@13org

Miwa listened to Arcan's words silently as she turned back, giving another glance at the painting. She did not know what happened to break the group nor what was the grave transgression mentioned by the elf woman, but by Arcan's tone and the animosity he showed made Miwa think it must have been something significant.

"Perhaps your master's intentions behind keeping this painting was simply due to fond memories from his past and not a hateful reminder of an act of betrayal. Regardless of the treachery that might have split the group, I am sure they all once had fond memories of each other... Maybe even in the end, they still harbored some good memories from their past." Miwa said with a smile as she looked at the painting on the other side of the hall.

"People change. Sometimes for the better... others for worse. Regardless, there is nothing wrong in keeping fond memories of one's past. As long as you keep moving forward instead of being trapped in the past." Miwa completed with a smile as she looked to Arcan, hinting that maybe, some of those words could be important for him as well.

"It might not be exactly the same thing, but the way I feel for my temple is somewhat similar. I feel great pride for it's history, but this didn't prevent me from noticing that the temple needs to change if it wants to survive the passage of time." Miwa continued.

"You mentioned an eighth member of the group, didn't you Jazdia? I am sure you also have fond memories, despite having parted ways, right?" Miwa said, remembering Jazdia having mentioned an eighth member a while ago. What Miwa failed to consider though was the possibility that the eighth member didn't just parted ways with the group... but something worse might had happened.

"You admired and loved your master quite a lot, didn't you?" Miwa asked with a smile as her eyes wandered from the painting, stopping on the same cluster of crystals Arcan looked at. Something Miwa had taken for just an eccentric way to illuminate the room.

"I thought this crystal was merely a way to illuminate the room. Was it a part of one of Theriadore's creations?" Miwa asked, curiously.

The ancient hardness in Arcan's face did not soften at Miwa's words about changes and moving forward. It struck him, not as wisdom, but as naïve optimism. The ignorance in the young Miko's part was not only on her failure to understand that elves, and Djinn like him, operate differently when processing grief and bitterness of betrayal, but also the scale of wickedness Lythiel had afflicted.

"I don't think there is much to move on from. Or if there were fond memories, they would be ashes under the raging blaze of pain that she herself brought. Lythiel attacked Theriadore and Thealeon, her own childhood friends. Injuring them with a terrible wound that the brothers must endure for decades to come. Thealeone did not survive after several years fighting against the wither and necrosis Lythiel had afflicted. A cruel mercy from fate itself, perhaps."

Arcan was a living witness; he knew, he remembered. Thinking about the recollection coated his tongue with a taste of sickness, and the thought that there was anything happy in it made him shudder.

"I have seen it, the agony that awoke them every night, the terrible smell and the unholy heat it radiated. Theriadore heartening his brother despite fighting a similar ailment himself. He endured it for the rest of his life. The pain, the loss, the betrayal. Oh, I admired not only his brilliance but his focus. He directed all of his pain toward his last creation and measures to hunt and defeat Lythiel. Dark was her power, and wicked were her arrows, but he managed to capture her. That crystal in that corner was a small, unrefined sample of the Snow Terror's prison my master personally built. Touch it and you will feel gradual pain that sears both flesh and soul, aching bones, and suffocates breathing. In Ostianor, my Master encased the Snow Terror in this very same crystal, shackling body and soul and subjecting it to ever-evolving pain. Seventeen centuries of ongoing penance, and it is still not enough to atone."

"You mentioned an eighth member of the group, didn't you Jazdia? I am sure you also have fond memories, despite having parted ways, right?" Miwa said, remembering Jazdia having mentioned an eighth member a while ago. What Miwa failed to consider though was the possibility that the eighth member didn't just parted ways with the group... but something worse might had happened.

Jazdia could only offer a dry chuckle, a silent smile that confirmed her own story would have to wait for another time. It still stung... Remembering the memories, and despite her ironclad composure, Jazdia finally allowed her focus to ease.

The books lowered, candlelight swayed softly, and for a moment, the world felt still.

She listened to Arcan's account, but soon found herself overwhelmed by pain that wasn't her own. It was not about her fallen comrades, or even about the tragedy of the brothers. The pain in her heart was a primal cry from a soul terribly wronged and yearned for release. So strong that even though the mask of nonchalance Jazdia often wore remained fixed, tears unexpectedly dropped from her eyes.

Verdant mulled for once, picking her words even as the conversation moved on to other things. Dark things, of a scale of loss that nudged the Desolation of Askaria into a stir. She... understood, in a way. The collective pain of an entire people robbed of their roots, for even originating from an entirely different continent those odd folks had accepted her as one of their own.

"At some point desire for justice warps into thirst for vengeance, I think." A slender finger ran across the surface of the crystal, the stinging pain familiar in a rather intimate manner. Bloodthorn orchids had the same underlying principle, though much more destructive. The crystal, it was insidious in the way that no destruction would be reached. "But repaying an atrocity with another is just that, vengeance - calling it pennance is simply making yourself feel better about the whole thing."

Someone had told her something similar, at one point. The same conversation that snapped her from her grief just long enough to take another ship, letting fate once again grasp the rein so that the past can be buried behind.

"And earlier you asked about purpose, yes? My purpose is freedom itself. To experience the full breadth of what the world had to offer. Questioning my drive is no different than asking how could you live imprisoned in this... tomb all this years." This she stated bluntly, perhaps more than a bit annoyed at how rude the curator had come across. A hand went up to the skull, tenderly caressing it as two pairs of eyes gazed right back at the elder djinn. For creatures such as them age played a large part in determining might, but that didn't mean it'll be an entirely one-sided affairs if it come to blows. Few things were, when one or both parties had the means to strike at the soul itself. Her voice hardened, in a way alien to her behavior from the first moment she stepped into the gallery. "And this is Viridian, my sister. Taken from this world before our baser nature could've been overcome. Insult her again and you and I will have a problem, yes?"

"At some point desire for justice warps into thirst for vengeance, I think.""But repaying an atrocity with another is just that, vengeance - calling it pennance is simply making yourself feel better about the whole thing."

"Justice, vengeance, atrocities. Mattered less in the end. What Lythiel had done was not just an act of murder, but the potential for a great calamity. That power of hers is unholy and has to be contained. Whether my master savored a satisfaction from it, I do not blame him."

Arcan still held to his neutral value to the mortal affairs, but understood the scale of destruction a total freedom might bring to those who misuse it. He looked at the youkai, unflinched at her defiant state, but now with a bit more respect than he could usually afford. He did not see her commentary about his situation as an insult, but rather as a not-very astute observation that showed the gaps in their views.

"Freedom, huh? How mundane," he said, but his vibrating voice teased on something deeper. "Some of our kin traded power for freedom of mortals, lucky them. When you are as old as I am and have seen everything, true freedom feels like getting lost in a forest with no direction and no meaning. I don't see my assignment as imprisonment or entombment. I said before, I can occasionally leave and see the outside world if I want to, did I? But the anchor of my very existence is always here. A heartfelt apology for your sister due to my ignorance, I understand your feelings in a way I feel when you make your poison in my gallery."

Rezello

---

Rezello watched as Vesemir divided the work of enchanting the party’s equipment between himself and Eblana. While the former discussed with Miwa what item of hers he would be imbuing, the latter had begun work on the two items Akari had settled upon having enhanced. Interestingly, the visual effect the enchantment had upon each item seemed to differ between the owners of each item; while the pocket watch Jazdia had chosen was left untouched aesthetically, Akari’s blades took on some rather odd-looking glyphs. While he had seen numerous arcane runes over the course of his prior adventures, none resembled these; a system native to her homeland, perhaps.

This was followed by Akari expressing her gratitude in a manner that left Eblana flustered and red, having retreated to one of the corners of the room. A far-eastern custom, maybe? Miwa had exited the room to tag along with Verdant and Jazdia, so there were no concerned objections to her behavior to indicate if it wasn’t. If nothing else, the display seemed to bring some amusement to Fia. Turning back to Vesemir, he observed as Vesemir was in the process of enchanting his own weapon; a multitude of small runes had formed along the blade, glowing dimly as they manifested within bands of the scheel-forged steel alloy. Did the magic-conductive nature of the metal interfere with the enchantment somehow? Regardless, after some time the scholar seemed satisfied that the process was complete, though how he could tell was beyond Rezello’s level of arcane knowledge.

"All done, Master Rezello." He said, respectfully holding the blade with both hands and presenting it to the masked knight."May it serve you well!"

He took the spadone, looking over the runes on the surface of the blade. It was remarkable that the glyphs fit within the steel’s patterns so neatly... or perhaps the runes had always been there, and he had failed to notice them before? Whatever the case, it seemed he had taken too long inspecting Vesemir’s handiwork before saying anything, as the scholar had already returned to the enchantment table and begun conversing with Fia and Stepan. One of several disadvantages of being perpetually masked: with only an eye exposed, it could sometimes be difficult to display much of a reaction to something without voicing it.

With Stepan’s questions, the tone of the conversation shifted dramatically. Vesemir recounted the events that had driven the elves from their homeland. The occupation that took place after the war, the tension that it brought, and ultimately the resolution of exodus. Rezello knew how it felt to lose one’s home, of course, but the sheer difference in magnitude between his own experience and those of the elves rendered any comparison between them moot. It was clear that the pain of generations long ago still lingered in their descendants; given it was his own kind that had caused that suffering, even as their own form of retribution - “justice”, some would claim - for the war prior, he was thankful that the elves didn’t seem to carry a grudge because of it.

Or, at least, most of them didn’t.

---

Fia listened to Vesemir as he explained the circumstances in which the lands were abandoned and never reclaimed. Now it made sense why that old elf she used to travel with wouldn’t talk about it. He probably didn’t care what the lands contained because it was easier for him to not think about what could have been had the postwar recovery been more fair. Fia wouldn’t actually know for sure without speaking to him again, and right now it wasn’t clear when that would happen next.
As Vesemir spoke, Fia could tell that the history of that time was not a pleasant one. Of course the war and the aftermath wasn’t pleasant, but Fia could understand that despite the centuries, for the elves, that was not too long ago. Who knows how long it’s been since the humans either left or died out, but their absence, and the elves reluctance to return had left these lands to be reclaimed by the wilds. And whatever effects that carried on since the war and postwar had let those wilds house entities and anomalies more dangerous than most.
“You are right deary. That history is several generations before my time. Generations that might have died out by now. Though war may bring opportunity and bounties, it’s hard to deny the costs others have to endure. Costs that those displaced were forced to pay. I can’t imagine the memory being that fresh and to watch as the offspring of those abusers forget the role of their ancestors.” said Fia. The disparity between the two species life spans was very evident. For humanity, past crimes were hardly carried between generations. Humanity could be born, grow, learn, and die assigning the crimes to those humans of the past. It was easy. But for humanity, that ‘ease’ was not due to malice. They were just short-lived compared to the elves. For those elves, maybe humanity’s mortality felt too continent. They could still be licking their wounds and humanity would have already grown past the need to feel guilt.

"It matters when it leaves unfinished business, no?" Verdant inquired, mostly rhetorical. A hand rose, drawing a thumb across her throat, the implication quite obvious. "Kill it, be done with it. Or it'll come back to haunt you at the least opportune moment."

Even humans with their short lifespan could be troublesome, inheriting the toxin that was hate down the generations. But for a long-lived elf? No containment was perfect. She'll break free sooner or later, and the serpent can only hope to be far away from this place when it happen.

"Guess we'll have to respect each other's boundary, then." That much can be acquiesced. They'll depart the gallery soon enough anyway. "To be free is to be unbound and limitless. I could say more of our difference, but I suspect that will go nowhere. Changing our nature is not happening in a single conversation, yes?"

“You are right deary. That history is several generations before my time. Generations that might have died out by now. Though war may bring opportunity and bounties, it’s hard to deny the costs others have to endure. Costs that those displaced were forced to pay. I can’t imagine the memory being that fresh and to watch as the offspring of those abusers forget the role of their ancestors.”

"Miss Fia..." the archeologist said in a defeated tone. The elves as a race didn't ask much, or even wanted to have their grief to be understood. A gesture of acknowledgment was enough and laudable. "Please, don't take it the wrong way. It was part of history that your kin nowadays played no part in. We elves don't believe in inherited sin. All we can do now is to learn from the past and make sure we do better in the future."

Pausing to allow the somberness to pass, he continued. "Now enough of that. Who is next?! Mr Gray?"

The masked elf handed him his sword, which was a single-edged elven falchion with a flawless blade. Unlike his older compatriot, Elc maintained his demeanor throughout the entire introspection.

"Vesemir, I think we have been in this vault for three hours. Unless we plan to stay overnight, I recommend we quickly conclude our business here. Just a suggestion, but I am sure you know how troublesome it is navigating the Land of Twilight at night."

"I think we can have two or three hours more, Miss Jazdia still has things to attend to."

"Right, she is----Well, all is up to you boss. We still have that room to clear," he transferred his gaze to Rezello, who had just finished admiring his sword. "Aren't you and that Miko girl Miwa wanted to investigate that room?"

@Valkon@Randomness

____

@Akari

Eblana suddenly recovered from her small breakdown. Her posture was straight, and she walked like something had taken hold of her. The accumulation of embarrassment and lack of any meaningful explanation---not even a sorry!---had awakened another side of her gentle, healer archetype. She stood against Akari. Eyes fixed on the black-haired kunoichi.

Was she pausing to collect her thoughts? Searching for words? No, she let the silence be her opener.

"Miss... Akari," she said, plain and calm. "You read my lips carefully this time."

She paused to breathe out bottled exasperation, and the next 'you' came straight with veiled disgust. "You... and Miss Miwa shares the same homeland, yet I can see her behaving far more appropriately than you. I will not see that kind of impudent gesture anymore--- it's violating my personal space. I care not if it is permissible in your culture. Are we clear?"
Without letting the kunoichi retort, the radian-looking elf stared at the foreigner viciously one last time before turning her back.

"Hmph!"



"It matters when it leaves unfinished business, no?" Verdant inquired, mostly rhetorical. A hand rose, drawing a thumb across her throat, the implication quite obvious. "Kill it, be done with it. Or it'll come back to haunt you at the least opportune moment."

In the olden days, the proud Arcan would dismiss such premonition, but now there was a foreboding feeling that made him unable to produce any rebuttal. He could not explain; it was an instinct he honed after a millennium of existence. Truth to be told, he had none of this feeling when receiving the wizard's party ten years ago, but today, from the moment this party entered the gallery, all that instinctual alarm was sounding gradually, to the point that it had become hard to ignore.

"Guess we'll have to respect each other's boundary, then." That much can be acquiesced. They'll depart the gallery soon enough anyway. "To be free is to be unbound and limitless. I could say more about our differences, but I suspect that will go nowhere. Changing our nature is not happening in a single conversation, yes?"

"Yes."

But the ancient djinn did not care anymore about fundamental ideals. His entire focus was already on the sitting elf. Arcan has been keeping an eye on her even before they entered this section, but now he glared at her like a wild jasmine blooming where it shouldn't. The tears had a connection that was faint but traceable, fleeting but felt, and it was about to fade. He would find out now.

At least that was the plan until the foreigner sauntered between the desk and the painting.

"Perhaps the true reason for Theriadore to keep this painting was exactly for this. To try and understand exactly where everything started to go wrong. Was it everything because of greed and envy? Jealousy...? Did such dark emotions poison and corrupt Lythiel's mind over time? Were they always there? Or perhaps... although unlikely... was it born out of a misunderstanding...?"

Arcan had to rein in his temper. He could not explain it, but there was something about this... Miko, that steadied him, as if her very presence exuded an aura of patience and restraint.
So he stopped dead in his tracks. For a moment, what he sought after was forgotten. The Miko's words seeped in.

"There was no misunderstanding." He said in a precise monotone. "Lythiel was shortsighted. The brothers wanted peace between the elves and humans to last, but she undermined what they were trying to build. She spat on the offer to make justice institutionalized and refused the direct order to stand down." He shook his head in a gentle dismissal. "It was just the beginning of her crimes. The error was apparent from the moment Shirathal family took her in."

The error, righted way too late.

"I'm sorry, maybe I shouldn't have asked about the previous member... It seems I am being quite tactless today... I am really sorry, Jazdia."

"Oh, about that? Don't worry too much about it."

Truth be told, Jazdia too, was taken aback by the revelation; she didn’t know how to register the entire thing. Her cheek was still wet with tears, yet she hesitated to wipe them away. The sadness lingered, but her logic struggled to recognize its origin. She dismissed the phenomenon like a judge dismissing an unfair blow---her way of asserting control, not merely a show for the others.

But the inevitable march of hopelessness was still looming, undeterred by emotional pretense. Every page she skimmed added more layer of distress. The elven ranger's hand betrayed that illusion of control as she held Miwa's hand, squeezing it for assurance. She lifted her gaze and saw the curator.

"Curator Arcan. Do you have some other collections---"

But the towering ancient Djinn has already an inch away from the desk, bending forth as his face studied her closer.

"I have a better idea," he said, curt, detached, and methodical. In his spectral blue eyes, an intense emotion sought a momentum to manifest, held by something she couldn't fathom.

"You will not find whatever you are looking for by reading, unless you are willing to spend a few years here poring over every book and flipping every page."

The curator's gloved fingers stretched across the table. "Hold my hand, so I can see what is wrong with you. My knowledge is vast, and it could save us from all the tedium of... waiting. This is the method I learned from my eastern kin." His gaze slid briefly toward Miwa, silent but deliberate, seeking a wordless confirmation.

It sounded tempting, but Jazdia was torn between her instinct and mounting desperation. The rationale in Arcan's assessment was undisputed. Yet, still she looked at Miwa and Verdant. A glimpse of vulnerability that she was willing to show to those who cared enough to know her plight, and now it begs for an answer: should she take his hand?

@13org@A5G

The conversation at an end, both djinns shifted their attention back to the elf - completely by coincidence, of course. Verdant could almost smell it, the all too familiar air of despair and resignation. It dredged memories unpleasant enough to elicit a frown.

"When you stumble, lost and at your last gasp, a help can make a world's difference." The serpent carefully hedged, knowing that this sort of decision wasn't one to be made under other's influence. She can only help make it clear what the options entails, and let Jazdia choose her own path. "But you will need to be wary of whose hand should be grasped, yes? Salvation and ruin are sometimes hard to distinguish." Emerald eye flickered to the curator, measuring the odds of treachery. Unlikely, but she knew well how deep of an abyss the mind could be. "Do you trust Theriadore's legacy?"

Rezello

---

" We still have that room to clear," he transferred his gaze to Rezello, who had just finished admiring his sword. "Aren't you and that Miko girl Miwa wanted to investigate that room?"

Rezello looked to Elc, resting the blade of his newly empowered sword on his shoulder. “Indeed we did.” He then turned to Vesemir, adding, “If I’m not mistaken, she and Verdant left with Jazdia before the enchantments on their items were completed. If they are finished, I can bring them with me.”

"Certainly master Rezello. Please tell miss Jazdia to don't feel hesitate to tell us if she needs more time."

Rezello took the items, giving a nod of acknowledgement before turning to the east. Enchanted hairbands and dagger in hand, he made his way out of the western section of the vault and back into the main room. The only remaining path was the previously darkened corridor to the north, but by the glow emanating from the room at its end it seemed some lighting had been activated by the presence of the others. As he approached the chamber, the sound of conversation could be heard, but it ended before he was close enough to make out what was being said.

Entering the room, it appeared as though something of significance was occurring. Rezello silently stood in the entryway, trying to avoid interrupting whatever was happening.

"When you stumble, lost and at your last gasp, a help can make a world's difference."
"But you will need to be wary of whose hand should be grasped, yes? Salvation and ruin are sometimes hard to distinguish."
"Do you trust Theriadore's legacy?"

Jazdia exhaled a breath, trusting was an irrelevant thing to ask right now. They had chosen to enter Theriadore's vault, planning to extract information from his books. Arcan offered a shortcut, perhaps what she needed. Just like what Verdant said, she was stumbling in pain that was crippling her slowly; she was lost, and nearly on her last gasp.

"No need to hurry, Jazdia. Just let us know if you are ready."

"Should we hope to really fight this curse, any information we might get about it will help, no matter how small it might be. Hope is the last to die, after all, isn't it?"

Miwa said, and her smile was assuring, comforting, erasing all doubts, and somehow making her question why doubt was there in the first place. She looked at the curator's indifferent look, but did not fail to see the flicker of impatience.

Jazdia held his hand and let whatever secret she had about this condition lie bare; she had nothing to lose, only to gain.

When Arcan's gloved hand touched Jazdia's, the Curator's brow furrowed, and he stared at her for a few moments, tightening the grasp on her hand until discomfort set in. The curator himself looked as if he was having a seizure, but all hid under that controlled posture. Then, he took a slow, menacing step forward, straightened himself, and fixed his gaze on her with a livid stare.

"What...have you done?" He said, his jaw clenched.

Jazdia had done many things in her 75 years of living in this world, and she could immediately point out which event in her life this question pointed toward. But she was unable to explain it, the betrayal, her beloved's death, the contract she vaguely remembered; all was irrelevant in search of a cure.

But for the ancient being in front of her, it was not just 'irrelevant' details. Her silence and reluctance seemed to escalate something in him, an expression of restrained rage that roused Jazdia's vigilance.

"You... do you have any idea what kind of evil you were playing with?"

"Playing?" Instead of answering, she questioned back, defiantly. No, it was not a game! It was survival, and and the power she exchanged was a salvation to avenge the fallen. Her soft expression grew more stern as she looked back at the ancient curator. "Curator Arcan, I'd appreciate it if we just focus on finding the cure---"

The curator suddenly yanked her hand up and slammed her against the wall behind her, phasing through the desk and the toppled chair in the process. His semi-ethereal forearm pinned her by the neck.

"You!" he snarled. "Pitiful, stupid elf! You meddled with powers the wise of old wouldn’t even speak of! What did she promise you? Power? Life? Did you know the price of it all?!"

Jazdia's first instinct as a ranger was to yank a blade from her quiver and stab the assailant, but the force that held her pressed with irresistible strength; it was like a densely concentrated air that pushed with a great force, and at that moment, she gazed into Arcan's blue eyes, both simmering with rage burning above fear belonged to a distant memories.

"C-curator..." she managed, trying to wheeze her words out. "I am not--- your enemy!"

"You will!" he snapped spitefully."There is no cure for you! You will die, and she will take you! Your body, your memories! Not even a soul will be left! There will be no more you!"

His hateful speech vibrated the very walls and structure of this vault. The shelves tremble, the decor swayed, and the lamp flickered. It faintly echoed to many corners, filling the air with fury almost tangible.

@13org@Valkon@A5G

The hostility was felt before any sign of it, a pinprick sensation that raised her hackles and instinctively coiled the muscles in anticipation of a coming blow. Only, it wasn't Verdant that was the object of the roiling ire, was she?

"Curator." She started, a hand reaching for her bag while another palmed the pommel of a knife. "What-"

Then the blur of motion had Verdant sliding back, hissing in alarm. The curator struck with an all too familiar venomous hate coloring his every word. That was the sole silver lining that stayed her hand - the dripping black hatred was an uncomfortable mirror of a mistake that blighted an entire land.

"Curator. Arcan. She repeated, having gotten closer in the tirade that blinded the elder djinn to his surroundings. A nondescript glass vial was tapped right to his back, the glimmer of pale white flickering within the crimson blood. A threat and a warning in one. "You are cracking the vault. Contain yourself, before your anger force our hand."

A battle inside will only hasten the gallery's destruction, after all. Damnations, why was this elder so unstable?

---

The mood in the room was rather down. With attempts to change the subject on the matters at hand, such as the enchantments and perhaps planning on where to camp for the night, the atmosphere didn’t actually change. Fia wasn’t really in defense of herself or humanity in general, but it was nice to know that at least Vesemir wasn’t one to hold the crimes of those who once lived in the past to those currently living in the present. Overall, it was not the most pleasant conversation. When uncovering the annals of the far past, at least the far past in human standards, it’s hard to think about what was and what could have been.
“You go ahead, darling. I’ll wait here when you return with our young miko.” said Fia. Rezello gathered the recently enchanted items in his arms before leaving the room. The masked knight paused in the doorway before decidedly making his way farther down the hall. Fia turned to look at those who remained. Mainly the group that traversed into the abandoned forest alone first and the ninja clones. Fia wished Degel were present. His imposing stature might have helped bring more security in the unknown of the vault.
“Well then, while he is off on his errand, I think it is time to lift our spirits. This place hasn’t been visited in a decade, and centuries before that. We are surrounded by countless treasures. Maybe we can find something fun to play with. I bet many of these objects are itching to be used after so many years of dormancy. How about you, dear Elbana? Come join me. Maybe we can find a lovely piece of jewelry to compliment your beauty. It would at least help you get your mind off the spontaneous intimacy.” Fia held out her hand as she spoke. She smiled as she extended the invitation. Fia had already found some items of interest, mostly from appearances alone. Even if items had papers explaining them, Fia would rather experience the different aspects of the artifacts to get a better grasp of their capabilities. She hadn’t even tried as Vesemir was performing his enchantments. But now that there was downtime for everyone, would be a good chance to find something good. “After all, there is a chance we can walk away with something worthwhile, ourselves.”
Fia lingered around one of the glass shelves containing differing forms of jewelry or loose gems. If the teleporter sceptre had any indication, the gems were likely the means in which many items held vast magical power, or at least powers either rare or lost to time. Fia looked up from the case as she admired a particular brooch. Something in the air shifted. The room shook and faint anger could be heard from outside the hall. A force one should be wary to reckon with was stirring. The change was sudden, leaving Fia curious as to what could have changed so rapidly.

...How about you, dear Elbana? Come join me. Maybe we can find a lovely piece of jewelry to compliment your beauty. It would at least help you get your mind off the spontaneous intimacy.”

Eblana was reluctant, but she followed Fia anyway. The sorceress was right. After that snit with Akari, the elf needed something to distract herself, and a tour would be good indeed.

The duo arrived at the exhibition room. Eblana was a bit disappointed; most of the items displayed were enchanted weapons---all were made by elves and mankind alike. It seemed Theriadore had some deep interest in any warfare craft across two cultures. Not sure if the interest was part of his diplomacy or personal preference.

Fia being Fia, the sorceress managed to locate the display where most trinkets were stored. They were displayed in a rather different case. There were six of them: two brooches, two ornate jewels, and two polished gems with no color; all presented on top of dark-green fabric and encased inside a glass protective case like any other.

“After all, there is a chance we can walk away with something worthwhile, ourselves.”

A bit worried, yet still intrigued by the prospect, Eblana approached the particular display. "Are you sure that's okay, Miss Fia?"

Her slender finger touched the glass. It was a shame that the items didn't come with any didactic labels, making Fia's temptation to take one of them for keeping sound even more lucrative.

As the healer daydreamed about that slightly mischievous enticement, the floor trembled, and the air in front of them grew heavy with intimidating forces. The elven healer fell to her knees, hands closing her ears as the malicious sound circled in that exhibition room.

When the sound and vibration subsided, Vesemir, followed by Mr Elc, bolted out of the workshop. "What's going on?!" He gasped. "Have you two displaced something from its place? Where is the Curator?"

@Randomness

---

Certainly the equivalent of a minor earthquake didn’t mean anything good. Eblana had collapsed into a ball, and Vesemir was very obviously panicked. No sooner had Fia urged the elven woman to consider the freshly discovered jewelry, the vault was turned on its head. Whatever could be said about the weight of the sound, it was suddenly more interesting to Fia than the jewels at hand.
“Displaced?” Fia questioned, but did not expect an answer, "I assure you, dear Eblana and I were on our best behaviour." Given how convenient it was for everything else to be moved around, it felt odd if Fia and Eblana’s shopping spree would have caused the commotion. No, to Fia, the enraged atmosphere was from something else. The curator was the obvious choice. Vesemir was probably on to something about that. Since Arcan was no where near the curatorium nor the workshop, it had to have been something else to draw his ire. “No, darling, nothing of the sort. But dear Arcan lead Jazdia away towards another part of the vault. A library or archive of sorts would be my guess given her request. Just out the door, and farther down the hall is where I last saw them.”

Rezello

---

Of the four present in the archives, Miwa was the only one that seemed to notice Rezello’s entry.

"Sorry! We will be done in a moment." Miwa said to Rezello, discreetly mouthing the words without emitting any sound before she turned her attention back to Jazdia, Arcan and Verdant.

Rezello gave an affirmative nod in reply, turning to watch what was happening between Jazdia and Arcan. It wasn’t long after their hands met that something stirred within the curator, rising into a fury that resulted in Jazdia being pinned to the wall by the wrathful djinn. The underground structure reverberated with Arcan’s rage as he berated Jazdia, the outburst of anger causing Rezello to take a step back in surprise.

As the ranger’s strained pleas failed, Verdant and Miwa tried to reason with Arcan, the former stepping forward with a vial of an unfamiliar white and crimson solution while the latter drew her polearm, striking the ground to emphasize her words. Tightening his grip on the hilt of his spadone, Rezello moved closer, stopping next to Miwa. He didn’t know what it was that had broken the curator’s composure, but if the situation came to blows he would be ready to defend himself and his allies.

“Displaced?” Fia questioned, but did not expect an answer, "I assure you, dear Eblana and I were on our best behaviour." Given how convenient it was for everything else to be moved around, it felt odd if Fia and Eblana’s shopping spree would have caused the commotion. No, to Fia, the enraged atmosphere was from something else. The curator was the obvious choice. Vesemir was probably on to something about that. Since Arcan was no where near the curatorium nor the workshop, it had to have been something else to draw his ire. “No, darling, nothing of the sort. But dear Arcan lead Jazdia away towards another part of the vault. A library or archive of sorts would be my guess given her request. Just out the door, and farther down the hall is where I last saw them.”

Vesemir listened, but gave it a momentary pause to assess the surroundings. The vibration was still felt, and the uneasiness in the air was far from being dissipated; yet it seemed the crescendo had passed...

Mr Elc reached out a hand to help Eblana stand up again, a few friendly words spoken to calm the healer. "I can carry you if you want." He said, still supporting Eblana, but his eyes looked at the ceiling that occasionally shuddered like the belly of a nervous beast.

One would think someone with a rugged exterior like Stepan would have a handful of things to fear, but there he was unsteadily exiting the workshop with sword already on hand.

"What the hell was that, boss? Monster I---we can kill, but a collapsing vault?! Better get the heck outta here!"

"Shush!" Vesemir glared at him with an impatient frown. "Sheathe your sword, Master Stepan! If there is an evil in this vault, that would be from the outside!"

The commotion was starting to dissolve, but suddenly escalated again after a moment passed.

"...I have a bad feeling about this." He whispered, eyes met Fia with silent agreement. Another rumbling prompted a decisive plan: to find Arcan and Jazdia.

"Keep your weapon sheathed, and don't run," Vesemir said as he began walking briskly out of the gallery room, followed by Mr Elc and the others. He stopper for amoment. An abivalent, but quite specific question emerged from him like a long-held breath. "Miss Fia, as someone who studies Djinn, I am sure you'd know when an ancient being like Arcan felt we have overstayed our welcome, right?"

"Curator. Arcan. You are cracking the vault. Contain yourself, before your anger force our hand."

"CURATOR ARCAN! PLEASE CONTROL YOURSELF!!"

When Verdant's bottled toxin touched him, the ancient's lock on Jazdia intensified. Making an enemy out of lesser djinn was tolerable price he could gladly afford. But it became another difficult matter when Miwa stepped forth, meddling in something she had no deep understanding of. The involvement of another actor---the masked knight--- made the situation even more difficult. Arcan finally yielded, but not before using his invisible power to gently but firmly push the youkai away from him---the power could be described like a pair of flexible wings made of air Arcan could command like it was part of his own body.

"Neither one of us have any idea what is happening, Curator Arcan. It would be best to use words to explain instead of violence, wouldn't it? I urge you to calm down and explain what exactly made you act like this. Who exactly is this thing that is responsible for Jazdia's curse?"

And with that, the towering curator let Jazdia fall on her knees. The ranger was mentally shocked, one hand easing the pain in her neck. She sat there in despair, while Arcan turned to Miwa, but not before restoring the toppled chair back to its proper place.

"Where do we start? Let me begin with the fact that your 'friend' here somehow has Lythiel's soul signature in her." Arcan's word, while less vibrating, still has that incandescent tone that made his demeanor resemble a tensed executor. He only spared Jazdia a sharp, hostile glance before panning his gaze on the other three. And then to speak about the ranger again as if she was an animal that needed to be put down.

"Like a disease, it weakens her from inside, eroding her own soul. Such a foolish endeavor. There is no cure for that! I spared her for now because you were my guests, but I implore you not to interfere. Lythiel had marked her, and a small violence to end her life right here, right now would be a small price to prevent a great evil from returning." He paused to refocus his gaze on Miwa. "You, Shirakawa Miwa, as a priest of your people, should have known that it is the only logical option."

The tension was taut enough to cut, yet as Arcan's words echoed with grim severity it was interrupted by a full-bellied laughter that came from the serpent herself. She cackled and wheezed, clutching her stomach with all the tact of a brick through a stained glass window, bending over like she had heard the funniest joke in the world.

"Well, look at that." She said, not even hiding the venom in her words. The elder djinn hadn't been an endearing host. In fact, all this was breaking the unsaid rules of hospitality and such a knife cuts both ways. The itch to knock him down a peg wasn't something Verdant resisted. "It came back to haunt you at the least opportune moment."

A feral grin split her visage like a gaping scar, filled with too many needle-sharp teeth for a human. Posture low and muscles tense, Verdant was more a serpent ready to spring than the little glutton that was her usual mask.

"None here are yours to claim, old thing." She hissed harshly, scales sprouting across her face and the back of her arm, spreading down until a sinuous tail grew behind. "She'll not be a sacrifice to pay for your mistake."