Shadow Dance {Pretty and Fades}

Sciomancers. The Shadow blighted version of the Ascendrils, to whom she
had belonged to since she was twelve. They were cruel and ruthless so the Elders
had told the novices. And what was worse, they allowed members of the Undead
to join their ranks! Detestable. Outrageous. Sinful. That's what she had been told
for years. The Consanguine, more commonly known as vampires, or the Undead,
were horrible creatures, feeding on the lives and blood of other humans to survive.
Their bodies were dead, and yet the continued to live on. Unforgivable, these walking
corpses.

And now, at nineteen, Aislyn Starion, was about to join their ranks. Dragging her
feet along the highway and using her Aetherstaff as a walking stick, Aislyn looked
gloomily towards the city of Spinesreach. The city where the Sciomancers were said
to dwell. She may have been kicked out of the Ascendrils, but there was no way
she was giving up on being a Magi! "I won't give up," she muttered to herself. "Not
ever." She would learn, even if it meant joining the dreaded Sciomancers.

I'm sorry, Aislyn, but you just don't have any talent for Channeling or Crystalism.

Her rejection from the Ascendril guildhall had been painful, but not nearly as painful
as the look of bitter disappointment in her teacher's eyes. The former guildmaster
had been like a father to her since she was a child, and once his term as leader had
ended, he no longer had the authority to protect her. The new guildmaster had
thrown her to the curb without so much as a bachwards glance. The Ascendril was
the only thing she knew of in this life, and they had thrown her out. She took a deep,
shuddering breath, holding back the tears that threatened to spill from her big blue
eyes. She would not cry! She scrubbed furiously at her eyes with the back of her
hand and sniffled softly. She knew her teachers were right. She had no talent at all.
She was timid and slow, easily exhausted and prone to daydreaming when stressed.
It was bad enough that Channeling was beyond her, but she could barely even make
a sonicportal from one end of the street to the other! And now she was stuck walking
all the way from Ashtan to Spinesreach. She had sent a message to the Elders of the
Sciomancy ahead of her by way of messenger doves, but she had yet to receive any

sort of answer. She heaved a pained sigh and trudged on, eyes locked on the
glistening spires of Spinesreach.

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                          Glancing briefly at the two letters on his desk, a ghost of a smile flickered across
                          Mazzion's handsome features. A little Ascendril wanted into his guild, eh? Those
                          Light blinded fools must be slipping if they were loosing hold of their young. Over
                          the years, he had had other Ascendrils come knocking on the Sciomancer's door,
                          but they had had a lust for power that the Ascendrils could not sate. This girl... He
                          glanced once more at the fine parchment of the second letter. Pjoll, the former
                          master of the Ascendrils had written him as well, all but begging him to refuse the
                          girl entry. He turned his back to the letters, turning pale eyes towards the window
                          and the setting sun. Why would that old fool care so much if she joined? Her own
                          letter sounded desperate and pleaded. There was no hunger for power in her words.
                          Only for a home.
                          
                          "Bring Tierian to me," he said absently. "I have a job for him." The rustling of robes
                          was the only indication that his orders were being followed as one of the Seekers
                          ran to fetch one of his most promising Sciomancers.
                          
                          "Aislyn Starion," he murmured quietly. "What sort of woman will you be I wonder?"

"Yes?"

"Do not 'yes' me, Tierian. Not with that tone."

"..."

"I am your superior. You're always so quick to forg-"

"No."

"No?"

"No."

"What do you mean 'no'?" A sneer.

"You are my guild leader. But you are not superior to me."

"Then why am I the one giving the orders?"

"..."

"Do not think for but a moment that you are not replaceable!"

"You will not be doing that."

"Excuse me?" Mazzion questioned, rising from his desk to lean forward, open palms against its edges.

"You hate dealing with me."

"All the more reason I should reconsider."

"You hate dealing with me because I get the job done, and even when I do not have a task I do not turn the mentality off. Such as now."

"Obviously." Mazzion's left palm balled into a fist. "Your point?"

"If you could have used someone else, you would have."

"..."

It had been forty minutes since the summon was sent, a request that took so long not for a lack of haste on the messenger's part, for Tierian was known well within the Sciomancy and tales of his missions were things of aspiration for many of the younger ranks. It had taken that long to simply find the gray-haired warrior-mage, to tell him that he was being summoned and to return to the guild leader. The steps back were filled with thoughts, disdainful thoughts. The two men held a mutual respect for one another in a sense of professional respect, in a sense of two powers that dare not clash, but on a personal level there was little to be had in common. The smooth features of his face calm as stone, his gray eyes, his soft voice just as still, Tierian held no qualm about looking the man in the eye to speak as he thought.

"I am a tool for the guild. A useful one. Treat me as such. ...Do not leave me around for months at a time to rust, and do not look to me as a cowering servant. That is all I ask."

"I gave you time off hoping you'd choose to take up a teaching position. You know that."

"And I do not want it. You know that."

Mazzion let out a slow, ticked off breath, exhaling from his nose and furrowing his brows. "Well too bad," he stated, "because this assignment is close enough to it." Sitting, he pulled his chair a bit closer and rifled over his desk a moment before setting the two letters at its far end. "Come. Read these."

Tierian stepped forward. His dark armor flowed together effortlessly with his movements, his long burgundy cape chasing at his heels.

"She wants a home," he started, watching the man take up the first of the two letters. "I want to give her one. More than that, I want to make an example out of her."

That brought a slight smirk to the edge of his lips. "I like making examples."

"I know you do." A return smirk. They could coexist after all, it seemed. "Break her, Tierian. She's an Ascendril. I want you to break every shred of honor, every memory of dignity she ever possessed."

"Since when did the Sciomancy not have either?"

"We do. We have a different kind. But this one is personal," he said as Tierian took up the second letter. "They've openly denounced us for too long. Maybe, just once, I'm thinking we should be the monsters they claim us. And who better to be that than one of their own?"

Going back to the first letter for a moment, then setting them back on the desk, Tierian spoke with his head down, eyes poring again over their words, "I get the feeling this is going to be interesting."

"I hope you'll go over the highlights with me over a few pints one day."

"Your treat."

"Not with the way I pay you."

He smirked. "So when is she due in?"

"Who knows? Next week, maybe. Maybe today."

"Finally!"

Reaching the gates of the city, Aislyn slumped against them, panting softly, her
generous breasts rising and falling with her labored breaths. Who the hell decided
to put a city in the mountains. That's what she wanted to know. It had taken her
three days to reach Spinesreach. It would have taken longer if a Paladin hadn't
offered her a ride, letting her sit before him on his armored warhorse. He had
asked little of her other than what direction she was headed. They had covered
several miles before they finally had to part ways, but it had knocked a half a
day off her trip.

People milled in through the gates, going home before full nightfall, some casting
curious glances at her. Of course, she looked out of place. Her Aetherstaff screamed
Ascendril. Sciomancers had staffs too, but they placed the Void mark on theirs,
not the flowing runes of the Aether. Most just ignored her though. They had their
own business to worry about. Nevermind a lost looking girl with an Aetherstaff
and various crystals hanging about her. The guards would take care of her if she
were to cause trouble.

Aislyn sighed and pushed herself off the gates walking further into the city. There
was no signs that might tell her the whereabouts of the Sciomancer's guildhall.
Blowing her dark bangs out of her eyes, Aislyn looked around despairingly. How
was she supposed to find her way in this maze of a city? She attempted several
times to stop passerbys, but all refused to be bothered by her.

"How am I supposed to find the Sciomancers if no one will talk to me?" she moaned
to herself, raking her hands through her long hair.

"You're looking for the Sciomancers?"

Aislyn spun around, startled by the voice directly behind her, to face a tall man
looking curiously at her. Aislyn was not a tall woman, but she only reached the
middle of this man's chest. She craned her neck back to look at him, cheeks flushing
with color. He was extremely handsome. Long, straight, pitch black hair was pulled
away from his lean, angular face in a high ponytail, the ebon locks falling to
somewhere past his shoulders, she couldn't see exactly how long. His face was
seemingly young, though there was an air of authority about him that belied his
apparent age. He smiled at her though, and her heart gave a lurch.

"Y-y-yes," she stammered, her face turning a bright red. His smile widened at her
flustering. "I'm a new member."

Comprehension flashed across his features, and the smile he gave her could have
outglared sunshine. "Well, little one, its good I found you then. Its not wise to be
about after dark." The sun had indeed set by then, casting long shadows over the
cobblestones. "Come, I'll bring you to the guildhall. I was headed there myself."

She gawked at him. "You're a Sciomancer?" she blurted out, bewildered that
such a beautiful and kind man could possibly belong to the feared Sciomancers she
had heard so much about. He was like none of the stories! Her blush darkened, and
she mumbled an apology.

He merely smiled at her and shook his head. "Quite already, dear. Come along. I'm
running a tad bit late." With that he turned and started walking further into the city.
She blinked and hurried to his side, his long legs making her have to walk quickly to
keep up with him. It only took a few minutes to reach the hall, a pair of large
crystalline doors blocking their path. The man reached out and touched the doors
lightly with his fingertips. The crystals glowed and reverberate with power until they
slowly opened on their own.

The man smiled kindly down at her. "This is where I leave you, my dear, but should
you have need of me, simply ask for Maldoror." He bent and took her hand in his
- so cold! - and brought her fingers to his lips. He smiled once more at her,
this time she caught sight of his teeth, the elongated canines. His kind smile seemed
suddenly very predatory. He dropped her hand and walked silently down one of the
halls. It was only then, watching his back retreat down the candle lit hall, that she
realized he was wearing the robes of a priest.

She let out a breath his did not know she was holding, and leaned against the crystal
doors. A Consanguine! She had just met one of the most feared creatures in the
realm, and he had smiled at her with such kindness that it made her heart ache.
Taking deep, slow breaths, she tried to steady her pounding heart.

"Sir. She is here."

Tierian didn't say anything. He remained still for a moment, in thought, eyes peering through the window to one of the streets adjacent from the guild hall. It had been several days since his discussion with Mazzion, and just as many since he left the leader's office and immediately called upon three right hands, all of which having the order to keep an eye for this girl's arrival.He tilted his head to one side, just slightly, not even acknowledging his aide's presence.

"Shall I see her to you?"

He continued to stare out the window, watching several children playing below with a blank expression.

"Sir?"

"No."

"No, Sir?"

"No, Vaelyn. Thank you. You have done well. Tell the others they may call off their watch. I will let her report in to Mazzion first and then see how that goes. Surely he wi-"

"If I may interrupt, sir-" the woman interjected, her back straight, taking a sharp, nervous breath.

Tierian turned, though only his upper half, hands clasped behind his back. His head turned over a shoulder to observe her, a brow raising in curiosity. This was new. ...It wouldn't be tolerated for long, but she certainly had his attention.

"I saw her with Maldoror, Sir. He's escorting her here."

"..." Tierian's eyes narrowed. "Is he still with her?"

"Last I saw, yes. I came to report in as soon as I could be sure this was their destination."

"Change of plans. I will not have him taint an opportunity like this for me." It wasn't often he showed emotion. Maldoror was one of the few able to elicit such a response, times like this even when he may not be particularly trying. "Forget about reporting to the others for now. I want you to follow him. If he is not already, see that he separates from her. See that he does not find her again anytime soon. And if he goes looking, divert him." The understanding nod she gave was barely even seen; his eyes were set, firm, Tierian stopping only to grab the halberd he'd set against the wall upon coming into the room - while most in their order preferred staves he went with polearms, its length and its blade engraved with just as many runes as any else. Stepping out the door, he turned left and headed for the building's front, burgundy cape flowing with his steps.

Thankfully he was prepared for her. Tierian hung another left, his booted stride heavy, his armor clattering together, then quickly descended the deep crimson carpet of a staircase. He had spent the last few days considering several ways to go about breaking her, several different options he would go about to crush her spirit in every way such a thing could, before turning her into a tool that would both aid her new home and disgrace her last. ...Eventually he'd decided on all of the options, enjoying the thought of each, and simply needing to decide what order they should be applied in. She sounded scared by her letter, alone and desperate. It felt like the type of desperation where you accepted the first thing that came along despite how bad it was, having no other choice. He liked that. It made his job easy, but still, if she really proved to be that out of her element already then this would be cake.

A babe in the goddamn woods.

Turning another corner, heading down another set of stairs, the armored mage stopped halfway in his descent- halfway, when his eyes picked out this woman, when he picked out Aislyn like a sore thumb. Standing there dressed like that. His fingers tightened around the polearm. His eyes narrowed. Under any other circumstances an Ascendril inside the Sciomancy's halls would be killed on the spot. Instead, "Little girl, little girl," he whispered, starting to move again, slow step by slow step. A wicked grin. "Run while you can..."

When he reached the bottom step his face was still again, his thoughts back to business. "You are not a Sciomancer," he called out as he approached her across the floor, twenty-five feet away now, "and you do not look like much of an Ascendril." Twenty feet. The halberd was held out and low to his left side, its curved axehead hovering inches above the ground. Fifteen. "Does the Sciomancy take those too weak to make it in your halls? Is that what they tell their youth nowadays?" Ten feet now. He started to circle around her, coming around Aislyn's left side. His head inclined slightly, and with it the small gems from his hat moved about his temples. "Funny. I could have sworn we were something to be feared." Seven feet. "We are certainly not the place for dead weight." Five. He continued to circle around before stopping at her front. "I read your letter. Starion, is it?" Looking her in the eyes, "What exactly do you believe you have that we might want? ...What did you hope to accomplish, coming here?"

It didn't take long for her to regain her composure after Maldoror left her. That
was one good thing about her, she bounced back quickly, no matter what. She
took a deep breath and pushed herself away from the crystalline door and walked
to the enter of the large antechamber, walking in a circle as she looked around
in amazement. Everything was so beautiful! The carpets covering the marble
floors were a deep, rich crimson and colorful tapestries hung along the walls,
though as she looked at one closer, she saw that it depicted a bloody battlefield
scene, the ground strewn with bodies and one man, a Sciomancer obviously,
standing triumphant over them all, his Voidstaff raised in joyous celebration of
his victory. Aislyn shuddered and turned away from the tapestry, refusing to
take a closer look at any of the others.

She realized suddenly that with Maldoror gone, she had no idea where to go
from here. She supposed that she should report to the guildmaster, Mazzion,
but she had no idea where to find his offices! And there was no one around
that she might ask. The halls seemed deserted, shadows lengthening along
the walls as darkness overthrew the day. She shuddered again, wrapping her
arms around herself and staring aimlessly down the many hallways. She felt
very alone right then, more alone that she had felt over the past few days
while she traveled. She wished Maldoror had not left her, even if he was a
Consanguine. He had been kind. She was sure that if he had not been in such
a hurry, he would have shown her the way to Sir Mazzion's office.

A voice called out behind her, and for one blessed moment, Aislyn thought that
Maldoror had come back for her, but the voice was colder than his, an edge of
steel to a deep, rumbling voice. She turned and stared wide-eyed at the man
now approaching her, a monster of a spear leveled to the ground, but pointing
ominously at her. Aislyn had always had a dislike for blade weapons. They made
her nervous, and the blade carried by this man made her knees weak. Whether
it was the weapon, or the man who wielded it she wasn't entirely certain.

Her eyes flickered between the two as he approached her, only half listening to
what he said, but what she did hear made her bristle indignantly. Her eyes snapped
up to his, dark blue meeting clear gray. The fact that he had read her letter hurt
a bit, like she was the butt of a bad joke. How many others had read her desperate
pleas to Mazzion?

She drew herself up, holding her staff defensively in front of her. "I came to learn," she
told him, though she wasn't all that proud to note that her voice shook. She cleared
her throat and continued. "If you'll direct me to Sir Mazzion's office, I have business with
him." She put emphasis on the last, meaning to say that she was done talking
to this rude man. However correct about her situation he may be.