Cerebrality [Callisto]

[Panna Cotta]

OOCHello. Be awed by my presence. Hey Paopao, thanks for the heads up.

Master Amaryllis, Chief Embalmer of Sahova, always kept an eye on her apprentices. Always. She knew the law of Sahova and she was resolved to keep all her apprentices accounted for. She was, in the vague sense of the word, a kind master. Callisto was kept under surveillance no matter where she went, no matter what she did, as long as it was within the walls of the Citadel.

The Great Library of Sahova was great for a reason, pre-Valterrian books notwithstanding. It was a paragon of efficiency and technology, unsurpassed by any in the whole world. While it did not contain the answers to the questions that hounded the son of Leth and the daughter of Syna, the Library housed numerous golems. Seemingly piles of junk rotting wood and rusting metal, there were Golems that assisted the Nuit wizards. These golems were far from Nimvahlis and Callisto. Even if one was within hearing or seeing distance, they were likely programmed to ignore such earthly affairs. However, there were other golems hidden to the untrained eye: golems the size of spiders gathering in the dark corners of the library. All seeing, ever watchful.

It was then that Callisto remembered her Master, a brief memory plugging itself into her sundered consciousness. Amaryllis would want to know everything and anything that she had done, the Nuit would ask for the names of the persons with whom she had talked to or encountered. What was this uneventful moment right now? Was it something that needed to be reported, too?

It would be comforting to know that Amaryllis had taken necessary actions in order to secure the safety of her apprentice. Or not. The Chief Embalmer was one selfish bitch. She was somewhat pissed off at the fact that her little apprentice was partaking life's lusty pleasures. A better term would be envy, for as a Nuit she was no longer fit to engage in such a physical activity.

Her spite was immediately reported to Lector Qiao, a person with authority. He was basically the Nuit who wielded the scepter of power in the Citadel. In his day he was a strict disciplinarian - as expected from a former Headmaster of the Royal Academy of Magic in Alahea. Perhaps it was in good faith that she was going to report this uncharacteristic Ethaefal visitor who was snogging her own apprentice. Lewdness was not to be tolerated in the library, not anywhere in Sahova. The decision to spill the beans would not exactly do her good in the long run, but it was not Amaryllis's moment to be reprimanded. No, not yet.

Sooner or later, both Nimvahlis and Callisto will learn that every little action in Sahova bore consequences, some undesirable and others unspeakable. That the living could not and did not have the same wanton freedom they possessed outside the Citadel. What would Drainira have done if she witnessed this campy scene?

Yes, what would have Drainira done, indeed.

[Nimvahlis]

Panting. Breathing. Moaning. The noises echoed in his ears, and Nimvahlis could not tell where his began and Callisto's ended. Their solitude only served to punctuate the passion play, though fading as it passed through the rows of books. He stood between his lover's legs, a free arm grasping the hem of her dress and pulling it up away from her body. The Konti's exposed skin did not evoke memories so much as a sense of delirium that jolted his system like a bolts of lightning. Just like those white cracks in the black glass sky, it illuminated and enlivened him. A gasp escaped his lips, accompanied by the thumping of his blood filled heart. As his hands grabbed at Callisto's hips, the table vanished. A melody of dissolution played within Nimvahlis' mind, and the entire library fell away to his hallucination. Dark silhouettes sprouted from the grassy earth, bushes and vines growing up with them. A serene pond welled to their side, and the Konti's horse snorted. He was at Priskil's Pond. Their bodies were intertwined in the same way they had been, and goosebumps rippled across Nim's skin as the cold air met his flesh. The night lay quiet around them, broken only by their sounds. What becomes of us? What do we become but prey, once we fall from the sky? Dark blots appeared from behind the trees, silvery grins showing sharp fangs. They circled the pair, lurking in the brush like the great cats of Falyndar. "Beasts to the slaughter! Strike before stricken." Nimvahlis growled at the shadows. It was a feral noise he had never before made and was not entirely aware of. He commanded them away, his voice authoritarian, "Go! Dissipate and die before the weight of my word." They did not recede, but instead flew forth like birds of prey. Flying toward him, their blackness enveloped Nimvahlis. He clutched at his face, clawing at his pale gold hair to remove the hallucinations. Their inkiness choked his breath, and no scream would come from his mouth. In an instant his dream had turned to a nightmare, psychosis raging within him like a wildfire. He was in the library. Nimvahlis glanced about, searching for the malignant shadows. Nothing. His torso was bent over Callisto, hands supporting him on either side. White knuckles clutched at the wood, and dizziness swept over him. Hypnotic threads, like the ones he had bombarded Callisto with, pulled away from Nimvahlis' mind. A hallucination, a vision, psychosis. The bleeding in his eyes had worsened, and small drops of the crimson fluid trickled down his face to fall on Callisto's exposed body. Once more he found himself staring into her eyes. Yet where before there had been a complete tranquility, the woman now saw only panic and fear.

[Callisto]

There was something not quite right in her mind. What perceptions she could gather from what Nimvahlis was feeding her, she could still make out the dark outlines of the shelves themselves, his body leaning over hers, and the blood that seemed to drip down his cheeks and onto her skin. It was the incessant reminders in the back of her head that tugged at every fiber in her mind. Wrong. This is wrong, this is forbidden. And indeed, Callisto was reminded of her master; the beautiful and graceful nuit who had specifically told her to report anyone and everyone she spoke to.

The tremors shook her to the core. Nimvahlis had stalled. Leth’s son had been assaulted by some unseen force, and Callisto’s glazed eyes followed his every move. Her lips parted to speak but nothing came. Instead, the walls of hypnotism seemed to melt from her thoughts, unwrapping her perception to the world to what it rightfully was then, but also unlocking something never before seen in the daughter of Syna.

The threads of anger wove themselves into her mind. There was a fury in her eyes that alighted them, and in an instant, her will forced her astral arm to rip itself from it’s joint in such immeasurably rage and grasped the neck of the Ethaefal in a viselike grip. It was an echo of the night so long ago, when the Konti held her kin under her dominance, but now she was going to establish it once and for all.

“How dare you.” She hissed. All her energy, all her concentration was on the chokepoint she held to his neck. Callisto was pushing him back, as she began to sit up then gradually stand with each passing moment. Her gaze was wild, her countenance darkened. A demon in the body of a white maiden.

She hated to be the Weak one.

“You are no kin of mine. You are a vile, disgusting creature. You toy with me, always toying! .. Like Killik, like all men!” She shrieked, “You deserve to die. So help me Syna, that I may smite you by her light.” Her astral limb tightened even harder around his neck, and her knee, once still now shot forth to strike him where it hurt the most. There was no measure of mercy in her tone, she was driven to the edge of her limits.

[Nimvahlis]

Pain. So much of it ran up his spine, like spears through a scarecrow it pierced him. His chest ached for air, and the vulnerable airways of his neck were crushed under the force of Callisto's ethereal hand. White hot fire lanced through his groin, a sun's explosion filling his body with an unbearable inferno. His back arched, sweat breaking out across his skin. He would have screamed, had he the breath on his lips. Instead he tried to speak, words coming out throaty and hoarse, "Apol... Apologise." His eyes closed, vision swimming. "I am.. S-Sorry." The mountainous weight of her spirit arm bore into his neck, making speech beyond difficult. Yet it was his only option. "One more... More chance." Heavy lids opened, trying to stare directly into his assailant's eyes even as she swayed back and forth. It was so difficult to concentrate on seeing, on breathing, on living. Was it time to return? No. There were still things to learn, places to experience, a new and vast world to claim. Nimvahlis would not die at the hands of this woman he was trying to help. Yet I aided as I saw fit, and disregarded her will. Perspectives must change. In the presence of this old acquaintance, Nim had relapsed to the entity he had played originally. This was not correct. Guilt weighed upon him as readily as a large stone, and he was truly contrite. Now I only require the opportunity to show her. A cracking of the soul. Lay back and relax as you slip into relapse.

[Callisto]

Lies. These are lies. The thoughts swelled and seethed in her mind. It was such an odd sensation, for Callisto had never felt such white-hot hatred in all her life.. All her life, that is, she lived on Mizahar after her eventual death. What little she could remember was so obscure and yet continued to influence her actions in the present, and for a moment she even reveled in the pain so readily apparent on Nimvahlis’ features.

Callisto was not cruel, but she was also not prone to kindness. Her emotions and mind had been tampered with, leaving scars that she was unaware of. The astral limb tightened further around the Ethaefal’s neck when he began to speak, but at the expelling of the words “Apologise”, something in the Konti seemed to lessen. The traces of rage were still in her ice-blue eyes, the blood smeared on her lip might have even made her look savage, but even in such a state, Callisto was still a headstrong woman.

“Chance?” She said, “You want another chance? For what, Nimvahlis? So you can play me like you play others? How many women have you done this to?” Her voice teetered to the point of hysteria. She had, at the last question, pulled the Ethaefal forward with an abrupt jerk of the astral limb then slammed him back into the bookcase. “What do you have to say to me, son of Leth? Your words of atonement fall on deaf ears, show me the extent of your apologies.”

The astral limb lessened around Nim’s neck, instead, rising to settle around his jaw, keeping his eyes locked onto Callisto’s. Her eyes were brimming with tears, unwanted, bitter tears. It had only been a chime, just a chime before she turned her back on her kin, allowing the astral arm to fall and collapse onto her real one. She could not raise her arm, having exerted it to it’s limit, but her one good hand clutched the side of the table. Syna, guide me. Help your lost daughter in this time of woe.

"You've torn my heart," She murmured, "Just like the rest... just like them all."

[Nimvahlis]

Nerves and thoughts disintegrated under the pressure of Callisto's fury, blowing away like so many ashes from a snuffed fire. The insanity no longer burned within Nimvahlis, its consuming heat suffocated as his lungs. Reverie stole him away, transporting him to that night of escape and revelation. The finding of freedom, the surrender of old phantoms, all had been lost in the relapse. I have careened from the heavens like a star, only to crash into the earth below, smoking in ruin. It wasn't the daggers that shot through his body that contorted his face, but the pain of fallen grace. How quick his fall! How desperate he was now! Cast to the ocean in a perfect storm, he had no anchor to the enlightenment he so desired. Except for Callisto. A resounding crash, and his head collided with the bookshelf. More shocking pain crackled through his head like bolts of lightning, but he did not care. A loud gasp escaped him as her hand was released and he could breathe the stale air once more. His heart raced and a hand reached for his bruised throat. Slowly, shakily, he stood. You live in filth, and look at stars. He stared at Callisto, her amber eyes breaking open like heavy grey clouds. The storm had come, and she had broken beneath it. Hurt and remorse lanced Nimvahlis, a pain rising in his chest as if his heart too had been torn. It overwhelmed him, consumed him as delusion had not so long ago. What was to be said? Nimvahlis got on his knees before Callisto, bowing his head in submission. The thought raced through his mind, and he balked. Silence was his voice for the following chime, the courage to reveal his greatest secret mustering itself. Slowly he spoke, voice trembling from his bruised larynx, "I am a hypnotist, a magician of perception." He continued staring at the ground, abject and contrite as he imparted a part of himself he had never before surrendered. "My acts are unforgivable and I beg for your forgiveness. I promise to you, that I shall play with your mind no more" His heavy head hung, yet he rose to his feet. "I wish to know you through true connection. Your heart has been injured, and I wish to heal it." Nimvahlis rose from his position and approached Callisto, as if she had not just attacked him. His arms wrapped around her in an embrace. No magic, no tricks, no games. It was a strange feeling that enveloped him. It was neither lust nor the satisfaction of dominion. Rather it was a small wave of hope---the planting of a seed that, one day, would grow into a mighty tree. Nim smiled, and behind it no malice or ill intentions lay. Once more, he was free. Like the dawn breaking, light swept through him as he realized she held him as much as he now held her. Callisto was the chain the bound him to sanity; she was Syna, and he was Leth. We shall meet in the place where there is no darkness.

[Callisto]

Callisto felt detached from herself, as if her astral body had completely slipped from the mortal one she held in the library.. In the presence of this Ethaefal. The djed thrummed beneath her skin, converging to the points in the joints of her left arm, already throbbing with the exertion and the sheer force used to rip her phantom arm apart. But it was Power she craved! You’ve shown him Dominance, you can do it again. So soft and enticing were these words in the far recesses of her mind. Callisto could barely focus on the texture of the desk in front of her let alone what Nimvahlis was doing behind her back. But it was silent… too silent. Until the rustle of movement behind her begged for her to look. She turned, furiously wiping the fresh tears from her wet cheeks, to see the divine being kneeled before her. She stood over him as one that would bore judgment upon his soul. And damned it would be! And then he spoke. “A hypnotist?” She should have known. She should have suspected from the moment the Konti had met the Ethaefal in the wilds. A night that should have been forgotten, instead it had come to haunt her. But Callisto could not bring herself to admit the Fear he had instilled in her. She had experienced his potential, and seen what such power did to hers as well as his mind. And he lies, he cheats, he deserves punishment. The power my lady Syna had bestowed to me… Callisto’s throbbing hand twitched ever the slightest, sending a jolt of pain up her arm as if it had been set aflame. She winced, but her expression became placid after a moment of silence, then she trained her gaze onto Nimvahlis’ own. “You have said it yourself; your acts are unforgivable. You cannot be forgiven.” Her voice no longer shook, instead it was replaced by the urging voices that fluttered in her mind. “My heart will not mend. It is hallow, a dead thing. There is no room for connections.” When Nimvahlis embraced her, the instinctive response was the hard slap she delivered to him, feeling the sting and familiar tingle soon envelope her fingers and palm. “Do not think that showing affection now will change anything. I do not need your affection; I walk alone.” I walk free. She pushed her arm against his chest, attempting to separate from him to step back, but the touch, so subtle, sent vibrations of energy of another kind. His Desire. It seeped into her conscious and sent such vivid sensations: The atonement, the deep sense of guilt. A different person. He was different. Callisto, having paused at the Sight, glanced up at the Ethaefal. “Your words hold true..”

[Panna Cotta]

CALLISTO Embalming 1 Interrogation 1 Observation 2 Intimidation 3 Rhetoric 4 Research 1 Projection 2 Lore of Sahova's Great Library Lore of lasciviousness (Well deserved, after all) Lore of protesting Lore of calling out to Syna Lore of suffering from conflicted emotions Lore of having a cold heart NOTES: Since Nimvahlis is a retired character, one can only surmise that he suffered the worst of fate in Sahova. Remember, no smut in the land of the dead or else...