A well-kept topiary. (Enorian.) (4440)
The stars twinkle in the clear night sky. Trabarg the archeologist is here,
pacing around in a circle. A carved trough rests here, its bronze fittings
engraved with clockworks. A large, blood-splattered totem has been erected here,
formed of obsidian, ivory and red-wood. Facing outwards and surrounding the
totem are a large ivory bear, an obsidian raven and a red-wood serpent. A stout
donkey stands patiently by, waiting for a burden. There are 2 monolith sigils
here. A bright-eyed missionary serenely patrols the streets of Enorian.
Snowflakes falling from its form, a miniature ice elemental rests here.
Exits: north.

Alistaire enters from the north following Daingean.

Daingean turns towards you and places his palms together in front of his chest,
bowing respectfully.

Alistaire inclines his head politely to you.

You have emoted: Gentle turns with a faint smile, and after a moment's
hesitation, tries out a salute.

Daingean drops into a comfortable crouch, studying you quietly. "Hello, Mister
Gentle," he says after a long moment.

look dain
He is a dexterous Yeleni. The top of his head would not reach the shoulder of
most ponies, yet such a fact does not diminish the quiet power coiled within his
broad, stocky form. A crop of auburn hair has been cut short, not so much in
style but so that the least amount of attention can be paid to it. Encircling
his unkempt locks, a simple iron headband serves to keep his field of vision
clear. Bushy, ruddy brows seem perpetually drawn into a scowl, both by act and
by the lines engraved into his forehead by the expression. In contrast, his eyes
are a lively bright green, with pupils comprised of miniature flame.
He is wearing:
a bottomless letter satchel
leather gloves with an inset crest
a thin headband of beaten iron
a practical money pouch
4 silver rings
a black Khimaira gi uniform
a bow of the Hunt
a quiver of Cthalut
simple sandals of black leather
an anaxagorite Khimaira pendant
an oiled black leather pack
a smooth ring of snowflake obsidian
a buckler
a pair of whirring diffusal goggles
a suit of leather armour
a lunar eclipse medallion
a necklace of purity
a tower shield
an iron torc with an Atavian feather
an iron ylem-binding gauntlet
He walks with the blessing of Auresae.

You have emoted: A bit off-guard, Gentle instinctively mimics the motion,
sinking into a squat. "Sir," he says, grinning nervously.

Alistaire rests his armoured hands on the hilts of the scimitars hanging at his
waist and regards the conversation silently.

"I am Daingean Fiadhaich," Daingean introduces himself quietly. "The fellow with
me is Alistaire. I've come to speak with you regarding citizenship. Ambassador
Taygeta tells me you're not all that interested in dwelling on your past."

You have emoted: Gentle's mouth quirks slightly. "That's true, sirrah. The past
is finished. There is nothing to be gained from it - whatever it gave us in the
experiences it brought was enough to know."

Daingean cocks his head to the side, a frown tugging at his lips. "I am inclined
to agree, insofar as personal experiences might be concerned. No one wishes for
a list of your bedmates and the various sores and abrasions you might have
incurred. You are older than most who come to us with no past to speak of. You
can perhaps understand the unease that an unknown entity might cause us," he
says after a moment. "We are wary folk, besieged easily enough by agents of
shadow. Thought we are capable of trust, a hand extended too quickly risks being
lopped off."

Daingean coughs lightly and says, "Though, not thought."

You have emoted: Gentle rests his elbows on his knees, holding out his hands.
"Then lop them off, sir. I have a suspicion that they might grow back." A sudden
laugh and a shrug.

Daingean's frown deepens before he says, "There are some wounds not undone so
easily, Mister Gentle."

You have emoted: "So it is. I hope never to discover mine." Gentle's smile is
slightly rueful, though not so profound as to be sad. "But I would put you at
ease, sir, if I can. How may I do so?"

Grandmaster Daingean Fiadhaich says, "Simple. You can tell me - in general terms
- what has kept you busy and enthused since you left home, if you had a home to
leave. Herald Alistaire and I will take what you tell us here, and after
discussion, decide if you're to be admitted to Enorian. You need only provide
enough detail to allow for context."

You have emoted: Gentle tilts his head slightly. "Home. I've been staying in the
Good Knight's Rest, the last six years. It's the first home I remember." He
rises to his feet, sinking his hands deep into his pockets. His expression is
placid, unnaturally untouched for his age. "I remember entering the inn with...
ah, rather an inordinate sum in my pockets."

You have emoted: With a flash of a grin, Gentle jerks his hands to make his
pockets jingle, which they do. "I bought a year's rent, then. I've done it again
each year since."

Daingean raises an eyebrow and asks, "Any inkling where your sum materialized
from?"

Pentarch Alistaire Ridire asks you, "If you cannot provide more information
regarding where you came from...can you tell the Vanguard and I what caused you
to join the Ascendril? Or why you wish to become a citizen of the
Beacon?"

You have emoted: First a shrug, then a nod. "The money - god knows." Gentle
laughs. "It could be blood money or fine inheritance. Perhaps in a former life I
was a prince. As for the Ascendril..." He resumes his crouched position before
Daingean. "I am a painter, sir. No great painter, certainly, but... I've an eye
for beautiful things in this world." He smiles sincerely, deep tenderness in his
eyes as he looks at his hands. "There are wells of power, passion, beauty to be
had - I have a sense that the mages know something of them."

You smile and say, "Call it a whim, if you will, sir.  But a whim motivated by a
profound and abiding love."

Alistaire creases his brow in a frown.

Daingean's candle flame pupils flicker slightly, his expression rendered blank
as his frown fades away. "Anything else you wish to tell us that you feel
relevant?" he asks lightly.

You have emoted: Gentle's mouth twitches again. "I wish I could tell you I was a
criminal, sir. Or a spy, or a time-release troublemaker. It would make me far
more interesting. What I am at the moment is a painter with talent and nothing
to say. I'm looking for a pretty thing to paint, and I hope to find it in your
fine city."

Daingean stands from his crouch, brushing absently at his uniform to smooth out
any creases. "Very well," he says. "Thank you, for this conversation."

You have emoted: Glancing up, Gentle squints into the sun. "Of course, sir. As
many more as you like." He rises, half-stumbling on his way to his feet.

Alistaire leaves to the ether following Daingean.

(Shortly thereafter...)

The Black Flagon Inn.
A sigil in the shape of a small, rectangular monolith is on the ground. A simple
oaken bin that reads 'Empty Glasses Here' is here. A beautifully carved chess
board is attached firmly to a heavy stand here. Hurriedly making her way between
patrons, Rispina busies herself nearby. A small wooden table is here, an oaken
chair, 4 simple oaken chairs, and 4 simple wooden chairs have been placed at it.
A square oaken table is here, 7 oaken chairs have been placed at it.  You see a
sign here instructing you that WARES is the command to see what is for sale.
Exits: east, south, west, and up.

Lisane arrives from the west.

Lisane inclines her head politely to you.

look lisane
She is an experienced Idreth vampire and carries herself with a noble bearing
true to her Blooded heritage. Her shoulders are square and her back is ramrod
straight, almost to the point of looking stiff. Sporting luminescent green eyes
and an aquiline nose, her face is framed by straight, shoulder-length brown hair.
  Her complexion is smooth and olive, as though she had spent many days in the
sun, but had not encountered any of the damage.  Her small hands feature long,
tapering fingers with nails glinting a cerulean blue.  A massive set of white
wings, speckled with silver, sprout from the depths of her back. She is wearing:
a twisted spike earring
a black and red pack of Bloodloch
a black pearl hairpin
a silver icicle knuckle ring
a multifaceted apotropaic ring
an elegant cloak of sapphire blue
a lightning bolt puzzle ring
an all-seeing eye earring
a shadowy ring
2 silver rings
a thin black band
a ring of fire
a lunar eclipse medallion
an enchanting ivory and sapphire dress
an elegant black and white mask
a pair of boots of the spider
a blue crystal amulet
an iron ylem-binding gauntlet
a pair of diffusal goggles
Celestine spiked knuckles
H|1188 M|1548 E|100% W|100% X|28.184% () (ehsm) eb -
A comely barmaid expertly weaves between the various patrons of the inn holding
a rather large platter of food aloft. Reaching the table, she places the dishes
upon it with a smile, the delicious aroma of the food able to be smelled even
from where you are.

Lisane gives you a polite smile, her eyes glancing around as she takes in the
room casually.

You have emoted: Gentle glances up from dabbing at a rather transparent spot on
his collar. "Miss. Beg your pardon." He rises and offers a long-fingered hand.

Lisane takes your proffered hand for a brief moment, and lightly takes a seat
next to you, taking care to make sure her dress isn't creased. "Greetings,
Gentle. A pleasure to meet you," she states.

You have emoted: "Miss...?" Gentle asks carefully. "So it is." He takes you in
with unobtrusive but noticeable interest, noting details with an artist's eye.
"Is there a title you prefer?"

Her posture straight as ever, Lisane tilts her head slightly as she appraises
you. "I am Grand Duchess Lisane, of House Lunare." She pauses for a moment.
"Correct Peerage would call for you to refer to me with a formal title, but
since you are not of the House, you may call me Lisane."

You have emoted: Gentle's mouth twitches very slightly. "Lisane Lunare. You
couldn't have chosen better if it were yours to choose. Was it?" He picks up his
drink from the table, raising it to his lips but still watching you over the rim.
 "Did you pick your own name?"

Lisane gives a faint smile at your words, her gaze dating to the corner for a
moment before it rests on you again. "It was, in a sense, mine to choose. It is
a somewhat recent change though, so I am not quite used to it."

Lisane ponders the situation.

Grand Duchess Lisane Lunare says, "My first name was, of course, chosen by my
mortal parents, centuries ago. My last name though, is a different story."

You have emoted: Gentle nods his understanding, though not quite comprehensive,
perhaps. "You remember a great deal," he murmurs thoughtfully. While one hand
conveys his cup to his lips for a slow sip, the other reaches out and takes a
liberty in touching a fingertip to your brow. "Centuries upon centuries piled up
in here... and I with not even the years I've lived to burden my mind."

Lisane smiles wistfully, and though her face is turned towards you, she seems to
be smiling at something else, perhaps a memory. "Ah, sometimes I wonder if I
only pretend to remember such things. In truth, many of my early memories are
rather hazy, especially after long periods of slumber." She sucks thoughtfully
on her teeth, fangs barely visible in the light. "You do not remember much of
your years spent in the realm?"

You have emoted: Gentle shakes his head. "The last six, eight, ten years...
perhaps. Perhaps more if I had done anything worth mentioning, save look at
pretty things, and paint them. Beyond ten years? Nothing." He looks up, laughing
softly. "The leaders of Enorian find me suspicious, want to know what
troublemaking I did in the years I can't account for. I wish I could tell them...
 but I don't wish very hard. I think they care more about my past than I
do!"

Lisane raises an eyebrow. "You paint?" she asks curiously. "I am not much of an
artist save for designing, but I always appreciate a good work of art or two."
Lisane gives a wry smile. "It seems that Enorian these days has worked at...
sniffing out those they find...suspicious," she grins, a slight emphasis on the
last word. "For instance, they have recently enemied all Syssin, claiming that
they do not follow the Light and thus deserve enemy status." She taps her
knuckles with a finger. "So their actions regarding you do not surprise me
either."

You have emoted: Gentle shrugs, chuckling. "I am only following my guild's
request in submitting my name, so I suppose they're welcome to dismiss me if
they like, for all I care. And yes... I paint. But I wouldn't call myself an
artist." Offering you a self-deprecating smile, he says, "It's one matter to see
a beautiful creature in the world and, and lay down one's sight on paper. A true
artist has beautiful things in their head, something to say that no one else has
ever heard."

You have emoted: Gentle murmurs, gazing at you across his glass, "I have nothing
to say. The only beauty in me is reflected... only what I see."

Lisane smiles faintly, a twinkle in her eye. "That sounds almost like something
a follower of Auresae or Niuri or some such Divine would say." She pauses, as if
to consider her wording. "As followers, the reflect the light, or essence, or
whatever you would like to deem it, of their chosen Patron, much like how an
artist reflects the beauty he or she perceives."

Grand Duchess Lisane Lunare says, "They, rather."

You have emoted: "Is it so? I've never met such a man, or I don't remember."
Gentle swallows and bares his teeth at his glass with a soft hiss. "And what do
others believe about beauty?"

Lisane ponders the situation.

Lisane gives a trillingly melodic laugh.

Lisane gives you an amused look. "My House may be reknowned for its artists, but
I confess that I lack knowledge regarding what is truly beautiful."
Unconsciously, her posture straightens even more as she continues. "I have
always pursued Excellence, not beauty."

Lisane looks about herself, rubbing her chin thoughtfully.

Grand Duchess Lisane Lunare says, "It concerns me only insofar as there can be
beauty in achieving excellence."

Lisane smiles wryly.

You have emoted: "There may be an overlap between those goals," Gentle muses.
"Although one could argue that excellence is an attempt to approach perfection...
 whereas beauty is built of the shivering tension between flawlessness and flaws.
 In which area I must confess, miss, you are being singularly reticent."
Grinning, he rises to address the bartender, keeping one amused eye on you all
the while.

You pay 150 gold sovereign and receive a miniature shot-sized glass with a stiff
shot of "The Savior".

You give a miniature shot-sized glass to Lisane.

You wryly say, "You may consider the drink's name entirely irrelevant to the
conversation, of course."

Lisane tilts her head curiously. "Reticent? Hardly," she says with an amused
expression. "I am not Syssin, you see," she declares. "My goals are simple,
Gentle. To achieve Excellence, which I believe can be found by shedding one's
flaws and pursuing Strength in various areas."

Lisane blinks.

Lisane takes the glass with a hesitant hand. "Ah, I do not normally imbibe
alcohol in inns, but I will make an exception for present company." She cups the
glass carefully and examines the contents for a moment, her eyebrow arched.

Grand Duchess Lisane Lunare says to you, "Thank you for the drink, Gentle."

You have emoted: "You are very kind to accept it," Gentle says, smiling as he
resumes his seat. "Now, on the subject of perfection - oh! Yes. That's what I
was rambling about before you distracted me with your pretty face. You should
know better, dammit." He gives you a teasingly reproving look before assuming an
attitude of contemplation.

Lisane inclines her head at your words, but makes no move to try her drink just
yet. "I have been called many things in my Undeath," she muses. "But having a
"pretty face," is certainly not one of them," she gives you a light smirk. "But
thank you anyway. Your drink matches your lustrous hair, by the by," she
declares solemnly, her eyes sparkly in amusement.

Lisane taps her glass with a fingernail as a more contemplative atmosphere falls
upon her shoulders. "Perfection, hn. I suppose such a thing depends on your
definition of perfection, no?"

You have emoted: Gentle crosses his eyes in a rather foolish way, raising a hand
to an errant curl falling across his brow. "I... wish that were the first time
I'd been compared to a vice, m'lady," he quips, recovering his composure. "But
ah... aye, I suppose so. To my mind, however, one should consider masonry when
thinking of perfection."

You say, "There are many ways to construct a wall, aye?  One might pour a wall,
as of ceramic or lava, or of water to be frozen into ice, that would solidify
into a single mass.  That would be a perfect wall, one without flaw, seam or
mark.  Aye?"

Lisane seems to think for a moment before nodding slowly.

Grand Duchess Lisane Lunare says, "That is so."

Grand Duchess Lisane Lunare says, "That, is perfection. Excellence in its purest
form."

(Ascendril): Taygeta says, "How are you both doing?"

(Ascendril): You say, "Talking of masonry."

(Ascendril): You say, "Very fascinating!"

You have emoted: Gentle nods slowly. "Then, also, one might construct a wall out
of bricks. This method would use smaller pieces, and where the pieces were
flawed, or broken, or had rough edges, one would fill in the gaps with mortar.
One would make these flaws, in a way, part of the most solid portion of the wall."

You say, "And if one were to push over the first wall... the whole wall would
fall, yes?  Because it has no flaws.  It would come down as a single mass."

You say, "Whereas the second... the second would divide along its seams, its
flaws... but the rest would stand strong when the weak portion fell."

Lisane looks about herself, rubbing her chin thoughtfully.

Grand Duchess Lisane Lunare says, "Well, a perfect wall would not be able to be
pushed over."

Grand Duchess Lisane Lunare says, "Otherwise it clearly is a result of faulty
construction."

Lisane's eyes sparkle with amusement as she gazes upon you.

You wryly say, "Ah, that's a logical fallacy, though.  That a perfect wall is
one that cannot be pushed over, and if a wall cannot be pushed over it is a
perfect wall."

(Ascendril): Taygeta says, "Interesting."

Lisane nods her head emphatically.

You say, "But you grasp my point, I think - that a thing can be strengthened by
its flaws, by the testing and reinforcing of them."

(Ascendril): Taygeta says, "You do know that she is of the undead, do you
not?"

Grand Duchess Lisane Lunare says, "Of course."

Grand Duchess Lisane Lunare says, "After a bone breaks, and it heals, the point
of fusion of the broken bone becomes stronger."

(Ascendril): You say, "Indeed. We are discussing the role of flaws in ensuring
perfection of the end product. We have many flaws between us, that being one of
them."

Grand Duchess Lisane Lunare says, "Any subsequent breaks are either generally
above or below the initial breaking point."

(Ascendril): Taygeta says, "You are also aware that as Ascendril we do not
support or condone undeath, and as the newest citizen of the Beacon it is unwise
to linger in their company."

Lisane coughs softly. "Well, at least, that is what I've heard. I'm not doctor,
and certainly not an expert on mortal remedies after all these centuries."

(Ascendril): Taygeta says, "Not that the city has any laws against association,
mind you, but the city is even less accepting of the undead than the guild is,
and I, even less than the city."

(Enorian): You say, "Indeed. I cannot recall ever being judged unwise, Taygeta."

(Ascendril): You say, "Bah. I apologize. Perhaps I'm wrong in that!"

(Enorian): Taygeta says, "Wrong channel, but my opinion still holds."

(Ascendril): You say, "Clumsy, yes. But not unwise."

You have emoted: Gentle nods firmly. "Indeed. Similarly..." he reaches out,
laying a finger upon your chin to tilt your face to his liking. "You know well
that you are not classically lovely. But the flaws in your face - the boldness,
the harshness, the uncompromising lines - they provide strength and resilience
to the rest. They make it more perfect."

Lisane tenses at your touch, her eyes widening in surprise. "Ah.." she lets out.
She blinks once, her brow creasing. "My apologies," she trails off. "I am rather
unused to...physical contact with others." She looks down at her hands, then
quickly takes a sip of the glass, wincing at the sharpness. "My face is hardly
perfect - or even excellent in its beauty," she states. "But I am glad to see
that you do not find it displeasing."

Lisane takes a deep swig of the shot, eyes widening as the stiff alcohol hits
her system.

Lisane gives you a wan smile. "I am Consanguine, you see," she offers by way of
explanation. "I was formerly of D'baen for most of my Undeath. It is the most...
formal of Houses."

Biting at her lip for a moment, Lisane takes another swig from her glass, giving
a hiss as the drink burns down her throat.

Lisane takes a deep swig of the shot, eyes widening as the stiff alcohol hits
her system.

You have emoted: Gentle shakes his head, his eyes growing slightly stern. "You
are used to pretension, then - the most elaborate of courtesies that mask every
possible emotion. But I want you to look past that for the moment. See yourself
clearly, dear." His hand doesn't leave your chin, though it does not hold you
tightly or constrain your movement. "Do me a favor now - for the price of a
drink, do me this favor. Tell me your flaws, and in return, I will tell you how
they make you stronger."

Giving a slight frown as if puzzled, Lisane blinks slowly as she ponders the
question. "Well," she begins slowly. "I am obstinate," she declares, a wry smile
on her face. "I will do things as I will sometimes, regardless if it leads me to
trouble, as long as I believe I have done what is best." Her grasp on the glass
tightens, fingers curling. "As a D'baen, I am one to follow tradition and keep
others at a formal distance." She flicks a cautious, but open glance at you. "I
am honest, almost to a fault. I do not have skills of diplomacy as you might
find in a Syssin."

Lisane coughs softly.

Grand Duchess Lisane Lunare says, "My apologies, *former* D'baen."

You have emoted: Tilting his head, Gentle smiles. "So you are strong in your
convictions. You learn well and you remember well what you have been taught. You
have the courage to hold to what you believe regardless of obstacles. These
things maintain your inner structure; they preserve you against assault."
Chuckling, he adds, "Now, sometimes, yes, they may get in your way. We all get
in our own way at times. But the point is clear: to see these 'flaws' as the
breaks in your character that strengthen the whole, that keep you as a person
from being broken, and in fact..." He drops his hand from your face slowly,
almost a caress. "...In fact, make you more perfect. ...Aye?"

Lisane lets out a small exhale unconsciously as your hand drops from her face,
her gaze searching as she looks into your eyes. "Perhaps..." she states
uncertainly. "I mean...there could be artifice in your words, I just cannot read
between lines very easily," she continues in a low voice. "I believe my flaws
help me become more resilient at times," she says slowly, "but they trip me up
at other moments - and show themselves to be flaws worthy of being burned in the
sunlight."

Lisane gives a soft laugh, her eyes softening. "But perhaps I am also just being
foolish, sitting here and drinking with one who breathes."


You have emoted: "Perhaps," Gentle says softly. "Perhaps I am being foolish,
flouting convention in my new home to spend time with you. But I have very
little time that I can hold onto in my life, m'lady. I prefer to believe that
every second of it is precious, is worthy... is well spent. And though you may
challenge me on this, I do not believe that you have a single flaw that would
make this moment less than perfect."

Her eyes dancing, Lisane gives you a wry smile. "Perhaps then, Gentle, you
should consider Undeath. You would have abundant amounts of time to discuss
abstract concepts like beauty and perfection - and plenty that would be willing
to do so happily with you." She winks knowingly at you, before sipping at her
glass again. "Just as you breathe for perfect moments, I exist for them too. And
in the long run...I will have accumulated more than you will," she teases.

You have emoted: "Maybe you will," Gentle answers, grinning. "Unless whatever
continues to rob me of my past is the same agency that devours yours. In which
case we'll both end up the same, five years from now - empty, devoid of every
mote of security, every wall we have built, left only to build a new life on a
blank site." He gives you a brief wink as he raises his glass in your direction.
"But I will have paintings of perfection to remind me."

Lisane gives a half-smile, her eyes contemplative. "I should hope that, with all
those years accumulated, I do not end up empty and devoid. If nothing else, I
still have my own self. As I have mastered and transcended my own body into an
Idrethi form, I would work to escape your situation." She fingers her fangs for
a moment, as if to reassure herself. "I could never, for instance, forget the
moment I was Sired and Embraced, ascending to become one of the Blooded - and
better yet, the Reborn." With a hiss, she glances at her scythe. "But perhaps I
will have to write my past in a scroll or two before I catch your forgetfulness,
" she says lightly, amusement coloring her tone.

You have emoted: "Indeed. You have the opportunity to preserve your..." Gentle
seems to lose track of his thought in midsentence, reaching out almost
hesitantly. "I wonder, how did your experience of transcendence differ when you
transubstantiated to Idreth... from when you took on the Gift?" His fingertips
almost touch your lips, your sharp teeth, not quite an inch separating them.

Lisane becomes suddenly still, her gaze fixated on your fingertips. "They were
two radical changes, both extremely different, although directed towards one end.
 Harrowing experiences. Why do you not join me and find out?" she says, the
amusement slowly drying from her tone. Uttering a slight hiss, she nudges
forward and her fangs barely nick your fingers, a bead of blood welling up
instantly.

"Ah," Lisane exclaims, shaking her head as if snapping out of a trance. "My
apologies. I have drawn your blood by accident."

You have emoted: Gentle exhales sharply, though he doesn't quite draw his
fingers away - they pass over your lips, leaving a streak of bright blood there,
and thereafter hover nearby, not retreating. "No, lady," he says tenderly,
"Don't tease me. It's in you to tell me the truth without buying it in blood -
but if you wish that payment, then you may have it." Blood wells up in the tiny
punctures on his fingertips.

Lisane draws back in her chair, her tongue flicking out to lick the blood over
her lips. Her eyes glow as the scent of blood fills the air. "I am not an unkind
Consanguine," she states softly. Her eyes mist over in remembrance as she
continues, in a low voice. "My Rebirth...was excruciating." She pauses, her lips
pursing for a moment. "My Sire, His Imperial Highness, is Bloodborn as well. He
was rather...old-school. They liked to experiment and delve deep into the
secrets of the Blood back then." She pauses for a second. "And, I was - am - his
first Childe." She pauses. "And he was one to experiment, see what secrets could
be gleaned from my Rebirth."

Lisane looks down at her glass once again, her eyes unseeing. "I was Reborn in
the end, of course - that was the point of it all. And for that, I will always
be grateful to my Sire and loyal to him. Without his...discipline, I would not
be half the Consanguine that I am today."

Lisane takes a deep swig of the shot, eyes widening as the stiff alcohol hits
her system.

You have emoted: Gentle nods. "So it is. Cruelty often teaches us more than
kindness." He withdraws his hand slowly, laying it on the table between you.
With his free hand he draws deep from his glass, the alcohol beginning to create
a warm spot in his cheeks and a bright glitter in his eyes. "But the rebirth to
Idreth... that is one that you chose of your own accord, no?"

Frowning momentarily, Lisane shakes her head. "No, you mistake me. He was not
cruel - he simply did what he needed to mold me into a proper Consanguine."
Lisane drums her fingers on her glass. "Becoming Idreth was equally horrific,"
she declares. "Granted, it had less to do with blood." She suddenly pins you
with her gaze, calm and cold. "Have you ever felt as though your soul was being
destroyed and remade? Because that is how you feel, as if your entire being was
falling apart, your mind disintegrating, and all that is *you* breaking down."

Lisane gives a wry smile. "But of course, in the end, you reach a sort of...
understanding. You transform and transcend your corpse, and reach new levels. To
transcend myself with Excellence - that is what I strived for in Undeath, and
that is what I achieved with my choice."

You smile and say, "So you believe that you are now Excellent?  That this form
is now perfect?"

Lisane frowns slightly. "No, forgive me, perhaps that was not the best choice of
words. I have taken one more step towards Excellence - perhaps a large one - but
I am certainly not there.

You have emoted: The chair on the other side of the table shifts somewhat as
Gentle hooks it with one foot, tucking it deeper under the edge of the table so
that he may rest his feet upon it. "What is the next step, then? How does one
continue to transform, if leaving behind both mortality and humanity haven't
done the job?"

Lisane lets out an exhale at your words, a strand of hair falling over her face.
"You work towards it, any way that one can," she states, but with a little less
confidence. "The steps won't always be clear or clean, but one can only strive
to progress and reach greater understanding. Even now, I cannot say that I fully
understand my Idrethi form. It's all a work in progress," she ends with a hollow
laugh.

Lisane tilts her head as she considers you for a moment. "But enough discussion
about me. What of yourself, Gentle?" she asks curiously. "I'd like to know your
story and thoughts as well."

You have emoted: Leaning forward to hear you, Gentle exhales softly at your
question and lowers his head. "I wish I had a story to tell you, lady," he says
with deep feeling.

With a low hum, Lisane clicks her tongue. "Nonsense, Gentle. Everyone has a
story to tell," she states confidently. Her eyes gleam as she continues. "And
even if you don't wish to tell me yours - or if you truly don't have one, then
make one up." She fiddles with her glass, before taking another sip. "I came
here to enjoy your company and be entertained - a story will do, fictional or
not."

Lisane takes a deep swig of the shot, eyes widening as the stiff alcohol hits
her system.

Ingram arrives from the up.

Lisane inclines her head politely to Ingram.

Ingram jogs down the stairs, stops abruptly, gives a flashy smile and an
inclination of his head to either of you, then continues on.

Ingram leaves to the west.

Ingram arrives from the west.

Lisane smiles at Ingram.

Lisane inclines her head politely to Ingram.

Ingram moseys back on in and clears his throat. Another smile. "Pardon the
interruption, but either of you fine folks mind lending a desperate nude man
some gold for clothes?"

Lisane gets some gold sovereigns from a black and red pack of Bloodloch.

Lisane gives some gold sovereigns to Ingram.

Grand Duchess Lisane Lunare says to Ingram, Speaker of Impassioned Words, "Will
that do?"

Leaning forward, Ingram beams and says, "Positively. What's your name?"

Lisane inclines her head politely towards Ingram and states calmly, "I am Grand
Duchess Lisane Lunare, although as a breather you can call me Lisane. And what
are you called?"

"Ingram. I owe you one. Thank you," Ingram murmurs. He gives a cheery wave and
turns to head off.

Ingram leaves to the west.

Lisane blinks.

Lisane's eyes sparkle with amusement.

Lisane murmurs, a sparkle in her eyes. "Breathers. Always entertaining."

You have emoted: With a wry smile, Gentle says, "You must find us hilarious." He
doesn't seem offended by the prospect, but rather rueful. "But as concerns
making up a story, m'dear..." He laughs, raising his glass to his lips.

You take a sip of this rather bland-looking shot, swallowing slowly in an
attempt to elucidate the flavour...to no avail, though, as the drink tastes like
nothing more than filtered water.

Ingram arrives from the west.

Lisane tilts her head curiously at you.

You say, "I told you, I have the brush but nothing to paint without a physical
analogue.  Other men may have imagination - I have words, but nothing to say.  I
cannot make up a story for you... there is no imagination in me."

Ingram, Speaker of Impassioned Words asks Grand Duchess Lisane Lunare, "By the
by, how's the Imperium doing?"

Lisane blinks, her eyebrows raised slightly in amusement as she considers Ingram.
 "Well, aren't you quite a forthright character, asking about the Imperium," she
muses.

Ingram smiles faintly and shrugs his shoulder. "Bad time to ask, anyways. I'm
interrupting your conversation -again-. Excuse me. Once more, thank you, Lisane."

Ingram inclines his head politely to you.

Ingram, Speaker of Impassioned Words says, "Guy."

Ingram waves goodbye.

Ingram leaves to the west.

Lisane blinks.

Lisane says nothing at all in a very pointed way. Her silence is deafening.

You blink.

Grand Duchess Lisane Lunare says, "...most entertaining, really."

Lisane smiles wryly.

You have emoted: Gentle exhales through his nose, a silent laugh. "Friend of
yours?" he inquires with a smile.

Lisane gives a smirk. "I've never seen him before in my Undeath. What an
exquisite character, that man."

You have emoted: With a roll of his shoulders, Gentle nods. "We should all be so
fortunate."

Taking another sip from her glass, Lisane raises an eyebrow at you. "You still
have not told me a story, Gentle. It is only fair, after all my ramblings," she
says with an impish smile.

You have emoted: "You've caught me," Gentle murmurs. "Very well." He bows his
head briefly.

Lisane takes a deep swig of the shot, eyes widening as the stiff alcohol hits
her system.

You have emoted: "This story is a dream I had. Will that satisfy you?" Gentle
gives you a playfully exasperated glance. "There was a woman. Call her a lovely
woman. Makes the story better." He swirls his drink in his glass, staring down
into it. "She loved a very rich man."

Lisane nods in assent. "Any story or dream or secret will do, so long as it is
entertaining," she declares, fingering her glass.

You have emoted: Nodding slowly, Gentle continues, "This lovely woman wanted for
nothing in the world that her man could give her - fine dresses, art, creatures
of every stripe. He loved her madly, spoilt her badly - he called her
'Peachplum', and she hated it." He chuckles deep in his throat. "Too sweet a
name, too powerful a woman to tolerate it."

Lisane seems to think for a moment before nodding slowly.

Grand Duchess Lisane Lunare says, "I can understand the woman's concerns.
"Peachplum" is inappropriate for certain personalities."

Ingram tells you, "Lisane tells me you're regaling her with a story. Invited me
to join. You mind?"

You chuckle long and heartily.

You say, "Indeed!"

You tell Ingram, Speaker of Impassioned Words, "If you don't mind missing the
start of the story."

Ingram tells you, "I'll do my best."

Ingram arrives from the west.

Lisane inclines her head politely to Ingram.

Ingram steps in and heads over to a nearby table, smiling politely as he sits.

You have emoted: Gentle lets his feet slip from the chair across from him,
nudging it out with a toe for Ingram to take.

Ingram fills the offered seat and gives a thankful nod.

You say, "He spoilt her and pampered her - tried everything he knew to satisfy
her.  But she was a wild soul, too strong and foreign to be bound by the world
he knew.  And in time she found herself a street magician with a wicked eye, a
young man who called himself a messiah."

Lisane gives a small "Aaaah," as if in anticipation of what comes next. She
takes another sip of her drink and then prompts you to continue. "And then
what?"

Lisane takes a deep swig of the shot, eyes widening as the stiff alcohol hits
her system.

You have emoted: Lowering his eyes to his drink again, Gentle says softly, "She
was passionate, brilliant, unstoppable. Her princeling could not hope to hold
her - but he, like all rich men, saw a way around his predicament. He bargained
with the magician. He challenged him to create a copy of the inimitable woman -
to make another iteration of the most perfect being he had ever known. If the
magician was so capable, they would both have one, and the rich man could keep
his beautiful Peachplum."

Ingram slumps down in his seat and extends his legs to cross them at the ankles,
hands folding over his stomach. His head cocks to the left as he listens, eyes
resting comfortably on you.

Lisane smiles wryly.

Flexing her fingers in such a manner that her knuckles clink quietly, Lisane
lightly tosses her head to move errant strands of hair over her shoulder. "It is
difficult to make perfect imitations, though. That can't have gone well."

You have emoted: "Mmm," Gentle whispers in assent. "So it did not." He wets his
throat from his drink before continuing. "The magician brought Peachplum to his
home, to his attic room where he did his conjuring. He laid her down in a circle
of runes, and plied her with wine to keep her quiet. Then he sat himself in
another circle, and began his incantations."

Lisane taps at her glass with a knowing smile and takes another sip from it.

Lisane takes a deep swig of the shot, eyes widening as the stiff alcohol hits
her system.

You say, "He spoke for many hours, departing his very body at times, rising
above the room to look down upon the scene, to travel the near horizon.  And in
time, beside the prone form of the perfect woman formed a perfect copy, stitched
from his words and his devotion into pure, visceral being."

Lisane nods at you. "Well, at least he didn't fail his ritual, like some
Bloodborn do, and suffer devastating consequences."

Ingram smiles faintly and angles his head forward, eyes still on you, attentive.

You have emoted: "In some ways, no. His conjuring did exactly what he told it to
do." Gentle's mouth twitches slightly, his eyes not quite closed, but slitted.
"T'was a moment in the incantation when he found himself in his body again. He
laid eyes on what was before him and found it irresistible. He saw the nude
woman, her perfect copy - saw them both senseless and in his power, his
creatures. He crawled himself into their circle, laid hands on the forming flesh,
 sunk his fingers into them - caused them to shudder in pleasure even as their
bodies built new nerves by which to respond to his hands."

Lisane gives a soft "Hmmm," as she considers the scene.

Ingram's left cheek hollows as he lightly begins biting into it, lips slightly
pursing.

You have emoted: His eyes closing, Gentle murmurs, "He buried himself in the
nascent woman and her true-born progenitor. He breathed upon her throat and it
took on the pale color of his breath. He touched her hip and the ripples of his
fingers formed the sweet hollows between her thighs. He suckled at her breast
and shaped her nipples between his lips and tongue. And all unknowing, all
ignorant, as he sunk himself deeper and deeper into the precious copy of the
perfect woman... a perfect copy was made of the magician in the circle he had
departed."

Lisane lets out a small "Ah!" and leans in closer to you, her eyes glimmering as
she awaits the rest of your story.

Taygeta tells you, "I should like a copy of that story in the library so you
know, since I cannot linger for the rest. Also, I am most disappointed that you
would trample on my trust in such a manner. If Enorian but had association laws..
. regardless, your offer of blood to her might be enough. The Vanguard has been
informed. It is sad indeed when I cannot trust those who claim to serve the
light by seeking entrance into Enorian and joining a guild that does not support
the darkness. Please. Enjoy your little story with the leech and Ingram. I do
hope that something to justify your time spent in her presence, uplifting her
and showing support for her chosen path, for I do not see anything that would
justify turning a vampires weaknesses to its strengths, and praising their
conviction upon their chosen path."

You tell Taygeta, Ward Prefect, "Then you should stay for the rest, miss."

Taygeta tells you, "I, unlike some, will not linger within the filth of an
undead presence."

You tell Taygeta, Ward Prefect, "Then some stories may remain forever beyond
your understanding, miss."

Ingram pulls his feet up to plant them solidly on the ground, straightening up
somewhat. His eyes remain just faintly widened.

Taygeta tells you, "One who spurns the light so deserves to be burnt within it,
not coddled and reassured."

Taygeta tells you, "As do those who support and coddle them."

You tell Taygeta, Ward Prefect, "Perhaps. The administration of the unfound ones
is beyond me at this point in my training, I think."

Taygeta tells you, "I doubt that. I served undeath, was undeath, for quite a
while. There is not much I would not understand about them. I just do not
support it now, nay, I stand vehemently against it, and explain yourself, for I
do not understand."

Taygeta tells you, "To whom do you refer as unfound?"

You say, "He fell asleep upon her breast, but his double did not sleep - born
into wakefulness, it saw its likeness and knew at once that it was misborn,
misbegotten.  It escaped through the attic window to preserve its life, but not
before, as its progenitor had, falling helplessly in love with the perfect women
laying side-by-side in the circle, forever separated from it."

Lisane smiles wryly.

Grand Duchess Lisane Lunare says, "Of course, they always fall in love."

Lisane takes a deep swig of the shot, eyes widening as the stiff alcohol hits
her system.

Smirking, Ingram glances down before flicking his gaze back to you.

You tell Taygeta, Ward Prefect, "Those who still look at the sun and
shrink, or burn, or hide away."

Taygeta tells you, "So you will know, I was once Arch Duchess Taygeta Nebre'seir,
 childe of His Imperial Grace, Grand Duke Rou Nebre'seir. I was the Imparter of
Guile within the Syssin, but..but I could not remain, for they were without legs
to stand on, without solid belief on what to follow. I am a zealot, you see. I
have always been, and always will be. I cannot linger on the fence, and I have
no respect for those that do."

You have emoted: Gentle raises his eyes to Lisane, smiling faintly. "I wish I
could end the story for you, but that's as far as the dream goes. The magician
woke. Peachplum returned to her husband. The double... the double was his, for a
few precious, immeasurable days. And then she too was gone. He thought that his
magic had faded, and he could never persuade the rich man to try again."

Taygeta tells you, "You cast a poor reflection upon our guild by lingering in
their presence, but, I leave that for the Archmage to decide. She is more
lenient than I. Most are more lenient than I."

You tell Taygeta, Ward Prefect, "I respect it in you, lady. Myself... I could
not find the fence with both hands and a map."

Ingram combs a hand back through his hair, eyebrows raised in appreciation.
"Good damn story."

Taygeta tells you, "You are sitting on the fence as we speak. Are you so blind
as to not see it?"

Lisane blinks but nods in agreement, raising her glass to you and taking another
drink. "My thanks for your tale."

Lisane takes a deep swig of the shot, eyes widening as the stiff alcohol hits
her system.

You tell Taygeta, Ward Prefect, "I suppose so. There are many things I cannot
see."

You have emoted: Still staring into his drink, Gentle takes a moment to bring
himself back to the present. He takes a deep swig then, and nods as he claps his
cup onto the table. "Dreams, aye? No figuring them!" he says a touch too
heartily.

Lisane sucks thoughtfully on her teeth.

Ingram's shoulders lightly shake as he chuckles silently, giving a sideways nod
with his head. "I could tell you books worth.."

Taygeta tells you, "It would behoove you to open your eyes and begin to look,
then. It is not my place to convert, only aid those who have already chosen the
path of light, including those of darkness who wish to join the light, but I
will not seek out the undead, and I will not try to convince them of my ways, of
my assurances that I am in the right. To do such is folly and will only see me
dragged down into corruption."

Grand Duchess Lisane Lunare says, "I have not dreamt in ages, but yes. Quite a
fanciful dream, as they tend to be."

Lisane ponders the situation.

You take a sip of this rather bland-looking shot, swallowing slowly in an
attempt to elucidate the flavour...to no avail, though, as the drink tastes like
nothing more than filtered water.

Lisane downs the last of her drink, and then glances at you and Ingram. "I do
not know about you two mortals, but I must depart to rest for now. It was a
pleasure being in your company."

"Thanks again, Lisane," Ingram says, lifting his head up. "Sleep well."

Lisane stands up and inclines her head towards the two of you. "Take care then."

Lisane leaves to the west.

Ingram drops his head back forward, eyes on the table a moment before rising
back up to yours.

You have emoted: Watching the woman out the door, Gentle laughs softly. "Hope
that ends up paying off, considering the trouble she was."

Ingram's smirk returns, along with a lift of his eyebrow. "Trouble?"

You have emoted: "Mm. Suspicious folk in the world these days... suspicious folk
everywhere." Gentle glances back in your direction. "You find that?"

You take a sip of this rather bland-looking shot, swallowing slowly in an
attempt to elucidate the flavour...to no avail, though, as the drink tastes like
nothing more than filtered water.

Ingram rolls his jaw and takes a slow, quiet breath before asking, "Find
what?"

You tell Taygeta, Ward Prefect, "It's possible you're right. I can't say from my
own experience. I know only that I have never learned a single thing from
shutting my ears."

You say, "Men mistrusting you on first sight, for whatever reasons they can
conjure."

Taygeta tells you, "It is why I have not ignored all of them. I will not
associate with them, though. I have lived that life, and I will not support,
condone, or justify it by any means."

Shrugging, Ingram replies with a murmur as he glances off to the left, "I was a
Syssin. Wasn't relegated to one gender."

Ingram, Speaker of Impassioned Words mutters, "Am . ..ssin."

You have emoted: Gentle's mouth twists impatiently. "People mistrusting you on
sight. Gender not withstanding."

Ingram looks back to you, clearly replying, "Yes. Frequently."

Taygeta tells you, "Is there a particular reason why you do not wear guild
titles?"

You tell Taygeta, Ward Prefect, "I'm just Gentle, Taygeta. Best I can ever
remember. Everything else falls away."

Taygeta tells you, "So there is no reason for you to not wear them?"

You tell Taygeta, Ward Prefect, "As much reason as there is to wear them, I
would say."

With a shift in his seat, Ingram folds his arms over his chest. He occasionally
glances at you and over your shoulder, trying to avoid an awkward stare.

You have emoted: Gentle's eyes take you in quickly, then with more care, an
artist's eye seeming to correct your features for error as it sweeps over. "Well,
 can't blame a person," he says with a teasing look. "But it's exasperating, no?
We pile up past behind us - and don't we all, will it or no - and everyone
always wants to go digging through it."

"Nature of the living. And unliving, for that matter. Hey, not everyone gets the
treatment. Appreciate that you come off as interesting." Ingram waves a hand
through the air and cracks a laughing grin, brows raised and angled down
helplessly.

You have emoted: Gentle snorts. "I would pay money to UNinterest people. Well,
except women. I've never had to pay money to interest women, but I probably
would." He dissolves into chuckles, groping for his glass again.

Ingram laughs himself. Again, the sound silent. He sniffs sharply and glances
off to the left again. "She told me your name is 'Gentle'."

You say, "Aye.  Gentle Zacharias."

A soft click emits from Ingram's mouth before he laughs again and mumbles, "Get
used to diggers."

You have emoted: Gentle's brows draw together. "Diggers?"

Ingram, Speaker of Impassioned Words says, "Digging into your past."

You say, "Why so?"

Ciarelle tells you, "Hello Gentle. How are you?"

You tell Ciarelle, Archmage of Ascension, "Well enough, miss. And you?"

Ingram, Speaker of Impassioned Words says, "Peculiarity of your name."

Ingram rolls a shoulder and frowns faintly before standing with a sigh. "My time
to go. Gotta leave you mostly alone."

Ciarelle tells you, "Well enough thank you. How are you finding the Ascendril so
far?"

You have emoted: "Is it so peculiar?" Gentle smiles wryly. "I'd pick another if
I could remember any other word."

Ingram, Speaker of Impassioned Words says, "Fairly peculiar."

You have emoted: Gentle shrugs. "Something we share then, mm?" A brief wink.
"It's been pleasant, at any rate." He offers a hand to shake.

Ingram leans over to take it in a firm grip. "Agreed. Take care, much as you can,
 Gentle." He gives a shake and lets go, turning and heading off.

Ingram leaves to the west.

You tell Ciarelle, Archmage of Ascension, "Deeply suspicious, but that doesn't
especially separate them from anyone else I've encountered of late, in their
defense."

Ciarelle tells you, "And why do you find us so suspicious?"

You tell Ciarelle, Archmage of Ascension, "I'd like to know that myself. What
deep, untouchable secrets can Enorian or the Ascendril possibly hold that no
other soul on earth could know, when any child of eighteen could join the guild
and city without question? What could possibly be the point of interrogating an
OLDER citizen when untried children are considered completely and unquestionably
trustworthy?"

You tell Ciarelle, Archmage of Ascension, "What is it about my supposed age -
which I myself could not tell you within thirty years up or down with accuracy -
that makes everyone I meet question me as if I were about to impregnate their
daughter?"

Ciarelle tells you, "So, you feel that people do not trust you for some reason
and that they should bow down and show you respect purely based on your
age?"

Ciarelle tells you, "I ask not to be rude but because I know I've certainly not
interrogated you or any such so I am wondering what makes you say this."

You tell Ciarelle, Archmage of Ascension, "Not at all. I feel that it's
completely hilarious that an untried child is trusted and someone who took a few
years to find their direction is questioned within an inch of their life."

Ciarelle tells you, "Are we referring to a guild or a city matter here?"

You tell Ciarelle, Archmage of Ascension, "It took two separate interviews to
become a citizen of Enorian. I've now been interrogated again as to the person I
ended up conversing with in a bar in Delos, a neutral city. And I can only
assume, miss, although I beg you to correct me if I'm wrong, that the reason
you're speaking with me now is that Taygeta is deeply concerned that something
is wrong with me as a result of a single conversation over a drink."

You tell Ciarelle, Archmage of Ascension, "That makes four interrogations since
I became a full Ascendril earlier this month. It's really remarkable, the speed
with which you people work."

Ciarelle tells you, "I cannot answer for Enorian nor do I entirely agree with
their antics regarding entrance to the city. If you've a complaint there, you
will have to take it up with the city's leadership and I wish you well with it.
I am, however, concerned with my guild members and if my Ward Prefect expresses
concerns about an Aether Ward, then I will follow it up. It is her duty to
convey these things to me and mine to investigate it further."

You tell Ciarelle, Archmage of Ascension, "Of course. How can I reassure you,
miss?"

Ciarelle tells you, "Perhaps we can start at the beginning, yes? What do you
think happened in the bar in Delos and have you any inkling, aside from Taygeta
may have told you herself, what might have concerned her?"

You tell Ciarelle, Archmage of Ascension, "I'm currently sitting in the bar in
question. If you're concerned about its quality, I would love to have your
company, and I'm happy to buy you a drink. It seems Taygeta is concerned that I
may have bought a drink and told a story to a vampire - if that is enough to
damn me, perhaps buying a drink and telling a story to the archmage will be
enough to salvage my character?"

You tell Ciarelle, Archmage of Ascension, "I can only assume this sort of
ridiculous mathematics is how it works."

Ciarelle tells you, "There is no need for me to go the Black Flagon for a drink
nor do I especially want to. There is also no need to adopt this defensive tone.
Do you know why she might object to you buying drinks for a vampire?"

You tell Ciarelle, Archmage of Ascension, "Can't imagine. I don't see an
infraction in the Ascendril's laws that I could have violated."

Ciarelle tells you, "Well then, let me explain. We are a guild that values life
and progress, and we see the undead as anathema to that given that they have
rejected the cycle, instead choosing to stand outside it. We do not explicitly
ban interactions with them but nor do we support or condone such."

Ciarelle tells you, "It would seem you were watched for some time and you were
seen not merely buying the vampiress a drink and telling her a story but letting
her lick at your blood too. This -is- concerning."

You tell Ciarelle, Archmage of Ascension, "Mm, well, in fairness, I've tasted
the blood of a fair few women I've been with over the years, all of them as
living as you, miss. A taste for blood isn't the exclusive province of the dead."

Ciarelle tells you, "What you do in private, Gentle, is not my concern. If you
were openly liaising with a vampire in such a way, that would be even more
concerning than I previously imagined."

You tell Ciarelle, Archmage of Ascension, "I would never think of 'liaising'
with a woman in public, miss. Although that's a new vocabulary word that I'll be
sure to use."

Ciarelle tells you, "Well, do clarify, then. Which was it? Were you letting a
vampire lick your blood because she was a vampire or were you actually engaging
in some sort of flirtation with her?"

You tell Ciarelle, Archmage of Ascension, "Just as I would never consider making
my interactions with a woman public, miss, I would never consider sharing them
with anyone else for any reason. As I said before - if membership in your guild
is a matter of drinks bought for the appropriate side, I will be happy to buy
you one to even the score. You can even look adoringly at my cut finger, if that
interests you. If you wish the truth of my interaction with the vampire, you may
look at my neck, and find that when she encouraged me to join her flock - as she
of course did - I declined. If you require any further proof of my loyalty than
that, I have to confess myself rather, well... flabbergasted, and amused."

Ciarelle tells you, "I have no interest in your finger directly, nor do I wish
to go out for drinks with you, nor do I wish to inspect your neck. I am asking
for clarification about your interaction with her and explaining why we are
concerned about it. I do not particularly care what you do with women generally
but we avoid interacting with the Undead more than necessary. Letting a
vampiress lick the blood from your finger, be it idle curiousity on your part,
some sort of quirk that I do not want to hear about further or some more
romantic interaction with her, is far more than necessary given what she is."

You tell Ciarelle, Archmage of Ascension, "I'll take care to keep her lusty lips
away from my digits in the future, then. Although you might want to make that
finger-specific boundary clear in the laws, for the sake of future novices who
may become confused."

Ciarelle tells you, "I trust in the intelligence of our guild members, hence the
lack of rigidity to our rules, and I hope that you will henceforth use common
sense in regards to whom you interact with, where you interact with them and
possibly investing in a bell tattoo."

You tell Ciarelle, Archmage of Ascension, "So that I may ensure that my
guildmates are not spying on me? What a hilarious suggestion, miss."

You tell Ciarelle, Archmage of Ascension, "I shall certainly make sure I am more
paranoid and untrusting with my guildmates, if you wish."

Ciarelle tells you, "If Taygeta can so easily observe you, others can too and
they might well be less interested in ensuring you follow the rules and more
interested in observing you do things that you might wish private. It is advice
only. This part, though, is a warning - we do not condone or support liaisons
with the undead."

You tell Ciarelle, Archmage of Ascension, "I promise you, miss - I shall never
violate the Ascendril's laws, nor those of Enorian. I have made this vow twice
already today. I trust I shall not have to make it again."