Asrael sat against the warm, tremoring wall and looked up at the mist swirling over the spherical shield far above the castle’s tallest spires. With his arms crossed over his chest, he kept his peripheral view on the girl laying next to him while the golden-haired Nota tended to the fractured arm. Already, the appendage was looking noticably healthier and although the ulcers were far from healed, they were in the process of getting better. Every now and then, he could see his apprentice’s hand jerk at the tickling, light touches of the soft fingers caressing her arm.
“You’ve never seen magic such as the one keeping this castle together, have you?” Asrael was offended to hear her whiser the accusation.
“And before you try do deny that you are a magus, I will remind you that your eyes are swirling green with magic.” Asrael stopped breathing for a moment- revealing his surprise that finally, after months of walking amidst the non-magical, someone had taken notice of his inhumanity. He cleared his throat and spoke:
“I have seen magic before, yes. But I have yet to see someone so vulgarly display it- especially in this land. Buying this priveliege from the Inquisition must have cost you. Tell me, what did Thomas do to earn this slack of theirs? Sell his mother? Lick the emperor’s feet?” He could see that his words had struck true with her, as her shoulders involuntarily rose up in a silent protest. When she opened her lips, she spoke with a dissonant calm.
“Our privileges have been and will continue to be earned through Thomas’ hard labor. Now... I’ve done all I can for your companion for today. Tomorrow, once her capillaries have reformed, I may continue. Until then, I ask that you refrain from trying your hand at any more of those... repairs.” He raised a disapproving eyebrow and shot an exhalation out through his nose, before returning to gaze out into the night’s sky.
They shared in a common disdain for one-another, before finally, she left him to his own devises by striding for the door. As if to hammer in her suspicions, she shot him a strict glare over her shoulder before closing the light, wooden door in her wake.
Asrael waited until her footsteps faded in the hallway before looking down at his slumbering apprentice. As much as he hated relying on these people’s help, he had learned to improvise ever since his ressurrection and he would be damned if he had come crawling for Thomas’ assistance without getting his honor’s worth of it. Therefore, he stood up from the bed and discarded his boots before sneaking back towards the hallway, where he paused by the door to verify that he was still alone.
He counted ten seconds in complete silence, before heading deeper into the dark hall- seemingly in a random direction... fitting, seeing as he was still uncertain whether as to he would ever find what he was looking for- if it even existed.
Asrael sought a prize more valuable than anything he and his associates might’ve stolen from Pilta. If, by any means, the priceless works of the Tower had survived, then he would be damned if Thomas had not hoarded it for himself and hidden it somewhere in his facility. If Asrael were to succeed in further developing his methods, he needed to usurp some of this knowledge- preferrably without the slug ever finding out about it... or perhaps, he thought, he should proudly display his work.
As he snuck down the cool corridor, he figuratively rubbed his palms together as he imagined his old nemesis’ wrinkled, decrepit face contort with displeasure upon seeing his pristine, time-spared face.
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Neda’s rage had faded as soon as she had sat down in the pleasant company’s padded, fine carriage. The black paint had glistened in the dimness of the night and she had taken several paces around the construct to mire in its beauty before she had accepted the handsome man’s invitation inside, where she could still view the exterior through a clear, glass window.
The Purged had sat down in silence at the front- beneath a stylish awning, where he was safe from the cold rain pouring down through the mist. The dark-skinned, glorious Lady had already procured a pair of blankets and extended them in her visitors’ direction as Neda and Kester sat down, whereas Barrel had returned to their cart to re-strap the horses and follow after them as they journeyed on through the foggy lands.
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Neda and Kester both took the blankets and wrapped them tightly over their shoulders- shivering as the cold began to set in in full. The two wayward companions in search of their glorious leader appeared miserable, where they sat and clattered their teeth, whereas the other two seemed overjoyed to be in the company of their esteemed visitors- despite never having met them ever before.
“S-so... w-what d-did y-you d-do t-to t-those m-men?” Kester spoke between his clapping jaws. The dark-skinned woman giggled into her hand as their savior- the black-haired, handsome gentleman kicked his leg over his right knee and confessed: “Suffice to say that I rid my corner of the world of some pests, yes? We have been searching for them for weeks, but they have always escaped our detection.”
Kester did not disapprove of the murder- rather, he disapproved of the method. Thankfully, Marigold- his apprentice, seemed to understand the tavernkeeper’s hesitance. With her smooth, calm voice, she spoke: “Ah, I believe he was referring to the magic.” Neda found the handsome man eerily comparative to Asrael as he scratched his chin with a charming smile.
“Ah, yes. I simply made some adjustment to the atmospheric static charges and caused a discharge of energy.” Neda’s stomach growled as his complicated, strange speech reminded her once again that Asrael was out of her reach.
Kester blinked. “T-that’s a-a c-complicated w-way of-f s-saying y-you d-deep f-fried ten guys.” The woman’s soft giggle lessened some of the tavernkeeper’s discomfort. She spoke: “Worry not. I can feel that you are both of magical blood, but know that you are safe here- this is a safe harbor for us.” Kester might’ve snorted a laugh had he not been so discomforted by the cold. Instead, he spoke sternly:
“I’m n-no m-magus.”
Her smile had a hint of mischievousness to it as she rested her head atop her hand and shook her head. Before she could explain herself, Neda spoke: “W-well, I am! A-and m-my Master is t-the m-most powerful m-magicker out there. S-speaking o-of w-which, c-can't this t-thing go any f-faster!? I-I n-need t-to see him, now!”
Both the strangers laughed at her insistence, but the man was the one to raise his hands and dismiss her worries. “We are almost there- I assure you. I must say, I am curious as to see who this man is. He must be special to have captivated the two of you so- why else would you brave the Foglands?” Kester pinched the bridge of his nose. If only he knew how special her Master was...
Hoping to avoid any further deliberation on Asrael’s extravagance from the deluded girl, Kester questioned: “You never told us who you guys a-are...” the handsome man chuckled and motioned for his companion.
“Forgive my manners. We are people of science- on a mission to gather herbs, initially, when we found evidence of the assaults. Healing requires mixology, which in turn requires a selection of these lands’ flora.” Kester nodded a shallow understanding.
“I’m something of a m-mixologist, m-myself... T-tavern...keeper...” He muttered and leaned back against the soft, leather seat- increasingly more aware that they were purposely avoiding introducing themselves by name. Neda blew loudly into her palms and warmed them between her thighs with a long, drawn-out, disappointed frown.
“This sucks s-so b-bad... H-he s-should b-be between m-my legs, n-not m-my hands...” Kester grinned with discomfort as the two processed her words and subsequently burst into laughter. The tavernkeeper brought his cold, wet palm to his forehead and asked: “M-maybe y-you've g-got something for t-that? D-do anti love-potions e-exist?” The woman nodded- maintaining her smile.
“To an extent, yes. But they are far more complicated than you would think.” Kester could definitively see some use to mixology, if these people could be trusted. Perhaps, if he were lucky, he could talk them into brewing something to help him forget his child-snatching wife. The man brushed the few strands of hair escaping the band at the back of his head, over his ears and asked: “But whyever would you wish for such a thing? Love- even when one-sided is what makes life worth living, would you not agree? The throbbing of chests, the light-headedness- the overflowing juices of life. Taking that away from someone would be a crime!”
Neda seemed slightly less hesitant of their hosts as she felt his words resonate with her. He turned his green eyes on his dark-skinned companion and briefly smiled a silent understanding- one it seemed she reciprocated. Neda shouted:
“Right!? So w-why do s-some people p-pretend like t-they're not in love, when they obviously are? W-why w-would they lie to themselves and t-to me!?” The man seemed confused, but the girl gave the distinct impression she knew exactly what Neda spoke of.
“Ah... a novice. Very well, then. Let me tell you about a technique- we call it the ‘hard-to-get'.”