It's Not About Control (closed to Dissinger)

[Skie and Avery]

The pub was almost as ill-lit as the library had been. A fire crackled in the hearth and above the main table in the hall, candles hung in iron fittings. It was a dwarven place, and the chairs and tables were heavy and low, much like most of the denizens. The three of them stuck out in their dark corner, literally, towering over the top of the table with mugs the size of their heads before them. Skie had hardly drunk from hers, instead leaving the thick dark stout while she drew spirals in the foam that had sloshed onto the oak tabletop before her.

“You’re quiet. Fallkipus?” Malagaste asked, twisting in his seat. He’d been unable to get quite comfortable since they sat down, though it may have been less about the chair and more about the myriad of eyes watching him carefully from all around the room. Skie shook her head.

“No, not really. I expected as much, honestly. There has never been much information on my father, aside from his great deeds and the rumors of the curse.” She wished she could remember more of the time she’d met him as a child. When she and Avery were young, younger than they should have been to sneak out alone, they’d gone to Radasanth. Instantly drawn to the Citadel, they’d made a room of giant toys. When Devon had come into the room, by chance, their playthings turned against them and in the end, he’d saved their lives and left them with a small gift. What could have been, she thought to herself, if only any of them had known who the others were.

Bitter words Avery had spewed in the past came flooding in. What measure of father had he been without ever being there? Still, Skie held on to the memory, now that she’d found out. It was funny, she couldn’t remember him ever using magic in the Citadel that day. He’d saved them with his sword, and with quick thinking. They weren’t looking in the right place.

"I wonder," Malagaste said, his eyes drifting over the patrons of the bar, "how your mother survived your father. If it is as it is said, and his lovers perished...."

Skie sighed and pushed her mug away. The bitter brew wasn't fulfilling tonight, and as the dwarves around them were starting to pay their tabs and head out, she found that was all she wanted as well. The night's disappointment was looming large over her, a personal cloud that needed to be cleared with sleep. "Well, he didn't love her. My mother was some measure of unlovable," The words were delivered with a laugh, and lightly but after they were said, Skie stood. "I think I'm heading off to bed, guys. I'll see you later."

When the door was closed and the men alone, the dark elf glanced at Seth. "I don't believe that. There must be something else, and the maternal blood is the key. What do you know about her mother?"

"Well, she was a demon," the Lavinian said. "You know how hard it is to win the affection of one. And to seek it... people call me crazy. I find that sort of thing the height of idiocy."

"No..." Malagaste laughed. "Raiaera's favorite human hero and a demon? Never in the seven hells would i have believed a Purifier to lay with Haidian evil."

"You say evil as if it were an absolute. Tell me, am I evil, Mal?" Seth grinned as he pulled his mug to his lips. The elf wasn't sure if it were a smile of merriment or malice, but either way it wasn't benevolent. Nothing about the Lavinian was, and his answer came to him quickly.

"Oh of that there is no doubt." Each word was spoken as if he were driving nails with them. "Do you really not see the depths of your own darkness? Besides, what demon have you ever met that was kindly?"

Seth's hand flew out, slamming something on the table. It cracked on the wood, and when his fist moved to the side, a familiar brand caught Malagaste's eye. The seal of Alerar, the shape, it was too obvious. The Medal of Trestoria. The drow's mouth drew downward in a grimace.

"The Valsharess felt diffeerently," Seth said. "Evil is never an absolute. You cannot put it in a box, for if you do you will find it overflows the boundaries. To many in this world Alerar iis an evil, a decadent people without morals. Attacking Raiaera immediately after Xem'Zund was defeated?" He clicked his tongue with disappointment, grey eyes dancing with amusement as the elf bristled.

After a moment, Malagaste rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. "Even so, the story doesn't make sense. That girl doesn't have a wicked bone in her body. Does that," he waved vaguely toward the door, where Skie had left, "look half demon to you?"

"You assume there was choice in the matter. There wasn't when I fought her. Take it from me, you can overcome base instinct, but you have to know what's going on first."

"A fight?" Malagaste couldn't hide the pleasure on his face. "Do you antagonize all your friends, Vasvrae?"

"Years ago, I was younger, more foolish. In the Citadel. It ended in a tryst, despite the fact I wanted to murder her..."

The pleasure leeched from the dark face, eyes narrowing. "I see... tricky little thing. So we have a girl with a cursed father, a demon mother, who kisses demons and gives them mortality and can apparently turn the Blood Architect from rage to lust despite how many countless victims have been more unlucky...." For a moment they sat in silence before Malagaste spoke again. "Yes, the key must be the mother's blood. I had suspected lust when I heard what happened in the warehouse and the rumors of her father, but demonic magic? I suppose I should be more cautious when pushing her like I did tonight."

"You weren't as subtle about it," Seth snorted. "Next time try not to knock things askew so I can at least pretend you aren't oozing with rampant weasel lust," he offered as he cracked his knuckles. "Blood only goes so far. It gives us the broad strokes, but lightning struck once and it's more to look at the differences rather than the similarity. Let's look deeper than emotions. Her mother didn't have a soul, kinda hard to manipulate what's not there. There's also the question of bloodlines," his voice trailed off before he sighed. "With demonic blood it could have supercharged the magic in her bloodline. She could be stronger than dear old dad."

"If that were true," Malagaste laughed, "Then you would be dead, instead of just an ill-chosen lover."

"If only it were that simple," Seth said, picking up his mug to drain the rest.

"I would believe it if you said you were soulless."

"You also believe that I am evil despite saving a life just last week and countless others. There's the Medal issue but let's let that one rest. Point is, you've narrowed your view. Broaden it, especially where magic is concerned. Even when I met magic's living embodiment, I couldn't help but feel it was only using things I understood so I could fathom what I was encountering. We have no clue. Training her to use it could be lethal to us, or quite successful."

"I wonder," Malagaste said quietly, "Do you truly see your end at hr hands when she has control?"

"My end is my own. I know where my story ends, and this is just another chapter," Seth said levelly. The dark elf ran his hands through his hair, taking a deep breath.

"It would be best," he said, "If you wrote yourself out of her book." With that, he stood and left the Lavinian in the pub. He had plans, after all, and they needed to be laid before the Vasvrae dug in any further.