Eleuthera : The guards caught her attention and then it shifted away when they made a speedy exit from the office. Alton demanded silence from the other scholars in the room and then approached the door, shutting it quietly. The ghoul had witnessed Ele in this state before. When Carrick spoke of the crow it became obvious to her that the man had no idea who was within the body. Strange, but not her place to reveal. Or not yet. As Carrick stood before her she took the measure of the man. Perhaps he had learned something in the years he had spent under her curse. Perhaps not. She could, of course, curse him again if she felt it necessary. The words he spoke reverberated in her chest. A bargain? Curiosity jumped to the fore and she wondered if Carrick knew what he was peddling to Ele. Three favors that simply wouldn’t cost his life? It would be easy to manipulate him into giving her more. For reasons she could not verbalize the woman hesitated. “Three favors and a geas. You will never speak of
Eleuthera : or otherwise indicate to anyone else, ever, what I am. Intentionally or by mistake.” Ele said after a time, and held out her hand, presenting it as if she expected him to kiss it. And she did. It was the only way she would release the curse and also bind him to the geas she had mentioned. “You will bear my mark forever, but I will lift the curse from you.” The Necromancer said, looking upon the man and waiting for him to make his decision. This was not a negotiation, as such things were beneath her. Instead he should be happy she was giving him his freedom. For now. Should she require his services, he might regret this day and the bargain he’d made. Or maybe he would simply be grateful for the opportunity to hold his child’s hand in daylight. Who could say? Ele waited patiently, her hand outstretched. Should he take it, he’d have quite the reaction. It wasn’t going to be painless. The agony would be intense as she peeled the curse interwoven in his flesh and bone and aura. Every
Eleuthera : piece of him remade, released, renewed. Then, afterwards, she would release his hand and reaffix her veil. If he refused, she’d settle her glamour back into place and decide how best to deal with him then. -d

Cαrricк·Vαskαris : After a decade of servitude with the Crown, and living under the roof of his caballing family for so many years; Carrick knew there was going to be much more to this deal than he bargained. But this intermittent opportunity meant the chance to rediscover himself and become anew. Would he accept it? He stared at the skeletal hand chalked with wisps of black. … could he accept it? The curse had been apart of him for so long, he felt he’d become reliant upon its powers. What kind of [c]
Cαrricк·Vαskαris : man would he turn into once Mammon was fully removed? He could hear the hisses of his demon, feel its demonic claws digging into his back. He’d carried this curse for so long; it’d become a second skin to him. Ultimately, Carrick Vaskaris stifled the tortured echoes of his past and reached out to grasp the nymph’s proffered hand. Wilting ahead, the cursed specter brushed his mouth just along the tops of Eleuthera's knuckle in silent acceptance of their agreed bargain. The pain was [c]
Cαrricк·Vαskαris : immediate. A searing burn like nothing Carrick had ever felt since the day he was cursed. But pain. He felt actual pain. The warmth of the fire was the next to be felt. Though his pallid skin abruptly stripped itself from his muscles, and then came a reawakening of smooth, tawny skin kissed by specks of earthy freckles. He doubled over with a groan as his body began to rouse itself from its erstwhile slumber, “Fuck,” the alchemist hissed through his tightening jaw, his [c]
Cαrricк·Vαskαris : [c] his fingers splaying across the Heretic Prince’s rug as his body contorted, muscles reshaping themselves into a fuller figure. The seams of his robes becoming ill fitting on the once lithe mage whose prior gaunty appearance made one wonder if he even had the will to eat. Yet here he was, a warm perspiration upon his brow, his breathing errant and labored. This was who he’d been meant to be before the curse took hold of him and the once waning Wraith of House Vaskaris was no [c]
Cαrricк·Vαskαris : He was human. And while Carrick felt his body ripping apart, out came Mammon with a sickening snap; beyond displeased. A creature, a curse. Personified in the image of an ugly, grotesque demon with a large jagged smile. “...I’ll always be there, Lord Vaskaris.” The creature taunted him, sneering. “But my mistress has called me back to her side. Try not to kill anymore of her pets, yes? I did enjoy our time together.” Just like that Mammon disappeared as soon as Eleuthera raised [c]
Cαrricк·Vαskαris : her veil, resuming her glamor. Beyond these happenings, Icarus crowed, flying down from his perch to observe his master. Still unable to process all what was happening, Carrick still managed to push himself up from the ground like an inert fawn taking their first step. Signaling for Icarus to come forward. “... thank you,” he murmured, celadon eyes trying to take the world in as his senses had become hypersensitive. A hunger pang was the third sensation to hit him. He held it [c]
Cαrricк·Vαskαris : back and began to pick up those scattered papers and books he’d flung everywhere prior. After they were collected, he loosened his robes and flung them over his shoulder, coaxing his vassal to follow him. “I’m going home to hold my daughter’s hand.” [e]