An Interview with the Ashfiend

[Carnath-Emory]

There is some point in the midst of it that even Ariane's self-control fails her, and oh, she'd made a steely thing of herself: had made this cold, quiet vigil the whole of her role here. But she has spent nearly a month espousing certain facts, speaking to particular ears certain fears, certain dreads.

And now, seated here upon horseback in this blighted clearing, she hears them confirmed.

Oh, there are names a-plenty that she does not know, there is talk of warfare and lost worlds, and of gods -- which her atheist heart must dismiss as misunderstanding and passion. But in the midst of it comes this name which she knows so very well, and for which she has an accompanying face, and some tiny portion of a history, and it strikes her like a luminous lance to the heart.

Some sound, certainly. Some tiny, breathless choke of it.

[Glenn]

Amazingly enough, Glenn manages to hold out alright through most of this. He was already awed, already in fear. What was this additional information except for more confirmation of the dread he felt upon learning that the demon was Vraal's servant? Yes he had heard the name of the witch but it meant little to him. Ariane's explanation had been quite lacking, through no fault of her own and Lamai wasn't here to explain moer to him. No, there was some fear, but that fear was for Alastir, for what might happen because of the words overheard by Vraal. Savoy needed to be protected, but that was for later. They had to live through this now, and Glenn was about to make that very, very difficult.

Teron was weary. He was sitting, and he was speaking of his loss. Once again, Glenn's eyes went to that urn. He remembered well the note from Vraal to Calomel (and yes, he had been in the office this morning to drop off his sword after training and was shown the second one by Calomel, even if it was only a brief glance of it before rushing off to be on time for the meeting). He remember what Vraal told him about Teron, about the Ashfiend's one true weakness. He remembered Deost's guess: love. He remembered all the talk about about keystones by Alastir and... it came back to his very large question: Why couldn't Teron just bring Penroll's true love back to life? He did not have the higher moral ability to think it a bad idea, not after all these centuries.

And this... this led to another question. What if came here intending to do just that? What if he needed her for this very thing?

He should have asked, then and there, how to hurt Vraal. Or why Teron himself hadn't struck at the Violet Dawn yet. It was not hard to find them. These were the questions he had intended. Instead, the words just came. There would be no other time for this.

"Teron." His voice was ice. His gaze was scalding, at least as scalding as a slightly undersized Mapmaker's gaze could be. "We'll leave now, but damn it all, there's one thing I can't figure out. There's one thing that I need to know first. Penroll, why did you take the barmaid? Why did you keep her? You intended something for her. Was it truly just to lure us to Snowstill? No, you had to intend more. WHY?"

Consequences be damned. He had to know.

[Teron_Ashfiend]

There was that name again, that damnable name that haunted him through Glenn's lips which alone had dared to call him such to his face. A slow turn of his hooded head, his eyes stirred into crimson frenzy, embers stoked to flame with the utterance of a word and a name. Except it was not just a name, or a word, but a memory of all that he had been and all that he had lost summed up in two joined syllables.

"Do not test my patience, for it is considerably less than Vraal's."

The warning hung between them as a ready noose for Glenn's neck, an urging for the man to remember the pain he could inflict with but a simple gesture. After allowing the silence to grow, and taking in the subtle changes that hinted at great and perplexing thoughts for both of Glenn's companions, he answered.

"To lure those who would oppose me in Myrken Wood to one place and destroy them. To let you think I had been beaten when but a few days later I would try for the abandoned mine and reclaim what was mine." He spared a glance for Ariane then, recalling their time in the forge and at the ruined estate.

"Calomel underestimates me to his own doom, and the doom of all here that draw breath." He climbed to his feet then, moving in silence, his tattered cloak stirring briefly behind him.

"And to perfect upon the girl what I have wrought upon Alastir. For one who would dare assault me through the nature of my curse, who would dare try to bring me low with pain, and memories of flesh... he had given me the idea to perfect such a magic as is now mine. If he shall channel that which is anathema to me, then I shall unleash that which is anathema to all."

"I will unleash myself upon my enemies, mapmaker," he offered in arctic promise. "Vraal knew, rightly, that there is no greater weapon than me."

[Carnath-Emory]

There are things that she will not say, this swordswoman who is betrayed so regularly by her own clumsy tongue. Her experience of the spoken word is that it obeys others very well, and herself not at all, and she will not risk herself and her companions and this crucial news by adding her own opinions to it. And yet...


It would be something, to explain that she knows what it is to be half-mad with grief for something precious, something broken beyond repair -- and of what atrocities may come of that.

It would be something indeed, would be a furious retort, to insist that he cripples himself. That remarkably, he has found allies here, and that he has reckoned them enemies, and that he has striven to systematically alienate every last one of them from his cause.

Worse!, she would cry. You have spent yourself more upon damaging would-be allies, than upon attacking Vraal!

And it is precisely this realisation that has stilled her lips, even when nothing else would, even at the horrifying moment in which restraint failed her entirely. It has informed her that this is what lay ahead of her, that year and more ago, when all that she knew in the world was grief and blistering hatred. That this is the very remote extreme of what she'd been then, the worst possible extreme imaginable -- if she'd been something other than mortal, and her capacity for violence were something other than mundane, and if she had been systematically driven in a manner towards which the likes of Michael Renne could only aspire. These are cruel realisations, but they are also invaluable, for they have led her to three very simple conclusions:

That this creature cannot be reasoned with.
That this creature is irrevocably insane.
That they need to leave.


Immediately.

[Jirai]

Rhaena

There are parallels here, that may be drawn to far too many things. There are questions that need to be asked, but not of this madness before them. There is a glance for Ariane, bronzed eyes sparkling with worry that was soon to be turned on the mapmaker.

She flinched, shifting uneasily as Glenn used the name Penroll, though it was much more due to the Fiend's reaction than to the man's words.

Oh, Ariane has the right of it.

[Glenn]

Hell. The reason for the girl was better and worse than he expected. It was... Later. They still lived didn't they. There was a glance back to Ariane and Rhaena. It was so strange to be able to read expressions on the girl's face. As for Ariane, it was all body language and... yes, it was time to go.

"We will do what we can against Vraal. You have my..." What, is he really going to give this monster thanks? No, no he is not. "My intention." It would have to be enough because that's all he wished to give. He turned the horse around with some effort and began to ride slowly, making sure Ariane was holding up the rear. "Come." Yes, Glenn was shaking slightly now. Yes it was very, very much time to leave.

[Carnath-Emory]

She requires no further indication, no further urging whatsoever. She is wheeling that great warhorse about, not to leave before them, but to place its sheer bulk between the pair and looking Ashfiend. A cautious angle, this is, and reins caught upon in one naked fist; these are sharp eyes which watch, a careful body which waits, booted heels against the beast's flanks and ready, ready --

There: they move, they gain ground; with a lingering last glance for the 'Fiend, she is about, and away, and urging the other beasts to some speed, for High Constable Calomel, such news awaits.