Closed Apéritif

[Velho]

༺༉❁ June 13th year 124 of the third age ❁༉༻
<notes>

Not too long ago, Velho's beloved Mother had requested he pay her a visit, claiming she had a gift for her dear son. Upon being informed of this, he hadn't a clue about what he ought to expect– a gift from her could genuinely be anything and she was, at times, creative in the worst of ways. When he'd arrived at her veritable castle of a home, she'd drawn him out to the gardens and then presented him with a dewy white orb: an Inari's ball. Most would never lay eyes on such a thing at any point in their lives, no matter how long lived. For Velho, however, this was the second one that'd come into his possession now, and both were gifts from his Mother, at that. How…strange. Of course, far be it from him to decline such a rarity; he did so love collecting oddities of the world.

Still, he was quite puzzled. When his mother explained the situation, it made about as much sense as many of the other dealings with Alíthea he'd had did. But before the Night Vixen departed, he made sure to arrange a meeting with her, curious as he was about this other Inari he'd thus far never heard of. She spun all sorts of tales about what relationship the two of them had shared in response to his notably nosy questions. Velho was skeptical of some of the details, but nevertheless, thanked her for sharing and bid her good look in Dullahan– a place he'd never been and hoped he'd never be forced to visit. Though if, like her, Alíthea bid him to, he wouldn't be able to say no; this possibility was a thought that would haunt him.

All that being the case, he figured it was high time to meet the Inari– Aster– that'd been left behind. Velho was, after all, deeply curious about many things regarding the mysterious stranger. And thus, a missive, handwritten in delicate script and stamped with the Seiðr family seal, would arrive at Aster's place business; it requested his presence to share a meal at Själasalr with the proprietor thereof. The parchment would smell faintly of lavender, and both the ink and wax were a deep, blackened red. Anyone with remotely acute enough senses would be able to tell this was because each were mixed with blood, as the metallic scent thereof mingled with the lavender and created a notably particularly unique result.

If Aster were to arrive at the appointed time– just after the sun had fully set– he would be greeted at the door by a young Fælniri man. The man was dressed in finely tailored and well fitting attire, and yet it still seemed oddly out of place on his frame. Perhaps it was the way he carried himself; Æhti was never comfortable in finery of any kind. Further, it would be evident from his bulkier physique that he likely spent more of his time doing more strenuous labor than answering doors. The young man would direct Aster to follow him, and then turn to walk straight across the lobby and through the door on the opposite side of the room. They'd continue straight down the following corridor before arriving at a flight of spiral stairs built into an inlet at the end of it.

The next floor had a corridor that appeared to mirror that of the first, and he would be led down that and through another grandly carved door. This time, though, in place of a lobby there was a lavish dining room, and within it, Velho. Själasalr's proprietor was seated at the head of the table and there was an empty seat at the other end of it. It was large, but not large enough to hamper their ability to communicate well at a normal volume.

The interior halls of Själasalr had a few choice pieces of exquisitely crafted furniture and ornate, maximalist decor wrought of the same durable, dark wood as the manor itself. One might describe the aesthetic theme as a sort of druidic art deco, but with a distinctly macabre touch courtesy of the Velho's personal tastes. The curtains on the windows and the upholstery were a deep shade of purple, and its halls and rooms were adorned with both varying artworks and floral growths. The flowers that grew within were the same variety that adorned the outside of the towering tree-manse– glowing red poppies and the lovely purple hues of wisteria and nightshade.

The dining room was similarly decorated; the ceiling was notably tall, too, giving the room an exquisite, almost regal sort of feel to it– the man had clearly spared no expense in the construction of any part of his home. That same principle, too, applied to the decor upon the table itself. It was clear of tableware sans what was placed in front of the willowy Æld'Norai and at the other end presumably for Aster, but the centerpiece itself was an elaborate thing situated atop a beautiful purple runner inlaid with gold thread; it was a complex array of red and purple flowers woven in and around the skull of horned beast– likely bovine, though the teeth would push one away from assuming standard cattle.

Velho was dressed in layers of black fabric that almost appeared to be dusted with stars, bearing all the hallmarks of Æld'Norai clothing sans the skimpiness that many of his kin fancied. Either he was hiding what lay beneath or he wasn't fond of his form– it was quite rare for any of his kind to be modest, and it was far from cold in Hespæria. He didn't wear much jewelry aside from his hands, which bore perhaps an excessive amount of rings, some pieces more uniquely shaped than others.

When lavender eyes set upon Aster, his gaze had him appearing to be tired– or perhaps bored. "Ah, you made it; welcome," he'd say, sleepily gesturing to the seat at the other end of the table.

 

[Hananozō]

The monster you know, is the monster you keep. When Aster had been informed by Yonakouchi of her immediate departure, there was little time to process, and his devastation was total. "Good hands will find you," she assured him; had he known she would hand off his Inari's Ball to the witch of Haesperia, he would have protested this - but whatever her choice, he feigned total compliance.

Over the coming days, Aster closed down his shoppe and hid his elegant wares. With no Night Vixen to protect his place of business, he was left in a place of uncertainty; he did not have the confidence. He had hoped to hide from the woman who had his Inari's Ball, but when that letter arrived, he had no choice. After all, he had a suspicion that these individuals were members of the cult Yonakouchi operated within - a cult that wrought his every night with nightmares.

It seemed that like Yonakouchi's, his Inari's Ball had been given again to a confidant he had only seen in passing. Velho, that disproportionate, robed creature with the long and withered face. If there were a monster in Yonakouchi's court, it was him.

At the least, there were starkly few Inari to worry about in Haesperia with her having left him by his lonesome here. That was a relief - his own kind were more trouble than they were worth.


. . .


Arriving as a fair human in the courtyard, Aster spent a good long while undoing his Seeming, transitioning his body back into its original form - he did not wish to reveal how terrible he was at wielding Glamour.

Preening his fur that day, Aster wove upon himself an illustrious appearance. His cloak was without imperfection, a swirling pattern of gilded floral decor. His hide glowed like the moon under the low light, and he chose three among his seven tails to reveal, just as he had always done.

Aster kept many secrets, and he wielded the falsehood that others thought they could control him like a weapon.

What foul torture awaited him. What lies would he spin to survive?

Reaching up with a tail to reach a knocker just above his short countenance, he knocked twice.

Thud, thud.

Nigh-immediately, the door opened and the red-eyed Inari looked up like a scared animal - dressed in finery fit for royalty and glowing like an otherworldly Spirit. His eyes locked with that of the servant - they shared that stare, wordlessly, before he was allowed inside.

Even the Fælniri in front of him was rather strange, more of a soldier than a butler. Most recoiled at the sight of an Inari; this one must have seen many things to not flinch or show any sign of weariness at his true form. Not willing to risk breaching an Imber Talisman - and thus alerting his host to the truth of his Fathom - he refrained from establishing a Link.

This also bade Aster poorly; a competent soldier aware of his master's wrongdoing would be yet another mind to manipulate if he could not tolerate what lay in store for him.

Allowed inside, Aster found himself appalled at the disorganized and chaotic nature of this place. Excess and rhyme, without the reason of order. This was Själasalr? It smelled in many ways like Yonakouchi's nest, at the least. Yes, this place was an accursed grove, he knew now even though it did not look it. The carvings and individual works of art were rather exquisite, however - his eyes lingered in particular upon the doors, contemplating if he might one day pick up a whittling knife and try his hand.

Aster arrived, he must have been a pair of ears beneath the height of an Æld'Norai table. Offered a seat, he quietly tugged the chair with one of those three furred appendages and tugged it outward, before neatly crossing them beneath himself to sit properly face to face with the man.

"It is understood that you have in your possession my Inari's Ball," he spoke with a pleasing, soft voice, fencing at Velho the typical Inari agitation. His words darkened to a hue of malice, though he did not wear it on his face. "You will return it to me."

No, Velho will not. They never did, but this was a fine way to sell the idea that it held sway over him, to feed the Ælf a sense of superiority. That comfort in dominion over something like him would stay the knife. Had Velho attempted to divine his Metaphor, he would find the Inari replete with the hunger and secretive nature of Imber, and the cool grace of Aeris.

There was the chance that Velho would have him punished for the disrespect, but that was a price he was willing to pay.

 

[Velho]

༺༉❁ June 13th year 124 of the third age ❁༉༻
<notes>

Indeed, only the waiting room of Själasalr held any real semblance of order– that space had a somber aura to it, with decor specifically chosen to put grieving families and those in search of medical treatment at ease. Beyond the waiting room's threshold, however, the Scourge's Grove was a dimly lit, veritable hoarder's palace. Even the halls were limned with finely carved, long, skinny end tables stacked high with shelves and all manner of strange knick-knacks or works of art. Such things were not haphazardly strewn about, either, each placed with odd but obvious deliberation, and not a single mote of dust could be seen– even in a few choice places where Velho had apparently chosen to allow spiders to weave their webs. It would be obvious to any observer that the building's proprietor had lived a long, strange, life and was, to at least some degree, a slave to sentiment.

Æhti stood almost two feet over the little Inari, and while his height was slightly below average for others of his race, the broadness of his shoulders aided in making him still look like something of a goliath when standing next to Aster. He didn't flinch at or really even react to the sight of the slight fox. Beautiful though the creature was, Æhti had grown painfully used to all manner of guests appearing at his master's doorstep. Further, most of the guests that lacked the pointed ears and fae-flair of the Æld'Norai (or the odd Fælnir family wealthy enough to seek his services) also tended to disappear within Själasalr's halls, never to be seen again– and because of that, he'd quell his curiosity and keep his interactions with such guests flat and brief. He much preferred not to know precisely what Velho did with any of them. Consequently, his affectation when serving as Aster's guide was just that– flat.

Further, it was likely a good idea that Aster had refrained from establishing a Link to Æhti– the uniforms Velho's servants donned were all woven with Ensorcelled flags that would alert their wearers of most magical tampering, as well as trace the Metaphor of the spellcast. While these security measures were not so fine that they could stop any given spellcast, that awareness was more than enough; if alerted, the Ferrier was capable of dealing with most security threats himself.

The seat arranged for Aster had been fitted with a few extra cushions (crafted of the same plush, purple velvet which upholstered the chair itself) to account for the fact that Velho's furniture was not built for creatures so…short. Once he was seated, the Ferrier nodded to Æhti, and the young man promptly shifted to begin serving the two of them champagne and delicately sliced ljuspære– in this case serving as the meal's apéritif. He moved with enough finesse to speak for what good training he'd received in this regard, though he still looked quite out of place doing it. For Æld'Norai guests of import, other sveinn who had the proper gait and grace might be used, but for this? Æhti served just fine.

Aster's response tugged at one corner of Velho's lips, creating a subtle sneer if only for a moment. Then, he slowly rolled his head ever so slightly to the side, feigning consideration towards the notion.
"I rather think I'll keep it," he said, languidly picking up a piece of fruit to eat.

"Even if you were to die I'd still not part with it– rare as those motes are, I've already made it part of my collection." The Ferrier's explanation was given with flat affectation, though his voice carried with it vague threads of whimsy.

Did Hespæride only pass over the ball because she knew of her son's fondness of hoarding oddities? Was Aster just that– another oddity to add to his vast collection? One might be led to believe from his words that Velho cared more for the novelty of the ball than for the Inari that came with it– but this was likely only half true. Living Inari could be useful, too, and the Scourge wasn't one to squander resources.

"Still, it was bold of you to state that as a demand," he added, eyeing up what he could see of the little fox.

His lazy, lavender gaze turned discerning for a brief moment as he searched for whatever traces of Metaphor lingered upon the one before him. What he found intrigued him, explaining a few things yet still creating more questions. He'd have to interrogate after those details later.

"Were you this disrespectful to dear Yona…? I'd scarcely believe she'd put up with such temerity…" he trailed off, voice almost veering towards mockery.

 

[Hananozō]

Aster watched the Æld'Norai intently, his gambit paying dividends. He would play the part of an exploited cur again, and Velho had so softly walked into that notion that he felt a smile cracking on his dark lips.

"Gifting an Inari's Ball is a token of trust," Aster lectured, walking down his tone. "We feel drawn to the possessor. Obsessive. It is no small thing to receive one, nor is it a feeling that translates into anything well-received when traded. If the Fae could feel in the same way as an Antarokian mind, that mote of our being is the only font for how."

Rolling back his shoulders, Aster candidly slid a paw under his chin, holding himself to the chair with his tails to keep from so inappropriately slacking. His bestial eyes of concentric red did not blink, maybe once in several minutes; Fae did not feel the pull of the world in that same way.

"Can I be faulted one opportunity to be candid, truly?" Aster argued, knowing the context was plain enough it need not be reiterated.

Given a question, Aster rolled up his eyes, and then turned them aside together with his head. He did not make eye contact as he spoke, instead seeing the memories he'd shared with that contemptuous monster.

"Ours was a one-sided arrangement. She kept within her which you now possess, to bargain my silence." His eyes shut, torture and coherent aberrations playing beneath the eyelids until they opened again. He glanced back to Velho, locking eyes with that pointed gaze. "She was a monster of a kind who suckled blood from her kills, as I know you must be; she had told me that you held her Inari's Ball, and that means you know every secret of hers."

"What do I serve?" he asked, turning his gaze to Æhti. "And the Fælniri - is he one of those, too?"

He looked back to Velho. "I could have spoken the truth, or fled when my orb had been callously traded hands. After all, a word I cannot perceive is one I need not serve, yet I did open your letter. I am before you, now as you have asked - a slave in the dark soon to be affixed with muzzle by demands of obedience and candor."

 

[Velho]

༺༉❁ June 13th year 124 of the third age ❁༉༻
<notes>

"So I've been told…Yona went over that with me rather thoroughly when I was given her Ball– though with her, that arrangement was made for my protection. It was to…even the playing field between her and I, so to speak," he was patently vague on purpose.

"With you? Why, I'm not sure how much thought was put into this arrangement; one day I received your Ball, and that was that. No prior notice, no real explanation– even talking to Yona yielded little in that regard since she had meant it for my mother; it being in my hands was news to her, too, though she certainly did not seem…" he took a breath to exhale Ash, "...surprised."

"Asking my mother was fruitless, too, as she simply laughed and told me to be grateful." And with that, he shrugged.

While Aster spoke, it was clear enough that Velho was listening, but one might be hard pressed to tell whether the fox or the fruit he was eating held more of his attention.

"I am what you accuse me of being– technically, I am progeny of a sort to the Night Vixen, though that arrangement only calls for one Sire." He chuckled.

"I think my mother passed her Ball over to me in a bid to nullify that dynamic. It always did vex her that another could claim a role even slightly maternal over me…" he said with a soft sigh. His face looked ever more tired when he said this, as if living under his mother's yoke really did weigh on him at times.

"As for him–" he continued, lavender gaze flicking over to Æhti for a moment, "...he is not like me." Velho appeared thoughtful. "He's…a favorite experiment of mine, and a fun pet. Trained to not ask too many questions."

Whatever it was Aster had accused Velho of being intrigued Æhti, but he was as yet ignorant. Most of what they were talking about sounded like the most curious of gibberish to him; just more of the Ferrier's many fascinating secrets. In some ways, inviting Æhti into the Alíthean fold might make things easier, but Velho was wary about introducing anything that might put the boy at unnecessary risk. After all, he still had two more initiations to live through– three, perhaps, if he was feeling lucky enough to include Exodus.

"However, I can send him away until he brings back the food if you'd truly like to speak candidly," Velho continued. "I don't mind– at least, not nearly as much as I expect Yona might have. I would've simply been shocked if she'd put up with such boldness," he added with a short chuckle.

 

[Hananozō]

Velho was not the mastermind. Aster believed him, outright. His lithe paw swept up to squeeze, stroking whiskers over his snout. Revelations, sweet inconsistencies and well-spun threads. Yonakouchi had left out much, and much of what he'd assumed was a falsehood.

"She left in such a rush. Seconds, as if her fate depended on it," Aster spoke after a long bout of quietude. "I could have been in your position, 'progeny' as you call it. But she left me the choice, and I had no reason to covet-" his eye moved to Æhti again, and he sighed.

They shared a knowing stare. Would Velho send Æhti away, or did they to know the truth that Yonakouchi forbade him from sharing? He had his answer quickly, and said nothing until the offer was made.

"That would be amenable," Aster said.

The Inari waited for Æhti to depart, watching him leave until the door clicked. Then he looked out over the creature before him, a cheeky grin spreading up his cheek. "Fae rarely lie, unless they have reason to," he said. "That I could speak to her in this way only reinforced the perception of my loyalty. Traditions around speech are something invented by the Sidhe and passed down to the Æld'Norai, she once taught me. They do not belong to the Inari. But I was content, I saw no reason that I should learn to be anything but what I am: an Aesthete, and a tailor. But if you wish for me to follow these traditions, I can, and I will."

Inhaling deeply, he breathed outward. "The Night-Vixen and I have shared a bond. Just as I will extend to you: that your secrets will not leave my lips, and I will help you to guard them as she had done." He continued. "I know about Alíthea. At least, I know enough that something digs into me like a cancer in my dreams, Arcadia, that when I do sleep, the nightmares are as real as if I had set foot upon the Plane itself."

The thought brought him around to a rather troublesome bind he felt clutching at his throat. His nose dipped, eyes for the lacquered wood. He gripped the table, and shook his head.

"I want it to end."

Now, he was speaking plainly the truth. He knew not what it was that stole his sleep, but he longed to rest easily again. "I do not speak this in haste, but do the nightmares end, if I become like you?" he asked. Before, he had been forbidden to ask such questions.

Know the monster.

 

[Velho]

༺༉❁ June 13th year 124 of the third age ❁༉༻
<notes>

"Indeed she did! My last meeting with her was cut short by…" he lifted his hands to illustrate his confusion. "...whatever it was she needed so desperately to attend to. How unlike her, that– you Faefolk are almost never in a rush to do much of anything; one of the qualities I like." He appeared almost amused at her behavior.

Velho waved Æhti out of the room and waited for him to go to speak again, but Aster beat him to it. He was unsurprised to hear about Inari and their views on social decorum– each of the Fae races were incredibly varied with their myriad quirks.

"Ælheimar decorum must be obeyed when in public or in front of others of import, but here, behind closed doors, I prefer more candor from my subjects than most. Keeps them more…honest. You will also be free to pursue your talents as you see fit here, too," he responded before Aster moved on to speak about his dealings with the Night Father.

Velho, now bereft of fruit, placed his elbows upon the table and splayed his fingers, bringing fingertips together as Aster spoke of Alíthea.

"It is good to know I can treat you as a confidant, but to me it sounds like the Night Father is simply trying to communicate with you–" the Scourge began, speaking in an incredibly laissez-faire manner given the subject. "...but frankly, that sort of thing is why the boy I sent away remains ignorant. I am not sure his mind could handle such terrors, and so I am sparing him the burden…for now."

He took a breath to clear his lungs.

"But, onto your question– 'do the nightmares end?'" He chuckled and shook his head.

With an apologetic expression, he continued, "...no."

"At least, not permanently. Once the bridge for the Night Father– Nihilos– to communicate with you has been established, it cannot be undone. However, most of us aren't assailed by dreams with such frequency unless we aren't going in the right direction– unless we aren't heeding His suggestions, so to speak." Velho's hands split apart, one arm dropping to rest on the table with the other hand shifting to support his head.

"It is certainly possible that He's pushing you to become like one of us, though, and that if you do…He just might leave you alone until such time that He wishes to direct you again," he paused for a moment, but then his face flickered with a short realization before normalizing again.

"Did she not explain what she is...? We Alítheans come in five fine flavours– we call them Blights. The blood drinking is a quirk of the one she and I share. I, personally, possess two– I sought hers to stabilize the maladies brought upon by the first, but that's beside the point," he coughed– more Ashes.

"I can only personally offer you those two, but there are three more. Would you like to hear about them...? I would hate to inflict you with something you know nothing about, especially since the transformations can be rather unpleasant," Velho offered, knowing full well the weight of accepting these afflictions.

 

[Hananozō]

Aster had spent the better part of a century in contemplation. All of that time spent ruminating, dodging the question, in fear for a lack of knowing what the puzzle amounted to. Bound, in part, not to ask. Afraid to ask of too much. Afraid to know.

"Tradition will be respected," Aster clarified.

What Velho said next had him spellbound at every word. His ears rose, arching forwards, and he sat up more straight to tilt his head, his slow heart beating a touch faster. Things he had witnessed, but could not place a name to. Secrets Yonakouchi flaunted, that he had overheard. The murmurs she spoke in her sleep, gilded in a new, red light.

"The Night-Father?" he repeated. It was calming to know he wasn't losing his mind, that this entity had a name, that it was real. Yet everything else only left him more weary, sorting out the pieces in his mind as Velho spoke of them. Jaws gripping tight, the Inari steeled himself under the knowledge, each utterance knocking at his mind with the butt of a knife, asking him to hold it so that he might plunge it into himself. Unlike Yonakouchi who kept him guessing, Velho shared so freely.

"Then knowing is..." A smile crossed his lips. Maybe he could make himself forget, and this bothersome entity would leave him to his slumber. Reality flitted to the fore of his mind in the next moment: if he did forget, that did not mean everyone else would forget him. There were far too many strings to avoid getting tangled in. "Knowing is why," he said, voice fading to disappointment.

Nihilos. The word felt like a slur, but it sounded so familiar. "Then if I serve, I will know peace– some measure of it, at least."

But serving was so much more. It was a curse. The hunger. He'd seen the way she looked at him, felt how her teeth traveled longingly across his hide. There would be little time for sleep, for sewing and sweetness. Finally, he gazed upon the Apéritif he'd ignored in all that time, and swept the glass closer to himself, staring at his own reflection.

"I am an Aesthete. I could wield upon myself the beauty of my soul. If a curse as any was an affliction of the appearance, this I could hide," he spoke before touching the glass to his lips, and downing a swallow. If it were poison as he feared in the back of his mind, it was certainly an artfully crafted one.

"The nightmares are already unbearable," Aster explained. Yet he was still sitting here, sane. When lesser minds would be gibbering and moaning beneath what Nihilos had shown them. "Dear me," Aster scoffed, reaching up to pull at his ear-cups and bring them down upon his skull. "She did not, though I understand now why she stopped short of telling all. If this– Nihilos– demands that I serve, then maybe I have no choice but to compromise with Him out of necessity. Inari already eat the livers of living things, so there is little weight upon further killing except for the matter of interests, and time. Name me to me the five Blights you speak of, and share in detail the maladies they face."

Aster moved to down the entire glass, blinking, wearing flitting expressions as he parsed through the conundrum. As the flavor lingered on his tongue, he wondered if he should share what he was. But he waited. None had ever understood; they always refused to trust their own minds around him once they knew. Fathom was a Pact that did not curry friends, and even fiends would be right to be wary. And how would Velho, or Haesperide, feel, if they knew they could not control him?

All in time.

"Whichever appeals to my vanity."

 

[Velho]

༺༉❁ June 13th year 124 of the third age ❁༉༻
<notes>

Yonakouchi informing Aster of Alíthea yet depriving him of any further information was a cruel yet cunning subjugation technique, if nothing else. Velho, however, did not feel as if he needed to make use of it. For one, he believed the Inari's Ball provided him more than enough control. For another, if he was to keep Aster around, he'd rather not have yet another servant stuck in the mire of ignorance– he already had plenty of those. Further, conversing with him would very quickly become irritating if he had to skirt around the concept of Blights.

Velho sat quietly while Aster was either taking the information in or speaking, slowly sipping away at what was left of his champagne.

"Ostensibly, yes– what the Night Father wills, we do. And so if it is His will that you join in one of our afflictions, then you will be spared His musings for the nonce," Velho reiterated with a nod.

"It is so like Yona to have told you none of this–" Velho mused to himself with a small sigh. "I should've seen that coming, or at least bothered to ask exactly how much you knew."

"Nevertheless, if you are to be under my control, I'd rather think it'd be useful– or at least more fun– to bring you into Nihilos' flock properly," he continued with a rather inscrutable tone.

"However, you mention your status as an Aesthete as well as your vanity– only one of the five is truly off the table when one takes those into account. That would be Scourge, and it is the one I took first," he paused, thinking how best to describe his affliction.

"Scourge is…complicated. Much of what I do as a Ferrier is accomplished through it. And indeed, all of Ælheim's Ferriers bear this Blight– but aside from its unique methods of handling spirits, we also boast control over Avernus' Ashes and the Humors of the body– Pathos," and in offer of demonstration, he punctuated this sentiment by lifting his free hand, black miasma bubbling from the palm.

"I can will this substance to do many fun things; it might simply put you to sleep…or it might rot you from the inside out. Who's to say?" The Ferrier paused, as if for effect. "The best part is when mixed with anything else it becomes tasteless, colorless, odorless– why, if it were in your drink, you'd have had no way of knowing," he followed this phrase by flashing a wicked sort of grin.

"The downside is, ah…my appearance. Surely you've noticed that I look a fair bit older than my own mother, a woman five times my age? Scourge is why– I am caught in a constant cycle of Entropy, rotting away with each passing day. Even with Draoidh, Malediction, and the power of that second Blight, I cannot seem to improve my health beyond this," the way his face creased seemed to indicate that this reality vexed him.

"The second Blight, the one Yonakouchi and I share, is known as Devorare– dominion over the body. We have Blood Sorcery, not unlike the way Aqua may wield blood, but we are more than that. We can read the story of somebody's life through their blood, control the body's chemistry at will, and sculpt flesh as if it were clay. The only downside is that we are dependent on blood, as you well know," he paused, needing to take a breath. All this talking was a bit much for somebody so withered.

"Further, the body of a Devorari is enhanced in every way roughly half a year after acquisition; heightened senses, increased strength and endurance, stronger flesh and bone, and you don't even need to breathe anymore," he paused, realizing something. "Mind, I do, because if I do not expel Scourge's Ashes which build in my lungs it is…profoundly uncomfortable."

He took a breath, then continued. "The third is Rusalka, and they are similar to Devorare, but if Devorare's dominion is the body, then Rusalka's is the mind. Terror, ecstasy, jubilation, rage, serenity– all will suffice to sustain them, though most do have a favorite. For example, my mother, Hespæride, is Rusalka. It is…likely the one that would appeal most to vanity, though the biggest downside aside from feeding is that they are infertile."

"The fourth are the Nightwalkers– they are therianthropic by nature, able to shift into a werebeast shape. They are veritable war machines, with regenerative abilities that rival the power of even Nimhea and Draoidh when it comes to healing– the price they pay is any hope of emotional stability; most end up completely codependent," when he spoke of the Nightwalkers, he sounded almost sad for them, as if he pitied them the most.

"And lastly there are the Null– they were the first Blight, and it is said that He hand picks those who obtain this one. In truth, I don't quite understand them– they appear as seething black masses of corruption, nothing like themselves at all before the transformation. I really can't speak much on their capabilities, either as I…stay away from them, generally." Velho's tone, for the first time, became meek when speaking of those graced with Null.

"If it helps your understanding at all, you can think of each Blight as you would a Godhead's Pact– each of them were born from the remnants of those Godheads that have ceased to be, each with the exception of Null, that is. I believe Null was forged from the Night Father's own essence." By now, Velho appeared relieved to be done with this explanation, happy to sit in silence as Aster digested this information.

However, as he did this, Æhti did return briefly with their food. Velho wasn't sure what sort of appetite Aster would have, and so he'd opted to skip ahead a bit to the main course, just including what he assumed the Inari would actually appreciate. Which, in this case, was a whole, raw, human liver– he'd made sure it was of fine stock. The Ferrier himself would be eating much the same, though his was served soaking in a small pool of blood. Once the food was served, Æhti would again depart, leaving the two alone again.

 

[Hananozō]

This was a horrible thing, any way Aster could make sense of it. Slipping inward his paws, he listened with blatant disgust to every detail. None sounded appealing, and the more he heard, the more unease piled within his guts until by the end he felt sick, very nearly splitting his tails in discomfort.

"Fun," he croaked like a frog. "A moment." There was a stiff swallow, as he steadied himself with a few breaths. Once Æhti emerged, he stared, borderline shaking from how torn he was, until his pupils dilated from a familiar scent wafting across his twitching nose. Liver. Liver that was lain before him, and he felt that very natural craving arise within him.

Very nearly stooping to grasp it with his paw, Aster instead took the utensils beside his plate. "I am indebted to you," he said, before he cut into the thing, and chewed what he fed to his mouth. That lurid swallow was like a balm to his nerves, and he felt lucid enough to think things through as he hate in silence. Not long, and he was done.

The first was Scourge. Nothing about that appealed, though it made him briefly regret drinking what had been offered to him– he'd already be dead if Velho willed it. "Aeris would... maybe contradict the appearance of Scourge, but everything else would run deeper than the skin," said Aster. "Indeed, it shall be ruled out."

"Devorare is– I fear for the time spent hunting, and when Yonakouchi would rise from her bed after slumber she would be in such a dire state of hunger that she never enjoyed her life," Aster explained. "Yet working with thread made from blood was sublime, and there were wonders I learned watching her crystallize it. To work alongside them, I enjoy the idea more than being one."

Of each of them, Rusalka seemed the most reasonable. It also aligned well with his Pact of Fathom, though he wasn't yet ready to reveal this. It still had a few caveats, however. "To me, the downside of Rusalka is being indebted to your mother, Hespæride. What is more, I spend much time of my time in isolation, or sleeping. Again, awakening to a ravenous hunger– no." To the left and to the right, he shook his head, and then turned his thought to– what was it, Nightwalkers?

"The Nightwalker, the Nightwalker? Fae frigidity might settle the emotion of a Nightwalker to some point," Aster said, eyes glancing up in thought. "Powerful emotion is not a degradation of life, rather the opposite. There is appreciable color to that idea." Then, he could always remove the thoughts from himself that angered him. He could rest– yes. "I should like to meet one of these Nightwalkers, with their retainer present."

But Velho seemed to know the least of their kind.

To the last, Aster knew not what to think. "So. Null– such a thing truly exists? I should hope I am not chosen– and, is it sacrilege to speak of such matters with distaste?"

That was everything to speak of. "Nightwalker," Aster stated. "Depending on how the interview fares, I might consider such a curse. I do love to feel more, not less. Even to an excessive amount; any Fae would revel in that idea." Receiving a swell of emotion he could maybe hope to control with his Fathom seemed to appeal. But for why, could he truly reveal his secret?

"Do you keep your promises to those who know, Velho?" Aster asked. "If you should promise to always treat me as your own brother, then there is something I can say. And from me, you shall have that same promise for as long as you do not torture me as Yonakouchi had. I would wish for an ally, to be an equal and no longer treated as a slave, so that I can trust you in ways I never could have trusted her. But I would not demand this; it would be by my own power that I could call us equals, and you are welcome to keep my Inari's Ball if it pleases you."

 

[Velho]

༺༉❁ June 13th year 124 of the third age ❁༉༻
<notes>

Velho himself had begun to partake of his liver as Aster did, though the Inari had finished his own around the time the Ferrier had reached the halfway point. Still, he continued to consume as Aster began the process of verbally weighing his options, and he did wait to add anything of his own until he had finished.

The Scourge was sort of surprised at the result that the other landed upon, for he was biased; he favored his own Blights.

"Speaking of Null with awe, trepidation, fear– all of those are akin to reverence in the Night Father's eyes; don't worry in that regard," Velho offered with a wry smile.

"That said, I am privileged to be in a position wherein I have zero obligation to make promises I won't keep, Aster– as such, when I promise anything to anyone, I do keep my word." He paused, as if pondering the other's proposition. "Your terms are more than fair; brothers we shall be once you are Blighted."

"Lucky for you, then, I suppose, that I can provide you with whatever wonders of Devorare yet still pique your interest," Velho offered– he was happier about this than he sounded. He did much prefer to work with other Blighted where possible.

"I might think of the Nightwalker's rage as their own hunger, in a way– but it works for you, doesn't it? It strikes when one is stimulated– not when one awakens from rest," the Ferrier spoke contemplatively– he'd never really weighed the pros and cons of that one from a perspective quite like Aster's before.

"I can…bend a few ears, pull some strings. My old mentor, the one who gave me Scourge is…ah, acquainted…? With the very first Nightwalker, though I am unsure if he'd be willing to grant it himself. I've never personally met him, but I've been told many stories– I, for one, was fascinated to learn that Nightwalker originated right here, in Ælheim, and propagated in the shadows all this time." Velho's tone validated the fact that he genuinely delighted in anything concerning Alíthea and its machinations. "Surprising, too, that the first of such a volatile strain still draws breath– but I suppose it makes sense; we Æld'Norai are nothing if not fastidious with our security protocols," he spoke these words as if they were rather dry a joke.

Continuing that thought, "...nevertheless, if he's busy, many of those who've received his gift are still skittering about in the forests alongside their ever watchful wardens– you'll receive your wish one way or another."

 

[Hananozō]

Swaying forth behind him, Aster's tails casually danced with joy. The kind of feeling he only felt when he was waking from sleep untainted. "Mmmh-hmm-hm," he hummed through his nose, eyes peeling with a giddy, alien mirth.

What was more, being one with Remnant, his Total Recall would be an exercise in chewing on their conversation through the night. He could remember every word, and he would not forget unless he gave that memory away. But he did find time to escape into the bog, to a place he now considered sharing with his newfound friend.

He blinked under Velho's reply. It dawned on him. "The very first in an awful lineage, no better mentor is there? Like royalty, then? Or a figure in high esteem, at least." A mentor who might try to tear him apart like a rabbit.

Aster rose from his chair rather suddenly, then stepped up onto the table with a paw clutching his own breast. "I, Aster, pledge fealty to you, Velho fyn'Seiðr Hespæros," he said in Velho's tongue, his words replete with flawless enunciation.

"And with this pledge, I do renounce my fealty to Yonakouchi the Night-Vixen, and to Vænir Hespæride fyn'Seiðr Maebh." He bowed his head, and then raised his paws into the air. A flourish of of flames erupted across his tails, which split into seven. "Now be amazed!"

Feeling free, he turned to swirl those ethereal appendages before Velho, and then dared to speak his truth.

Exuding a field of Psychoplasm together with the vibrant feeling of Imber, Aster allowed it to fill the room, and as it did, he picked up the empty glass with his mind and brought it to his finger, where it began to rapidly spin. Like a soft music, he played flawlessly an Æld'Norai hymn as the wind fell upon its rim, enchanted by the performance of his Aeris. "By my Aesthete, I had broken the Bond of my Inari's Ball centuries ago and feigned obeisance to the memory of it, instead. In truth, Velho, the only reason I had not slain that contemptuous bitch was that I feared she would come back from being crushed into a fucking smear of blood."

Pushing up the glass with his finger, Velho allowed the impromptu music box to serenade them both while he hugged over himself and quietly danced beneath the feathery feeling of being so light. He began to dissolve inside, slowly weaving Apparation in a way that was not readily apparent. "And that is not all, I fed her the lie that she had sank her claws into my flesh and made me anew, oh-ho. I am a Deep One, I could feed a mind any lie I wanted..."

Just as he uttered those words, Aster dissolved into a cloud of murmuring lights, the flames departing with him. They floated, speaking like rampant thoughts marching in unison. But each was like a sweet velvet promise, a warm caress to an Ælven ear. A myriad of tones, each different from the last, spoken in harmony with the song of that glass still spinning its enchanted tune.

"You will not regret your promise, brother."

"Any mistake you make, I will be its undoing."

"The very swamp is teeming with my memories."

"I am far more than you can imagine, Velho."

"I will never manipulate your memory."

"Your mind is safe."

"I tried to tell Yonakouchi, but every time she tried to kill me."

"She could never trust me without the leash of an Inari's Ball."

"So I lived in a prison of my own making, to coexist."

"Nihilos whispers to me every time I sleep."

"The Night-Father told me of this day."

"He applauded me, I thought it a mockery but now I understand."

Seconds later, Aster emerged in his chair as the sounds coalesced into a murky figure. As he came into being, he was bristling. Vibrating with an excitement he could not contain. Paw-digits dancing to the music, he spoke under a great sense of relief. "Oh, we could go to the bog and I could show you all I have wrought! All I have seen and done with those memories beneath the black water!" he exclaimed, before slinking back in his chair, those seven tails wrapping and pushing until he was sliding along its backing like a snake with his cheek rubbing the side in cat-like glee.

 

[Velho]

༺༉❁ June 13th year 124 of the third age ❁༉༻
<notes>

To watch a Fae express genuine joy was a strange experience, and Velho did so in silence, as if watching a stage play unfold before him.

But to his question about Nightwalker's first, he expressed a small smile. "Something like that, yes– he's even revered by the uninitiated, for he has proved invaluable to our military his entire life."

The little fox then standing on the table was at first jarring, but only because such a move was unexpected. Aster was an Aesthete, and as such, an incredibly well kept creature, so whilst this was odd, Velho was in no rush to stop him. The Ferrier didn't outwardly react (though his gaze was torn between the Inari's face and those tails flicking about), instead opting to hear out whatever display Aster was going to put on.

Further, while Velho wouldn't have considered a formal fealty pledge to be necessary, he found that particular gesture to be reassuring. When it came to emotional bonds, earning somebody's genuine trust and loyalty was always stronger than ruling by fear. Fear was often easier, and while certainly effective, it was volatile– the broken could be the most unpredictable, and vengeance was an immensely powerful motivator. The Scourge only ruled by fear over those he could easily dispatch.

The next display was a wondrous sight, and the glass flute's hymn was a nice touch. Aster's words, however, made Velho laugh. "Fascinating– I had wondered if Aeris was potent enough to sever something like an Inari's Ball," his words were genuine, though delivered in the fashion one might expect from a scientist observing an experiment. "Still, I would love to keep yours– they are beautiful things," he said with an almost playful smile, as Velho did so adore hoarding unique, magical oddities.

"But your restraint was wise; we Devorare are patently difficult to truly kill unless we've nothing left with which to cast– though it would've been a remarkable feat to have felled her," his words, this time, laced with apathy.

The Scourge did appreciate Yonakouchi for what their relationship was, but he'd be beyond irrational to fault Aster for craving vengeance after what he'd apparently been subjected to– and so he would not chastise him for his honesty.

Velho could not hope to ever understand the depth of Aster's jubilation, as he had never in his life been subjugated to the degree that the little white fox had lived through– he could, however, understand that the freedom he must finally be feeling would be an unimaginable emotional high point, and so he opted not to sully it by interrupting any of Aster's expressions thereof.

Further, he couldn't help but smile at the revelation that the other was a Deep One. Through the Ferrier's many years scouring arcane texts and learning about Pacts, he had read of Fathom; he knew the basic tenets thereof. However, he'd never met one, and this had always vexed him. Secretive almost to a fault (as was Imber's wont), he'd been hoping to chance across one that'd trust him enough to reveal themselves for literal centuries.

But then, the Inari slipped out of sight, Apparating into glimmering, coruscant motes– they hung in the air like a small host of will-o-wisps. In this fragmented form, Aster did speak again, his mellifluous words ringing in multiple directions, coming together in an eerie yet beautiful harmony.

The words themselves interested him as much as the performance, but as Velho was about to respond, Aster reappeared and spoke again, this time referencing a 'bog' of sorts. Ælheim had myriad bogs even beyond Hespæria– "...which do you mean? There are…several," he asked, eyeing the other intense curiously.

 

[Hananozō]

Hewn from exuberance, Aster brought himself down from the high of expression, the feeling dripping out of his mouth with every breath he took until he felt the pull of melancholy wash over him like a hood. The feeling was short-lived, though he maintained a slight smile as he settled more properly into the chair, and let loose a cheery, coy leer across the table.

Velho had not bawked in fear. It was ...so very comforting, to have that reaction. "You may keep my Inari's Ball, yet a warning of any you would share the truth with shall be appreciated. You hold the Night-Vixen's Bond, so I should not fear her. We should not be at odds, although her surprise will be histrionic as it always is. She prides herself on being in the know, and feels slighted when tricked." He tapped the wooden table, staring off at the window. "Then with the Nightwalker's Blight, I will be able to conquer my frailty. If a man should be held in esteem, then there must be a way for which to control it."

"As for the bog– I know not its name. It is seventeen miles to the southerly-west. Beneath the waters of Avernus where no Wisp would explore, I have built for myself a home. There is a power I possess which I had been cultivating slowly since my banishment from Arcanis– I was a student there, centuries ago. This power is known as Remnant; I can only make use of it within the bounds of Imber– within a vast body of water." He continued, and set the spinning glass down from the air. "I may copy the result of a spell and wield it through the Metaphor I am apt with. I will never forget its make, but I may need to see it several times for accuracy. One day, I would like to have witnessed each of the Blights at play, so that I might learn to bastardize them in my own way."

Raising his paws, Aster stretched himself upward, robes twinkling in the light, and then he slipped forward to lay his chin upon the table, speaking lazily with a casual, tired slur. "Then there is the matter of my shop, my service to you; I would put an end to Aesthete's Elegance and live here, if you would yield an alcove somewhere quiet for me to sleep. With your facilities, I might aid you in research, or the devisement of Contrivances. It should also be a refreshing change to be close with someone who knows what I am. Would this arrangement be favorable?"

It was easier to move in. This place, Velho's home, it was safer. Aster craved security.

 

[Velho]

༺༉❁ June 13th year 124 of the third age ❁༉༻
<notes>

Though Velho himself had not been given adequate reason to reach the same heights of delight that Aster had, the other's exuberant outburst had plied his empathy– he felt the shimmer of vicarious joy lighten his rotten chest, even after the fox himself had floated back down from the stars.

The Ferrier lifted the hand his face was not resting upon and brought it to his opposite cheek– then he smiled, an odd expression of appreciation now painted on his weary features. "I am glad to keep it, and I feel it unlikely that I'd need to share your secrets without warning so that's…easy enough," he began, pausing to take a breath.

"And…I for one have not tricked Yona by making this arrangement with you. She left, and you and your Ball fell into my arms as a gift. What I choose to do with that which she's abandoned is no trick upon her," his words languid, yet matter-of-fact.

Velho wasn't a master of geography, but he knew Hespæria well enough. He'd passed that place more than once across his life, and so it was interesting to learn that Aster had made a Memorandum within its depths. "Ah, Remnant. My mentor, the Scourge I mentioned, is one as well– which is what makes him so hard to find when one needs him; often he loses himself in the halls he's created for…inconvenient amounts of time."

"That also explains some of his…quirkier abilities. He never quite explained to me the capabilities of Remnant, but it does make sense to learn that some of his spells are shades of things he's witnessed," Velho spoke half-musingly, his gaze drifting aside as if pondering this new realization more for himself than the benefit of the one with whom he conversed. Addressing Aster properly again, "...but you'll have plenty of opportunity to acquaint yourself with each Blight in due time."

Velho's eyes narrowed slightly in thought at the fox's next request. "That arrangement is fair. I don't dabble much in Artifice myself, so any expertise offered in that field is appreciated. As for where you'll stay..."

It took a moment of weighing the options. "If nothing else I suppose I could compel the growth of a new bough for you, within which a chamber may be carved out. Or…one of my servants wields Terra, and if you'd prefer something more underground, he may fashion something for you below the tree– up to you, either option will provide enough space for whatever equipment you'll want to use."

 

[Hananozō]

"Your word brings me great comfort," Aster replied smoothly. Already his eyes were somewhere else, distantly imagining the possibilities in spite of his longing for a thorough nap. There was much to rest on. Much to consider.

The manner of Yonakouchi was lain to rest with a long, distracted shrug. Velho might deflect blame, but he knew the Night-Vixen better than anyone. Her wrath would come to them both in a display of fury one day, if nothing else than to lament his lies and manipulations. There were times when she seemed confused from his doings, and she would surely cast blame in the amoral way of vengeance. This was how her mind worked: she cared deeply for her kits, her power, and little else.

"A Memorandum beneath the roots of this place would be most secure, and easier to source as a working space," Aster mumbled in agreement, before projecting his words once more. "If you would do this for me, I would be in your debt and gladly begin the process of unweaving my Memorandum to transfer its thoughts there. To think you have a Terra at your disposal... I am impressed. What is more, I would happily mentor you, and work upon projects at your direction as a patron of my art."

Agreeing to something profound weighed upon him. He could not help but think he was moving too quickly, but then he wished dearly for the nightmares to end, so that he could once again achieve the inner peace and sense of liberation he had left Jian to foster all those years ago.

Aster felt it was time to take his leave, and rose in place to lean over the table with his tails to serve as feet. "We will soon discuss the needs of my workspace, our schedule, and plan out this meeting with a Nightwalker to facilitate my...initiation." A pause, as he bowed his head forward. "If you would excuse me, I should ruminate on what we have agreed upon, and I shall arrange for my possessions of note to be brought here and processed into whichever quarters you arrange." Balanced upon his many tails, he turned away and glided down to the floor, departing the room with one last ear-perking glance before the seven long appendages wove together into three on the way out, and the door shut behind him.

 

[Vicissitude]

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Aster

+30 XP (3k+ WC)

Velho

+30 XP (3k+ WC)

What a delightful little thread! I think these two shall go far working together, and I'm excited to write those stories with you.

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