Asrael was nothing short of exhausted from the night’s experiments. Kester’s incompetence, the invasive girl- the stoic, ever-"helpful" Bartholomew and now; he would have to finally deal with this bootlicker... Just as well, he imagined. He had paid the filthy miscreant little heed up until the point of the revelation, but would be lying if he claimed that he had not suspected something was amiss with the man. After all... who could be handsome, rich and have the Inquisition twirled around his grubby little fingers and still desire more?

As the carriage carried him through the city, Asrael leaned back and pondered the implications of Gerathar’s involvement. There was always the possibility of it all being a lie. If he was involved and the girl hadn’t been some ruse to set the misfortunate brother against the Gerathar, it meant that the fine philanthropist was as guilty as guilty could be. In which case; he had committed an inexcusable treason- not only against the magi- his own kin, but more importantly... against Asrael. He could certainly see the Inquisition's motivations for such a path, as this Gerathar undoubtedly had friends in high places and even if he was proclaimed a Magus, Asrael imagined there would be protests... but if Bartholomew- the black sheep, would take the fall... No, he needed to be certain if he were to perhaps regain the burden of the harlot and the day-to-day management of the driver.

He arrived before the mansion without the useless ceremony he had suffered through the previous time he had visited and made his way up the stair, where, curiously; Amy greeted him with a frown. He had to look her over- glare into her eyes and down unto her cleavage to make certain that his suspicions were correct. Next he took a step back to follow her long legs to the clearly visible underwear, but to no avail... he could not feel the same arousal as before- nowhere near it, in fact. Looking at her filled him with the same disgust as looking upon any other weakly mage did- a mirrored phenomenon, judging by the look of her grimace.

“I wish to see the small, fat one. Take me to him.” Asrael demanded. As useless as she knew protesting would be, she still raised her voice to ask; “Which one would that be, good Sir?” Asrael glared up at her from beneath his brow and impatiently questioned; “How many small, fat, dirty, bald men do you house here!? Barell- my driver! Take me to him, this instant!”

“Sir Berral is relaxing at the moment- he usually does not get up to see his horses before-” Asrael let his aggression show on his brow as he pushed past the maid to make his way through the heavy door. He hadn’t navigated the Tower for all those years in vein. With its many twists and turns and the constant shifts in its layout; he was well accustomed to memorizing his surroundings and thusly, it did not take him long to find his way into where he knew at least one of his companions would be- stuffing her face full of muffins and treats.

Neda sat and eyed Bess’ plate as she continued her lesson on the fluffy pastry. The little girl’s left hand deftly secured the bread with the power of the fork, while her right worked the knife to separate one of its crispy pieces just next to the soft custard. Next to her daughter, sat Maribelle- watching in disapproval as it dawned on her that Bess had, like her father so often did, had ulterior motives in instructing the wildling girl on how to eat properly with knives and forks. Right before Bess could press the fork into her mouth, the woman grabbed it and stole it away to remind her; “First. You eat your breakfast, then-”

The door slammed open to reveal a tall, thin man in a familiar set of unwashed, blood-stained clothing. The dark hair hung nearly over his eyes and his long nose swung back and forth to follow his irises as he scanned the room. Maribelle yelped and reflexively launched the fork across the room- missing the necromancer with a wide berth. He glared disapprovingly at her in turn and threatened; “Better men than you have tried- and failed- to kill me... but at least your attempt was better than that of your man. Now, where is-” Neda rose from her seat and excitedly clapped her hands at the sight of him. She leapt across the room and nearly succeeded in embracing him, only to be stopped by a stern hand atop her shoulder and a pair of wide, green eyes.

She cleared her throat and muttered; “S-sorry... I forgot you don’t like being touched. I can’t believe you came to see me!” She sounded her excitement in a hushed yelp and motioned for her white dress. To him; it was neither more or less impressive than her previous clothing, but the cleavage was, as opposed to Amy’s... enticing to him. “Well? Whatcha think? Don’t I look like the people out in the city?” He reached up to touch her hair and rubbed a few strands between his fingers, verifying that the dust had been entirely cleaned out of it. Next; he leaned close and sniffed her neck and shoulder. This curious set of movements and gestures made her heart leap and her breathing rapid- both of which he carefully observed.

Next; he leaned back to look at her and inform; “Yes. You look normal- completely ordinary. You have not washed your hair in what I assume is a few days by the amount of grease in it... and seeing as I cannot smell the sweat or ejaculate of a man on your breath or skin- I will assume you are yet to copulate with him. Good.” She grinned, having understood precious little of what he had said save for “smell” and “good”, which meant that... he had just... given her his first compliment. Maribelle had taught her that this time apart would change him- remind him how much he missed her and if he did not change his ways, then she should, without question; ‘ditch him’. Alas, he was as brutish and uncaring as ever. Asrael looked about the room- ignoring the vicious glares of the child and the woman to question;

“Now, where is the small, fat one? I have need of him.” Maribelle finally stood from her seat and shook her head to shout; “Not before you tell me where Kester is! How dare he not visit us? He hasn’t even written us!” Asrael scratched his chin and looked through his favored woman’s eyes to verify that;

“Ah, yes. He is in the cellar- suffering from a poison he foolishly injected himself with. Not to worry... I expect a full recovery before long. Now; tell me where the small, fat one is-” A tug at his left leg drew his attention to a glinting, oily scalp and a suit-clad, small, fat, smiling man. Asrael rarely smiled, but when things were working in his favor, he could hardly contain it.

Asrael grabbed Barrel by the shoulder and led him towards the door. “Ah, good. Come. I must speak to you.” Neda made to follow, only to be stopped by a wave of Asrael’s hand and the heavy door slamming into her face to nearly send her backwards onto the table.

“Did he say... poison?” Maribelle questioned the wildling gripping her pained nose in a stumped stupor.

As a guest in the man’s house; Asrael had no qualms about getting comfortable as he questioned his companion. The library was brightly lit with the day’s dawning rays- illuminating the necromancer’s pale fingers as they slid against the expensive collection of knowledge in search of a certain tome- a disgusting, simple book on physics. As he drew it from the shelf and began flipping through the pages, he questioned his smiling companion; “So... it has been a while, but I trust you still remember that I am your Master, yes?” Barrel nodded- somehow still loyal to the Master that had forgotten him for several days. He continued; “Good. Now... you are wise in the ways of the world, are you not? Tell me of this Gerathar- how is he.”

Barrel raised a curious eyebrow and looked about the library before asking; “Asr-” The necromancer raised a reminding finger. “K-Kerras... if dis about Nedda, maybe you shud talk tae her. If you jellus-” Asrael glared at his small companion. “What does the harlot have to do with him? I have already verified that they are yet to breed, which means that until further ado; she is more useless to me than the other girl... now focus. Tell me how he is- not his health or shape, but rather, the person.”

Barrel rubbed his frontmost chin ponderously and stared his small, black, beady, sunk-in eyes up at his Master. “Well, he bretty nice. Charming. Beautiful... I dunno much about him, come to think of it.” Asrael raised his thumb to his mouth to thoughtfully nibble at his cold, dead flesh while scanning the book.

“Lisn, why dun you ask him ‘bout it. He’d prolly be happy tae answer yous.” Asrael let the book fall to the floor before returning to scan the shelf.

“Very well. How are you, Gerathar?” Barrel narrowed his eyes and grimaced. He was about to dismiss his master as foolish, when he heard the velvet smooth chuckle from between the shelves further down the library. As if produced by the magics, the man stepped out- buttoning his sleeve with a cheeky grin. As he ran a hand through his nicely done hair, he welcomed the necromancer to his humble abode; “Ah, yes. Kerras. Welcome- I take it you’ve come to see your companions, or perhaps peruse the library?” Asrael turned to look at his host with a smirk and shook his head.

“Actually; I came to see you.” Barrel took a step back to void the tense atmosphere between the two.

“Oh? What for?” Bartholomew chuckled. Asrael did not shirk away from the challenging glare and straightened his back to continue;

“Well, as it happens... I’ve come across some books of my own- herbology, would you believe it. I thought perhaps you would be interested- perhaps your father co-authored a few of them? What was his name again?” Bartholomew seemed to consider the question for a moment, before he answered.

“Spechler... Spechler Beaugler. How quaint- he did co-author a few books. Tell me; what are the names of these grand works you’ve come across?”

Asrael smiled and nodded before informing; “Oh, I wish I knew. They are all written in runes and sadly; I cannot read them. This father of yours- Spechler... did he come all the way to Pilta to inherit this fortune?” Barrel definitively felt that something was off in the air as Gerathar chuckled next and said; “No- he made this fortune on his own, would you believe it? He had a mind for the mining business- a mind Pilta profited greatly from, as you can see.” He motioned to his surroundings with an infuriatingly handsome grin. This all but confirmed Asrael’s suspicion- this blatant challenge he had thrown in his face could hardly be ignored... therefore, Asrael was determined to do just that. Ignore it and deprive the oaf of the satisfaction of his indignity. The man was no fool- he could not be to have survived the terrible world. Yet he had just stated that his substantial wealth had come from the long-abandoned mines beneath the city... an obvious obfuscation- one this Gerathar had intended to so blatantly display. He knew that Asrael knew something and wanted to make it clear that any interference would be ill-appreciated.

After a moment’s musings, the Necromancer waved the air and muttered; “On second thought, I believe I might hang on to my books... It appears you’ve enough of them here. Feel free to keep the ones you've hoarded. They are of no more use to me.” Barrel knew that something was spoken in-between their words, but failed to realize that the “books” in question pertained to himself and his co-inhabitants of the fine man’s house.

The Necromancer departed from the library without another word with stern movements and a clear intent. He needed to leave before Gerathar’s hospitality ran out, but to his misfortune; Neda awaited him in the training hall with a proud, bright grin.

“H-hey! Look! I’ve gotten better!” Before he could voice his dismissal of the foolish girl; she had already closed her eyes and puckered her lips to... blow at him. From across the room. A moment later; the cool gusts of air swung around behind him to surround him in a cold, whooshing perimeter of chaotic streams of air. She truly had gotten better. It was no long-distance strangulation, but he could definitively see a use for such a technique- one, especially... His analytical mind’s autonomous problem-solving worked tirelessly to solve the puzzle- piece by piece. He grinned as the issue solve itself before his eyes and at its center; he saw the tall, proud desert-dweller. He threw a glance over his shoulder to verify that Gerathar glared at him with impudence and impatience- disapproving of the seemingly one-sided connection between the two.

Asrael stepped over the soft mats- towards the exhausted, silent, inquisitive- nervous Neda. Awaiting his judgement, she held her ground and stood in silence to watch as he extended his pale hand and shone his green eyes into hers with an uncharacteristically warm smile.

“You have improved...” Her jaw fell agape as he tenderly touched her cheeks with his cold, pale hand. He was as unsightly as ever- as deathly pale, as blue-lipped and bagged-eye as the first time she had seen him, but... she had missed this. Despite his cruelty- despite his wrongdoings, his praise made her stomach flutter in a most comfortable manner. She could not contain herself from laying her hand atop his and grin proudly.

After a moment’s pause, he questioned her; “You said you wished to be useful to me, girl... do you still wish for it?” She nodded without a second’s delay. He continued; “You seem to be well off here... surrounded by luxuries, foods and friends. Why would you wish to assist me?” She felt momentarily offended, as she imagined that he, above all others, should know why.

She frowned; “Because I wanna make a change... I want this to stop. I wanna fight- not run.” Her heart pounded with a start as he leaned forwards to surround her in his arms. He was as cold as always, but somehow; the gesture warmed Neda at her core in flushes of heat.

“Good. Then do as I say and do not copulate with that man.” He whispered into her ear and immediately parted from his companion- leaving her slightly warmer than before they had commenced their embrace.

Neda held both her hands up to her pounding chest as she watched him stride away. Her friend, master and mentor- the most important, most heartless person she had ever had the misfortune of knowing had all but admitted to his love for her. She could scarcely believe it- he had fallen for her womanly charms, just like the songs of old spoke of. For over twenty years, she had stayed in the darkness and listened to the hunters' tales- heard their fables of conquerings and legends of old, most of whom spoke of the mysterious phenomenon that could bud between two people- most commonly; a girl and a boy.

“I-I won’t!” She promised as he slammed the door shut in his wake- leaving the wistfully ignorant Neda in the company of Barrel and a slightly annoyed Gerathar.