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That things had not ended in disaster was something to be thankful for, at least. Jyya had been safely taken to the healer's wing, Caraennyn and his professor had met back up with Logan, to deal with whatever it was he was currently facing, and nothing at the University had blown up in the Dean's absence.
*Still, we're not out of it yet. I hate necromancy; and we have necromancers just outside the walls. Nessus I could learn to deal with, but his contemporaries?* Dr. Martin shook her head. She was, here, one vote of eight.
Zechariah Vesperocci had returned from the Arctic in the Dean's absence, and was the first to speak, about the only indication he gave of his worn patience, courtesy of northern political complications. "We should very much like to decide fate, but so much id dependent on things no one here can control, most significantly our common enemy. As it is, quite a lot depends on your own decisions. Are we correct in assuming that you would be willing to continue to oppose Vedicus?"
"Hold on." the Archancellor spoke up. "Not everyone from the ark are combatants. Most are innocent bystanders, as I take it. What of them?"
"Well, obviously we'll have to help them acclimate somehow. Remove the language gap for one thing. As for the rest..." The Dean paused. "They were referred to as slaves, as I remember. One thing which we are all agreed upon is that they are so no longer. It is no longer legal in Wexlar to own any, and we are not going to draw the animosity of the Duke. You also, should make the same resolution. If they are willing to work for their bread, they may stay in the town here, or move on. They are free to decide now."
"Yes, yes." The senior wrangler waved his paw irritatedly. "Now what of the warriors, sorcerers, and necromancers?"
Dr. Martin looked his way. "That, again, is their choice. Are they with us, or not? Allies are not things to cast aside lightly, enemies are to be nipped in the bud, before they grow to Vedicus-like proportions. I cannot say I am fond of an alliance with necromancers, but if they wish to help us against Vedicus and his ilk, well, we will accept, and render assistance."
Zechariah raised a set of scales that passed for a left eyebrow. "You may take it from the Dean's absolutist vehemence that neutrality is not an option. Understandable, considering she was on the front lines, trying to prevent Vedicus from doing to out people what he did to yours..."
The wolftaur Archancellor huffed. "So, Zodt, what is your answer?"
All my characters in their insane length
She can feel many spells and effects in the area, even in her weakened stupor. The injury to her eye had been serious, serious enough that it was left damaged. She could only see things as colorless blurs from her left eye. The injury she had sustained had left her almost completely blind in her left eye, and the faint glow of magic in her right eye remained in the form of a magic disk replacing her iris and pupil. She had overtaxed her body by drawing in almost 3 times as much magic as her body was capable of retaining. It would be several days, if not almost an entire month, before she was back to the condition she was in when she arrived.
The jird cast her gaze around the chamber for a time, taking in all there was to see, all the small details, then she met each of the Octariat's gaze with featureless rodent's eyes- eyes carrying both anger and hatred- for what, not even Nessus could say- but also incredible depths of pain hiding just below the surface. She finally spoke- saying few words, sharply- turned, and stormed out of the room.
Nessus stammered, looked back and forth between the Dean and the swinging door, and rushed out after her. His mind raced as he stumbled across the next room and out into a corridor. This wasn't like her at all. Sure, he had done some pretty nasty things, but they couldn't explain her apparent contempt for literally everything her eyes came to rest on. "Zodt, wait!" he shouted as he rounded a corner and caught sight of her back halfway down the corridor. He pressed on, crossing beneath swaths of moonlight filtering unevenly through stained glass windows high up above. "Zodt, I made a mistake! A huge mistake! Please, stop. You have to stop. we...we have to talk about things, for a change."
He'd caught up with her by now, but he didn't dare touch her shoulder or even to walk to either side of her, so instead he shouted at the back of her head, desperation evident in his voice, "tell me what's wrong, damnit! Why are you doing this!? Why won't you help them- us, why won't you help us! What are you doing!?" But it was all for nothing. She would not speak to him, she would not even hear him. He finally drifted to a halt, boiling in his own frustration and self-doubt. "Coward!" He shouted at the top of his lungs, "you coward!"
Zodt paused only for the tiniest fraction of a second, but the outburst he was hoping for did not come. A verbal thrashing would have been preferable to this. Even being beaten to within an inch of death would have been preferable to this: to being treated like a non-person, to seeing a potentially powerful ally lost, to watching a lover walk silently away.
Nessus returned to the Octariat hall roughly eight minutes after leaving, his spirit thoroughly crushed. He still hadn't translated her last words for the Octariat. "She says... 'you can burn.'"
How long ago had it been, the disaster on the lawn, the encounter with the spirit of his father which had set all of this in motion? Months? Weeks? Days? He had been content so recently, after so long in suffering and pain; he had found a place for himself where he could make a valuable contribution, where he could make a difference; he had developed new friendships. Now it all seemed a distant memory- a dream of complacency. He had forgotten how painful a place the world could be. Now, as the second most powerful ally they would likely find walked out, now, as dozens of ancient, fantastic and powerful feilans camped out there, just beyond the University walls in the town and beyond, Nessus was once again acquainted with the constant, most insidious force of attrition known to most as uncertainty. His future, the futures of thousands, even millions, felt a mere flip of a coin away from ruin.
(OOC: Annnnd, I think after Indrick gets a last post in, that will be the end of it.)
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