Elfspawn: Part II, Mourning Sickness
Twilight, the moment just after the last painted cloud of dusk had vanished from the sky, yet before the moon came to taint the stars cold glow. The original elf-time, and it wrapped around gangrel forest lovingly, holding each ancient tree in a silent embrace, and rendering silver each brick in the huge isolated tower that stood above all but the tallest growth. During daylight the tower was quiet, the shade in the lee of ancient oaks and beech innocuous, concealing only squirrels and the occasional deer feeding on the herbs that might later make them stagger, and fall pray to a hunting animal where otherwise they might not, continuing the cycle and making the next generation more wary. At night the tower became a place of menace, each absence of light akin to an individual void, filled with terrors both real and imagined, tonight was no different. Elsewhere the war between vampire and garou, human and super-human continued, here it was haunted-house silent, the demons knowing better than to roar out their presence to the towers owner. The mage who lived there was aware of them, yet so long as they didn't disturb him he really didn't care.
The main part of the tower was as any home should be, neat, tidy, and perfectly ordinary, it was only the top room that aroused worry to a visitor's mind. Well lit, a large balcony with a huge window opening out onto it allowed griffons and dragons to deliver messages should there be need, and in the corner a small portal provided access enough for one person to travel back and forth to Ayenee's major cities. The rest of the room was filled with such objects as necessary for magic, skulls nestled close to odd gems, bubbling crucibles gave off strange odours, and the smoke that wafted from the pots waiting to be mixed curled against the wind, trailing around a few small shelves of books, bound in black with silver writing in an odd language that seemed to elude the reader's gaze.
All of this was as yet hidden from Nesentra, who was seated in the library talking with the mage, and drinking mulled wine from a large glass, letting it warm her from the long griffon flight. She had enjoyed the flight, but didn't like the feeling of knowing what awaited her should the griffon have been forced to evade one of the many shadow dragons that were known to nest near here. Many griffons were intelligent, this one had required all her persuasive skills to even get it to land. She sighed, and returned to what the mage was telling her.
"So I suppose what we first have to discern is whether you really are pregnant." He said, steepling his fingers and resting the tips against his upper lip as he spoke. "From what you've told me it is part elf, and could be part of various other races."
Nesentra bristled at the implication behind his words. "Morpheous, I…"
Morpheous cut her off before she could go further with a wave of his hand and a half smile, dark eyes shining with humour behind his oddly purple hair. "I'm sorry Nesentra, I am merely going from what you have told me and what has happened on your previous visits."
"Indeed." Her lightly elven accented words were cold, then she smiled wickedly. "I thought you would be praying the brat isn't yours."
"Actually I was half hoping it was." He stood, face unreadable, and walked to a shelf nearby, pulling a book down before crossing to the table and draping himself into a chair, the poison elf seated to his right. From this angle he could see every scar that ran over her skin. Morpheous shuddered inwardly; each time they met she had changed again. Elves shouldn't change for centuries, Nesentra's appearance altered every few months. This time he noticed the palms of her hands nearly black, the skin covered in odd burn marks that extended up to her wrists. Her eyes looked shadowy and hollow, he knew the look, Nesentra had been playing with magic far out of her league.
She noticed his stare and studied her hand for a second, then without turning muttered. "The Silmaril. I get burnt. It happens."
Shrugging, Morpheous opened the book and reached into the pocket of his black robes, producing a small silver scalpel, and holding out his hand for hers. She grimaced, then setting down the wine glass proffered a slender palm. He looked at it, scalpel poised, then sighed and moved the blade so it hung over the paler skin. "You do make things awkward."
Before she could reply he stabbed downwards, opening a long thin line just above her wrist, which he then held while it dropped blood into his waiting hand. After his hand was nearly full he placed the scalpel on the table, and leant over the book, while she glared at him reproachfully, licking the still bleeding cut. "Well?"
"Wait…I'm not done yet." Morpheous pored over the book again for a second, then sat back, closing his eyes and holding his free hand over the blood covered one. He murmured words into the air, concentrating, his hand began to glow softly, not a sound in the room save his voice. After a few moments he looked up, and nodded. "Definitely. By almost nine weeks."
He winced as the silence was broken with a series of loud curses in drow, then continued. "Though I have no idea what all the chaos that has been flying around recently will have done to it. Or even if it will survive…or you will." Morpheous looked at her, for a moment concern marking his ageless face. "Are you sure you want to do this?"
Nesentra just looked at him, and he raised his hands in silent exasperation. Standing again, he walked to the door, and she rose to follow, hands clenched at her sides. Morpheous led the way to the top room of the tower, and immediately walked to the window, pulling the shutters across and then turning to the portal to activate it while she examined the random objects littering every available surface. After watching the usually blank portal begin to swirl, as though a stone had been cast into the surface of a limpid pool, he spoke. "You realise of course that I can't possibly do the spell myself."
"What?!" Nesentra snapped sharply, her thin face swivelling to watch him with narrowed eyes.
"I may look like a black robe, but the magic I practice has nothing to do with that. What I deal with has to do with chemicals and…as in that previous example, blood. If you want this done as painlessly as possible I will have to get a friend to do it. Besides, I don't have the power. Not now anyway."
She threw her hands up into the air. "You could have told me before! Feyd'thiri! And who exactly have you roped in to violate me in your place?"
A smile passed over his face, and he crossed the room to wrap his arms around her. Morpheous kissed her, gently, chastely, and she wrapped her arms around him, resting her forehead on his chest to sigh, her voice muffled. "I trust you. I don't know or trust whoever you have chosen to do this, but I trust you."
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