Fable - Ask Following the trail of bones

[Archanae]

They walked a while, the only sound between them the grinding of bones sinking into the earth like giant spades.

Finally, when Radu was out of sight, beyond hills of carcasses and workers, did she speak. She didn't know how far his inhuman ears might reach, so it was better to be safe than sorry.

"You have been swift to commit yourself to service." Too quick, her frown said. "But you should know what manner of creature you are binding yourself to, before you do so. What do they call you?"

Lazarus Jeager
Radu Basarab

 

[Radu Basarab]

Archanae
Lazarus Jeager

Radu's eyes followed Archanae and Lazarus, keen, unblinking. He made no move to follow. There was no need. He could already imagine the shape of their conversation: the careful words, the sidelong glances, the weighing of options. Self-preservation. Perhaps even the moral calculus of serving something like him.

He harbored no illusions on that count.

Archanae was perturbed by him. He could see it in the way she carried herself in his presence, that particular disquiet that came from standing too close to something that shouldn't exist. And yet she remained. Curiosity, that most dangerous of appetites, had sunk its hooks into her deeper than fear could pry loose. She would stay until she had the knowledge she coveted, or until her nerve finally failed her. Whichever came first.

The other one, though. Lazarus. That man troubled him in a different fashion.

He was too eager. Too quick to offer his hands to the work. No hesitation, no haggling, no carefully negotiated terms. Just... willingness. And willingness without cause was a sign of either profound madness or engineered calculation. Radu eliminated the former possibility with the same cold efficiency he might use to snap a sparrow's neck. Dismissed it utterly. A necromancer with a charitable heart was an absurdity on par with flying pigs, talking elephants, and Anirians who regarded elves without bloodshed in mind.

No. Lazarus wanted something.

That was manageable. Desire was a leash, and Radu had held many leashes in his long existence. The man would reveal his hand eventually, they always did. Such was the nature of the usual hungers that drove the sane to sup at tables they should have fled screaming from.

 

[Lazarus Jeager]

Lazarus followed in silence until he was spoken too, more so out of an understanding that this woman was gaining distance for a reason, it was clear she wanted to talk about the entity she was in league with. Turning to her as she spoke, Lazarus would give her his full attention, meeting her gaze with that ever present smile.

"What do they call me? I suppose Occultist and Necromancer would fit the bill enough. If you are asking my name I gave that to you earlier, I have been known to be called a Curseborn by family and those who are like me..." Pulling the sleeves of his robes back he would offer her a look at the markings and symbols that stretched across his body, an ancient curse of some kind thrumming with magical energy that felt far older than himself. Letting the sleeves fall back down, Lazarus would take off the skull adorning his face and look at her plainly now, running his thin fingers through ebony locks to keep them from his face.

"you are correct, I do not know the full extent of the being I have offered my services too, and yet you have pledged yourself to him in apprenticeship even knowing what he is, or at least having some idea of what he is. Your concern does not go unnoticed or unappreciated by the way, I do wish to stay alive for a while longer so if I've made a grave error I'd like to know." His tone was appreciative and welcoming, amber eyes honest as he spoke with her, no ill intentions or misdirection.

Radu Basarab Archanae

 

[Archanae]

Archanae eyed Lazarus for a long moment. Sifting his eloquent words for the truth between them.

"Curseborn, you say? I think I have heard the term." She adjusted her shawls before her, as if gathering her meagre cloth in protection against the hostile environment. "I have indeed pledged myself. For that which I seek he possesses. He is a fascimile of immortality. Amortal flesh sculpted for abnormal digestion and such a font of flowing necromancy as to make him akin to a maelstrom. A devourer of souls and flesh, first to eat his own spirit and mortality, then the world. However, as a servant of Halch, he gains these powers from another. Something even more terrible than him." Her cinnamon eyes seemed to flash blue with eerie clarity for a split second. "Ultimately, you risk being sucked in by this dark vortex. As do I."

Her whole face turned piercing; honed in to a point on his now-revealed face. Those honest and warm features. Too amiable to be true. Sifting, sifting.

"So what warrants such a risk for you? What is it you seek?"

Lazarus Jeager