The strings did their utmost to form words in answer to the Crone, but the closed book did not lend well to speech. The Nuit didn't pay much attention to the Crone's countenance, internally fuming at the audacity of the woman in front of her. She'd experienced such self-serving possession of knowledge before. First-hand, at least. The indulgence into the craft of Auristics was epitomized by such self-serving information sleuthing. To look into the aura of another was an advantage, a knowing edge in many circumstances. Now? As Savis Maren funneled djed into her gaze, pulling at the depths of her soul, the whirling entity of aura became apparent to her. She looked onward to the Crone and found in her aura something she didn't quite understand. Her presence was a deep fog, thick and rife with a depth the Nuit didn't anticipate.
A shiver rolled through Savis Maren as the fog permeated forth, the sensation of the Crone's aura akin moisture over flesh. There was a warmth in the presence, a warmth lost on the undead's cold countenance. She contemplated it as she peered deeper still, intent on wafting through the fog and growing closer to the source. Savis Maren saw the source of it all. Raised flesh on the woman's shoulder bore heavy djed that threw fog around the rest of her aura. The Nuit wasn't privy to the power of a god's blessing, and the thick divine djed was palpable, but quite foreign to the undead's understanding. Curious, the Nuit thought, her silver eyes narrowed when the Crone began to address her.
Ha! Of course Suspicion is healthy, she thought, her internal musings thrown about her mind with a heavy echo that rained her presumptions around her over and over. She speaks in platitudes, just specific enough to be relevant, she assured herself. The Nuit needed this skepticism, for the more the Alheas Crone spoke, the deeper the Nuit plunged into memory... to a time where a very much alive young Savis could feel the gentle touch of a mother's hand on her heated forehead. Savis visibly squirmed as the memories tore free from shackles deliberately placed. The Nuit huffed aloud at the remark about the enjoyment of music, her laughter that followed hollow before she was utterly undone by the last sentence.
The old man that sang to me? At last, a notion specific enough to be identified as something partially unique to the nuit's circumstances. At last, the Nuit's high defenses faltered when fact was uttered, fact that in her nine decades of undeath, she'd never shared with anyone. "I went back to their graves..." she uttered at last, and she felt an illusory stinging at the eyes. A stinging that felt, to Savis Maren, very real indeed. She straightened her posture, leaning back into her seat after a moment as she retracted the Sight.
The Sight will do nothing for me without a clear mind. It's best to withdraw my tendrils, she mused. Without her truly meaning to, however, her mouth worked while her mind unhinged itself from the connection between aura.
"It was more than thirty years before I could return and they were gone. The music man was hardly better off than I was and there was no headstone to pay my respects to," she answered honestly. Savis felt cornered, interrogated about a part of her life that she did her utmost to bury, a time when living flesh wrapped around her soul, but failed to follow her commands. When the Alheas Crone shifted her attention to Mauriel, the undead's eyes ceased their narrowed expression. She was beyond relieved to no longer be under the scrutinizing gaze of the Alheas Crone. While she recovered from such invasive questioning, she listened intently to Mauriel's own interrogation. When Mauriel referred to being a Vantha man in a life before her previous, the Nuit looked to her, eyes wide once again as she began to sing. The song chilled Savis Maren to the bone, her senses aflame as she listened to music that she felt intimately aware of.
Fire burned in the depths of her psyche as she shook her head. No. That can't be... the Nuit reflected. Of course, the piece of music could simply be popular singing in whichever gods-cursed place the Vantha hailed from. But coincidence wasn't something that Savis Maren was willing to believe in so many times, one after another. Then, the Alheas Crone spoke to the both of them. She referred to knowledge and the power it bore. Such 'regular' conversation seemed to bolster the nuit, who withdrew from her mind in order to properly watch the card as it pressed into the wooden table. Three ticks passed and the cards were gone. Gone too was the deceptive warmth that threw daggers of fire into the Nuit's consciousness.
"Hiding from the past is the greatest magic I'm capable of. And yet, I refuse to allow some wretched Seer to call me a coward," she answered, her lips thin and pursed, arms crossed. Discomfort was rife within the Nuit, and yet, threatening to break free of the trappings, there was a warmth. The Nuit raised a bony hand, a gentle caress that sought to part the Ethaefal's closest hand. Beneath the table, she clutched her friend's hand, a measure of support as she was ripped asunder, her past put onto display and the vulnerability of her soul exposed for all within the Lonely Shack to witness in full.
A shiver rolled through Savis Maren as the fog permeated forth, the sensation of the Crone's aura akin moisture over flesh. There was a warmth in the presence, a warmth lost on the undead's cold countenance. She contemplated it as she peered deeper still, intent on wafting through the fog and growing closer to the source. Savis Maren saw the source of it all. Raised flesh on the woman's shoulder bore heavy djed that threw fog around the rest of her aura. The Nuit wasn't privy to the power of a god's blessing, and the thick divine djed was palpable, but quite foreign to the undead's understanding. Curious, the Nuit thought, her silver eyes narrowed when the Crone began to address her.
Ha! Of course Suspicion is healthy, she thought, her internal musings thrown about her mind with a heavy echo that rained her presumptions around her over and over. She speaks in platitudes, just specific enough to be relevant, she assured herself. The Nuit needed this skepticism, for the more the Alheas Crone spoke, the deeper the Nuit plunged into memory... to a time where a very much alive young Savis could feel the gentle touch of a mother's hand on her heated forehead. Savis visibly squirmed as the memories tore free from shackles deliberately placed. The Nuit huffed aloud at the remark about the enjoyment of music, her laughter that followed hollow before she was utterly undone by the last sentence.
The old man that sang to me? At last, a notion specific enough to be identified as something partially unique to the nuit's circumstances. At last, the Nuit's high defenses faltered when fact was uttered, fact that in her nine decades of undeath, she'd never shared with anyone. "I went back to their graves..." she uttered at last, and she felt an illusory stinging at the eyes. A stinging that felt, to Savis Maren, very real indeed. She straightened her posture, leaning back into her seat after a moment as she retracted the Sight.
The Sight will do nothing for me without a clear mind. It's best to withdraw my tendrils, she mused. Without her truly meaning to, however, her mouth worked while her mind unhinged itself from the connection between aura.
"It was more than thirty years before I could return and they were gone. The music man was hardly better off than I was and there was no headstone to pay my respects to," she answered honestly. Savis felt cornered, interrogated about a part of her life that she did her utmost to bury, a time when living flesh wrapped around her soul, but failed to follow her commands. When the Alheas Crone shifted her attention to Mauriel, the undead's eyes ceased their narrowed expression. She was beyond relieved to no longer be under the scrutinizing gaze of the Alheas Crone. While she recovered from such invasive questioning, she listened intently to Mauriel's own interrogation. When Mauriel referred to being a Vantha man in a life before her previous, the Nuit looked to her, eyes wide once again as she began to sing. The song chilled Savis Maren to the bone, her senses aflame as she listened to music that she felt intimately aware of.
Fire burned in the depths of her psyche as she shook her head. No. That can't be... the Nuit reflected. Of course, the piece of music could simply be popular singing in whichever gods-cursed place the Vantha hailed from. But coincidence wasn't something that Savis Maren was willing to believe in so many times, one after another. Then, the Alheas Crone spoke to the both of them. She referred to knowledge and the power it bore. Such 'regular' conversation seemed to bolster the nuit, who withdrew from her mind in order to properly watch the card as it pressed into the wooden table. Three ticks passed and the cards were gone. Gone too was the deceptive warmth that threw daggers of fire into the Nuit's consciousness.
"Hiding from the past is the greatest magic I'm capable of. And yet, I refuse to allow some wretched Seer to call me a coward," she answered, her lips thin and pursed, arms crossed. Discomfort was rife within the Nuit, and yet, threatening to break free of the trappings, there was a warmth. The Nuit raised a bony hand, a gentle caress that sought to part the Ethaefal's closest hand. Beneath the table, she clutched her friend's hand, a measure of support as she was ripped asunder, her past put onto display and the vulnerability of her soul exposed for all within the Lonely Shack to witness in full.