things, focusing instead on the wrecked knight for now, stroking her hair and saying nothing. Her worst fears match his closely - and hers have been realized, that i not a comfortable thought.

Malik moves very carefully closer to the box, getting down to his knees as he carefully reaches for the sides. He pulls it closer to himself, having already considered the outside safe, at least. Looking into the box, he simply shakes his head. "An aura," he says. "Of a magic that --" A frown. "I'm sorry. I'm not -- familiar with -- this." It's not the cold that bothers him. Or even the sight of the severed arm, looking ripped from the subject rather than neatly cut. It's how delicately the thing was wrapped, and the strange magics on it, that make it still seem so -fresh-...

He reaches for the lid, hastily covering the box as he looks away, making a strong effort of will to breathe in, out, normally. "I'm sorry," he tells the others. "There's nothing more I can tell you. I think this beyond me."

The wizard looks -- tired. So very tired.

Faranmidahn has an iron grip on the fabric and the Lucht fluctuates between whimper and keen, sob and howl, shaking her head as if trying burring into the man with it, to escape, to not -know-. Meanwhile, the little spider scurries up onto his shoulder, where it's safer. The guards, abashed, perhaps that another bad package was allowed under their eye, or perhaps that none of them tried to comfort the obviously distraught little woman, are set to motion and they begin to gather the woman's things, as well as those of the others, though no speak. In light of this, none yet dare.

"I will return for my things presently, if Malik cannot take them," Seldan tells the guards, still soothing her with hair strokes and freely allowing Zephyr to climb on him if the creature so wants or finds it easier or safer to do so. "I rely on you, for this journey," he tells Malik, clearly not intending to set her down to grab his own gear. He waits until gear has been gathered and everything is complete, but does not worry just now about his own, and starts out when all is gathered.

Malik is alreayd working on gathering their gear though. Everything is going into that bag of his, the one that doesn't look like it can possibly hold all of that. And yet it fits in just fine. He doesn't even bother putting on his shoes. The last thing, though, is the box -- he takes it, very carefully, from the guards, also setting it in the satchel. Out of sight, out of mind, though he debates this for a good moment. Finally, though, he turns back to SEldan, putting a hand on his shoulder as he holds on to Faran. "To the temple," he agrees.

The magic flows like water, twisting the space around them as Malik briefly brings the two points together, leaving them safely on the other side, disappearing out of the Tower and once more into the Temple, where priests are already waiting, having received magical word.