The Mourner's Chill

Log Info

• Title: The Mourner's Chill

• Emitter: Verna

• Characters: Ravenstongue, Verna

• Place: Auranar and Verna's residence

• Summary: Ravenstongue goes to visit Verna and explain what's happened to Auranar. What follows is a discussion of things ranging from Auranar to the demon and then to the werewolves. Verna returns to her studies as Ravenstongue leaves, the sorceress unsure of her standing with her sister-in-law and how to proceed with Auranar's wishes from here.

Despite the sun being present, one might not know it with the thick cover of grey clouds. The house on the mountain is not too dissimilar: little light, if any, emerges from the still-shuttered windows; there is no smoke from the hearth, or it is so miniscule that it promptly blends with the color (or lack) of the rest of the sky.

It is gray just as before when Cor'lana came to this house, and she does so with a freshly-baked pie from a bakery in her wicker basket--a pie sized for two, but she knows full and well there ought to only be one person at the other Lúpecyll-Atlon residence. She wears a lavender-color dress that bares enough of her neckline to show the full mark on her chest, and it's something that she seems to show with pride as she looks down at it and offers it a smile every now and then.

That being said... The person inside this house wasn't exactly notified about what happened. When one operates on fey whim and will, sometimes information-giving is left behind in the process. So, she maintains a neutral but pleasant expression as she knocks on the door and waits.

There is a moment of silence following the knock; perhaps enough to make one suspect it may be unoccupied. Then a rapid pattering of footfalls approach the door and it opens: not narrow and tentative, first, but opened fully by Verna.

Who is currently attired in a simple houserobe, possibly hastily donned, overtop a single-piece coverall style of pajama: complete with covered feet.

"I am s-" she begins to announce before the identity of the visitor even registers. Upon whence she halts. "Ah. Cor'lana. Unexpected..." a pause before she adds, "yet not unwelcome. Please, come in." It is only then that she notices the pie and her lips purse in a near-frown.

"I have news for you," Cor'lana says lightly. "It's good news, genuinely--but the nature of it means I should speak about it inside."

She follows Verna inside, and she elects to tell Verna the glance of the matter first as consolation while she looks for someplace to put down the pie that she's brought with her. "First off: let me tell you up-front. Auranar is safe. She's with Grandfather. She will be there for some time of her own free will and chose to go to Quelynos. He will keep her safe from anything that may come, because she has received a gift that she must learn how to use."

Verna seems to suspect something of the news in the time between Cor'lana entering and Verna closing the door behind them. "Aura is gone. You bring pie." Words uttered flatly before her guest can get to her initial explanation, and are either guess and basic observation, or believed to correlate together somehow.

There is table near the chairs, no longer occupied with the tea service. The hearth behind is long since exhausted and cold, though the few mana lamps provide somewhat adequate lighting.

Cor'lana's subsequent statement of where, what, and a bit of why is then parsed. Either this is no quick task and she is occupied, or Verna is in no haste to comment or question further just yet.

Of course, Cor'lana takes in the state of the household. She knew, already, to some degree how cold the place was compared to its usual livery. She nods a little to herself, like she plans to address this later, and places the pie down on the table, taking a seat by it.

"Verna," she says. "I've told you before about my arrangement with Grandfather. My pact. Because of Auranar's acts when we all went to visit Grandfather--he wanted to grant one to Auranar. To make her stronger, to give her the love she didn't have growing up. And she accepted--and she surprised both of us by declaring that she wanted to stay with Grandfather for some time in Quelynos, to train with him and learn of the power she has inherited from him."

It's explained gently but in a matter-of-fact way, a thing that Cor'lana thinks that Verna might appreciate. "When I left Quelynos, she told me to look after you and make sure you'd be okay," she adds.

Verna makes her way unhurriedly towards Cor'lana, the table, the pair of comfortable chairs. She nods simply to her sister-by-choice's words. There is no sign of worry, ire, elation, nor anything else on her utterly neutral countenance.

"It was my observation that her actions were most brave, and successful: that it was she who rescued Grandfather and made him well. She did not agree. Auranar believed that she was of little use to us, and more liability: a hostage waiting to be taken to turn us from our goals. She wished to be away from me. She succeeded."

Verna looks to Cor'lana a long moment before exhaling and nodding once more. "Yet, she is safe with Grandfather. She shall survive, and so shall I."

"Important distinction, however," Cor'lana says, taking the pie and beginning to split it with a serving knife she brings out of her wicker basket. "Auranar is not a hostage with Grandfather. She is there of her own will. She is there because Grandfather gave her a way to feel that she is no longer a liability, that she will grow with him and because of him."

She takes out two plates from her basket and puts the slice of pie onto the plate, nudging it in the direction of her sister-by-choice. "What Grandfather gave her was life. Joy. The opportunity to be free of shackles and burdens, to give her a place where she could learn how to draw from herself--and him--as a place of power. She is now my sister by blood in addition to choice, and that makes the notion of a family all the more powerful--one that wanted her. One that still wants her. And that means you by extension."

Cor'lana has at least the good grace to look a little bashful on the heels of that last line. "Not that means we're going to offer a pact to you," she says. "But Grandfather simply decided: not only was she ready, but she needed it."

Verna dips her head in a nod once more. "All was by her choice; I would never expect nor imply that Grandfather would hold her against her will, Cor'lana. Nor would I presume nor demand any boons from him or any of you." Only after does she glance down to the plate. "Your offering is appreciated, and I shall eat. Later."

She steps from that table to the larger and lower table near the couch, the former covered with several open tomes and scrolls. Verna seats herself on the couch to glance over the items upon that table. "There is much to study and organize before we assault the lycanthropes and the Red Maw. I should return to that. Halting them is our pressing goal, and I assured her that we would not be distracted from it."

There's a flicker of something in Cor'lana's eyes as Verna mentions lycanthropes. It oscillates between grief and... anger? Yes, there's a quiet anger in her eyes. "That, and the matter of Jal'goroth, are my objectives, as well," Cor'lana replies. She cuts herself her own slice of pie and begins to eat it, as it's a pie for two and ought to be shared.

She pauses after taking two bites and finishing them. "Verna. Marsward. Do you know anyone by that name?" she asks. "I believe according to Telamon, his full name is Marsward Seraquoix?"

"Yes, Jal'goroth as well," Verna concurs as she peers over her notations and tomes. "However, he is secondary. If the fiend's goal is to divert attention from halting The Nightmare, then the logical and prudent response is to redouble efforts at thwarting The Nightmare." The follow-up query causes her to pause for a long moment of thought. "No, I do not believe that name is familiar to me. Not in any recent or memorable context. Should it be?"

A mote of pain surfaces in Cor'lana's eyes as she tries to figure out the words to say, exactly. Finally, however, she says, "Zalgiman told me that was the man who turned him into a werewolf. Offered him power and strength when he was a young man on the brink of despair--and took advantage of him. It was because of Marsward that Zalgiman thought himself to be doomed on the dark path, and that my words could not reach him unless I broke from Telamon and gave him the lie of love that Zalgiman wanted."

She sighs deeply. And then... killing intent, hard and lethal, settles into her violet eyes. "For him, I've decided I will get vengeance. I want Marsward's death and I want it to be with Zalgiman's name on my lips." This is quite different from the last time that Zalgiman was discussed in the walls of the residence.

Verna looks up from her table, then, to Cor'lana. "It will not change what has passed, yet it would prevent that particular lycanthrope from imparting its affliction upon any in the future." She considers a moment further. "However, that he offered such, rather than merely ravenously imparted the same, I would consider significant. In that manner, this Marsward was, or is, less bestial than most of The Nightmare's Spawn."

"I still consider him evil," Cor'lana said. The emotions that swell within her are bright and evident as anything. "He took advantage of a young man's despair and doom. He was not honest nor forthright about what it meant. It was Zalgiman's choice to continue walking down the path--but it is also my choice to ensure that Marsward never preys on those who have fallen and have never felt the comfort of the gods."

Her eyes go back down to her slice of pie. "I wish to destroy the Red Maw and to save this world from strife, as well, and I know that I cannot bring Zalgiman back nor make him good--but I want him to know from in the Halls, someone wanted to do well by him. Someone cared."

"Indeed, he did," Verna affirms, "and, indeed, he is vile. At least as much so as those who spread that affliction forcefully and intently, and perhaps less so than those who did the same, but unknowingly or unwillingly. I bid you fortune on that endeavor, Cor'lana, for it is just. As well, it is far more manageable to focus upon the one, as the number of afflicted or afflicted by continues to grow exponentially."

Her head and eyes return to her papers. "Should you wish to offer words or prayers for his benefit or assurance, The Harpist's temple offers an appropriate setting to do so."

Despite the fact that she's dealing with her own emotions, there's a sense of quiet realization as she watches Verna return to the papers. It's a moment that passes, with the feytouched woman's emotional attention going from inward to outward, focusing on the fellow half-sil.

"I've been ranting this whole time, haven't I," she says. It's phrased like a question but it hasn't been said like one. Violet eyes peer at Verna more earnestly. "I..."

A sigh leaves Cor'lana. "I'm sorry. I haven't even managed to say those words, have I. I should have left word regarding Auranar before we left. I should have considered your feelings in addition to Auranar's. For those, I am sorry."

"There is naught that warrants apology, Cor'lana," Verna assures her as she makes a few notes, displaying that she is attentive to both, or all, despite the division of focus. "You did not take her captive any more than Grandfather did, and I am just as confident that you would never do such a thing. She is safe, foremost. I presume that she is comfortable, as well. By your account, she receives the affection, peace of mind, and training that she could not find elsewhere. I am most grateful; I would that she obtains all that she requires and desires. All is deserved. I would not begrudge her such, much less ever prevent her from the same."

Her succinct, precise printing pauses for a moment, enough for two cycles of breath. "Your presence is ever welcome, and I intend no offense, yet I am a poor hostess at present. There is much to attend to. One being Telamon and that curse. Rest assured that such is also well in mind." One hand gestures to a trio of tomes on the table on applicable or relevant topics.

"That said, I would ask that you take your leave lest I risk further family to consider themselves distractions, or truly prove to be. Due to the well-documented and experienced inequalities in time between Ea and Quelynos, she may return in a fortnight or upon a century. Prudence demands that I complete my last vow to her prior to the lesser timespan."

Cor'lana knows Verna well enough by now to recognize that her words are not intended to be barbs. There is the slight wince on them regardless, but her attention turns to Verna's tomes and papers, and she recognizes them for what they are: work. This is a woman in motion, and there's one thing that's said about people in motion...

"I'll get out of your hair, then," Cor'lana says, smiling. She leaves the plates, the pie, and the silverware on the table, but she takes up her basket. "Do you want me to help out with your hearth before I leave? My sister did ask me to take care of you--and while you are a grown woman, I will at least ensure that you are cared for."

"My thanks for your generous offer," Verna notes, her writing resuming, "yet we shall be not be cold. Hunter possesses fur," though he has been notably absent at present, "and the abjuration upon myself shall endure for some time. I shall light the hearth when such is required. We shall speak again soon enough, Cor'lana. I presume that Telamon, and possibly yourself, shall be be available in the immediate future? Once I complete these last notes, he shall be my focus and I shall prepare to do all that I am able. One should not be denied the comfort of one's spouse, after all."

That last line strikes Cor'lana again. Yet... She understands. They have all been through much. And the truth is that she, herself, is still suffering for the lack of Telamon's touch.

"I understand," she replies. "Then I will leave you to it. We will be available in the future, yes--send word after us and we will arrive."

Cor'lana offers Verna one more small smile, an uneasy thing in the face of all that's happened. "I'll let myself out," she says, making her way to the front door. "Good day, Verna."

Verna dips her head: it could be a nod to Cor'lana as she moves to depart or simply a motion due to whatever she reads at that moment. "I shall do so. Fare well, Cor'lana, and may you be judged fairly and at your appointed time." An earnest, technically positive, and common blessing from a Mourner for greeting or parting. It is also not the most vivacious nor inspiring option for the same reason.