You Are Invited

[Woe]

48th of Ymiden 720


Beneath the Undercroft to the mansion Woe inhabited, a set of cages had been installed. Built of sturdy iron and steel, he’d spent much of the onyx that the sneak had given him on having them installed. Of course, the workmen assured him that they were discrete. They’d probably done dodgier installations elsewhere, but Woe couldn’t be too careful.

Moisture gathered at the ceiling above the dungeon, it’s filthy ichorous drippings falling on the faces of the poor unfortunates who’d been unlucky enough to be drafted for such construction. Woe had paid well for the installation and was hoping there’d be no questions of the man who he’d hired them from. He didn’t remember quite who it was... But he was confident that the onyx nel in his purse would assuage any questions he had about his missing workers.

The domain of Ignorance was all too convenient at times.

But now, Woe had two guests, stuck in his dungeon. He stared at them through the darkness, seeing them more through his attunement than through his eyes. He felt their notes, notes of fear, mingling with their tangle. There was a definite synergy between the two sparks, between Empathy and Attunement, that much he couldn’t deny.

” Please, let us go! Who are you? We’ll give you our sons, our daughters, our wives, whatever you want!” Their wretched pleas fell pleasantly on his ears as he turned on his heel, and made his way out of the darkened dungeon. ”Where are we?!”

But the steel door shut behind Woe, and he ascended the steps into his Labyrinthine Undercroft. The trap doors were set at a point above several empty cages. And that was where Woe made his way to, letting omnivision be his guide to the site where he’d place his runic traps.

Once he located the apertures, he began tracing with his tienite sword on the wooden surface of the doors. They were designed to give way once enough pressure was placed upon them. Standing or stepping on them alone wouldn’t do to trigger their mechanism. It’d take a full collapse of a fully grown human to make the door budge.

A collapse that would be ensured by Woe’s competently drawn chained runes. He drew the runic words he’d only just learned, that of weakness and numbness should be sufficient to bring the young Tribunal low. It took several bits to set the runes just right, but he had time... The invitation had been set.



Breen stood guard outside, in the desolate grounds of the townhouse. Beyond a metal grate that was ajar, left open for any visitors. Most were afraid of the influx of refugees that their homes would be raided and ransacked in a panic. However, Woe preferred to invite intrusion.

The black-furred Lysorian shepherd dog, the diri of sorrow stood just inside the gate, keeping watch for Woe. He would send a telepathic signal when the appointment arrived. In the meantime, the sullen-looking, but well-fed spirit stood at attention.

Waiting.

[Vito Rossau]

48TH OF YMIDEN, ARC 720

A large house sat at the corner of King’s Thoroughfare and Rusthaven Road, impossible to miss. When the location had been mentioned, nearly twenty trials before, the Tribunal had not expected to find any reason to visit. The Guild of Hospitality’s representative, Woe, had proved himself a skilled fighter during their venture into the thieves’ den in Lair, and though it was rare for Vito to take any sort of interest in such obvious foreigners, he had been pleasantly surprised by their brief work as an unexpected team.

He did not trust the mage, not one bit. It would have been terribly naïve of him to do so. But Woe had captured his interest, and the Tribunal had felt a strange compulsion to comply when he had been presented with a proper invitation to visit his Quacian home. What the representative might have wanted from him, he did not know… but there were plenty of things that Vito wanted in return.

Dressed in the black and red garb of all of Quacia’s priests, Vito walked with his hands folded behind his back. His silken dark hair was dampened slightly by a light showering of rain, one that had hardly stopped since the destructive storms five trials before. He did not mind the feeling, the cold, wet drips against what pale skin was left bare by his dark uniform. With a turn, he continued on down the next street, and stepped over a sleeping Heap that had presumably fled from the lower parts of the city.

Pitiable things they were, if one found themselves capable of caring. He knew well that they would have been put to better use with their skins slashed open over altars. Still they continued to encroach, and he could only hope that they did not clutter the streets of Quacia for too much longer.

As he approached the house, dark and imposing as the rest of his city’s architecture, Vito took a deep breath. The scent of rain, so familiar to him, served to ground his mind as he continued closer. Through a metal grate, left open despite any others that might wander in, the Tribunal stepped into the dilapidated grounds of the mansion. How he detested house visits, and the ever-present expectation that he might find something to compliment his host about… but he would not abandon his curiosities so soon. Not when Woe had, thus far, done nothing to dissuade his favorable view of the human.

Green eyes flitting about in casual survey, he ignored whatever hesitations held him back, and carried on. A figure shadowed by the darkness of its own fur, not humanoid but... wolf? caught his gaze, and the Tribunal's cyan-tinted gaze narrowed on the creature. He came to a stop, standing still nearby. Unsure of how to complete his sentence properly in Common, Vito called in his native language of Vahanic instead.

“Woe? It is Tribunal Vito. Are you here?”

[Woe]

Woe spent the remainder of the time he wove the runic trap, making sure of its integral strength, and then weaving in a verbal command that he felt would have enough psychological impact to affect the young Tribunal. He did not test it yet, for to do so would trigger the trap, releasing its charged ether tasked with the purpose of weakening and numbing the trapped person's legs.

This done, on both trap doors on either end of the Undercroft, he went upstairs, making for the large reception hall. The reception was well lit by both windows and bloodlight chandeliers that hung from the high vaulted ceiling. A wide staircase is situated in the middle of the reception, toward the back, leading up to the second floor of the house.

Woe stood in front of the door, meditating while on his feet, trying to find the focus and will that so often eluded him as his sparks grasped and groped for more of the fourth corners of his soul.

He heard the voice of Breen in his mind, Someone is here master, in red and black robes... Breen's whine was evident even over their mental connection. So Woe called him over to the house, through a nonverbal command.



Breen trotted away from Vito, when the man called out and led the way to the door. If Vito failed to follow or keep pace, the black-furred spirit would turn its head and fix him in its brilliant blue gaze, waiting until he made to follow again.

He would lead him thus, until getting to the door, where he waited.

Once Vito arrived at the door before he had even a chance to knock, Woe would open the door wide, and appear from the other side. "Thank you for coming." Woe didn't apologize for the state of his house, which was only sparsely decorated and furnished at this point. Cobwebs hung from certain corners of the reception, looking as if a housekeeper hadn't seen to them in years.

Woe waved him in and gestured that he should follow. Woe walked slowly, making for the door on the far side of the reception, He spoke in Vahanic, of course, as the language his younger fellow was most familiar with. "I almost didn't think you would come."

Woe arrived at a small sitting section of the large reception, there was a bookcase, full of tomes and various knickknacks. Somehow, the bookcase seemed out of place.

"I suppose you know I wouldn't have asked you to call on my house on a casual matter. I'll be frank and brief. I fear for Quacia, and it requires strong defenders. We have warriors to defend the people, and monarchs to defend the elite as you've seen. Yet, Quacia is weakening in its spiritual supremacy..." Here, Woe monitored the tangle of his guest carefully, looking for signs that he would turn hostile at that revelation. He might take offense, as the Theocratum was his own church and religion, and with him as a representative of it.

"Quacia needs to be strong at all three corners if it's to survive."

[Vito Rossau]

48TH OF YMIDEN, ARC 720

The dark wolf turned and trotted away from him. At first it did not register to the Tribunal that he was meant to follow. He did not make a habit of following after beasts, whatever they might be, but the wolf’s first glance back at him was enough of a prod. Vito moved to follow, bright blue irises darting from side to side as he observed the state of the house’s grounds. The place was certainly not well-kept. He could hardly judge the foreigner for it, however, as his own place of residence was not much better off.

Led to a door, Vito kept his hands folded neatly behind his back, and did not bow or otherwise greet the man that opened it, at first. Had he been a proper Quacian citizen, he might have received a warmer response… but even that seemed unlikely from the dark-haired Tribunal. Woe’s greeting did earn a polite dip of his head, more out of acknowledgement than anything else, and then he stepped forward to enter the house.

"I almost didn't think you would come."

“I had no reason to refuse.”

It was not much of an improvement from the outside, at least not to Vito, but something about the place was… terribly charming.

Dark and near-dilapidated, for how little the interior had been decorated or cleaned, with cobwebs that seemed as if the spiders had lived there longer than Woe. An unfortunate state for any visitors with arachnid-related fears, he supposed. Vito’s eyes returned to the mage soon enough, and he followed the older man to the small sitting section.

Once there, his dreadfully bright blue gaze looked over the bookcase. It was… just a regular bookcase, as far as he could tell, and yet something about it felt… off. His eyes narrowed slightly – the matter confused him – but they returned, with the sound of Woe’s voice, to the older dark-haired mage. The assurance that he would not be boring him with trivial matters was appreciated, though he could not have guessed why exactly the man had invited him otherwise.

Vito stood still, his posture stiff and expression largely unrevealing of whatever resided in the Tribunal’s mind. To any in observance of his tangle, however… his confidence (if it was really confidence at all) overlaid his growing sense of confusion. The notes of both were dampened still, nearly crushed beneath the weight of a heavy and seemingly ever-present twist of jealousy. Even as Woe continued, and subtle notes of irritation plucked at his undisplayed thoughts, everything resided underneath this heavy weight.

“Weakening,” repeated Vito, his tone flat, “I am afraid I do not know what you mean. You suggest that the Church is losing the faith of the people?”

Bold words from a foreigner. Especially one that he had carved bloody marks into himself. Vito glanced over Woe, his eyes a dark crimson. Somewhere within the all-consuming envy, there is a note of curious amusement.

“I would agree that Quacia requires the strength of faith to survive, and I would agree, as well, that there are areas in which we can improve. The Theocratum has taken steps to do so,” he added, in reference to the increased frequency of raids within Lair. The insurgence of free-thinking heretics would be stamped out and put to rest, of that he had no doubt.

Red eyes flicked to the side, in observance of the rest of the sitting area. The Tribunal paused, and then inquired, “what are you trying to suggest, Woe?”

[Woe]

Breen was soon to depart from sight after Vito was seen to the door. Although where he'd skulked off to hadn't been noticed by the Tribunal. In fact, Breen returned to his spirit form, having been incorporated for long enough to tire. That was just as well for Woe, he'd served a purpose. And perhaps he'd have a cause and opportunity to feed before the night was done.

“I had no reason to refuse.”

Woe nodded at that, noting the confidence with which the words were said. In fact, as soon as he began monitoring the Tribunal's tangle for signs and emotional makeup, the first thing to spring to his attention was the confidence that was wreathed inside and out of his entire soul. He wore his confidence like the voluminous robes of his clergymen. But what was the source of that confidence? Was it bravado? No, normally that would be followed by tenseness and anxiety that betrayed their false confidence.

Was it instead faith in his invisible god? Such faith had to be strong to go without concrete substantiation. It was this that Woe wished to discover more about. How could a god who never appeared, never acted, and never spoke to command such devotion? Woe felt if he uncovered the reasons for such devotion, perhaps he could replicate it.

His sister Labrae could learn a thing or two from the Wounded God, Woe thought amusedly.

But then, Woe saw envy on the tangle. This made him furrow his brow as he continued to speak, "I propose to empower those who might revitalize the faith. Too long have people paid lip service to the Theocratum. Being feared without adequate devotion and awe on part of the punished is a precarious position to hold. A cornered animal isn't liable to wither before an assault. The body is afraid, but the mind is defiant. They will strike, and do so in a way that gives way to chaos."

"But I waste your time with vagaries. If you wish to reclaim a portion of the Theocratum's birthright, I've something of interest in the Undercroft you'll want to see." So saying, he pulled on an out of place looking tome on the bookcase, which predictably opened to a hidden passage beyond. There were torches lit on either wall of the stairwell leading down. "Take one of the torches if you will. Or do you need more convincing? I confess I've not a way with this language of yours, and it might be better to show you what was found in the bowels of this house."

Having said this, he lead the way down the stairwell, if he would follow. If he didn't follow but walked out now that was just as well. Woe could find another to suit his purposes. As insurance, with his final words, he strummed the younger man's sense of confidence and tried to overlay that sense over his envy. Woe didn't want him to think he was someone to be envied, but another pitiful maggot, trying to grope for favors.

Woe walked down the stairwell, and then made to walk toward one of the trap doors.

[Vito Rossau]

48TH OF YMIDEN, ARC 720

None of Woe’s assessments were wrong, nor did they garner any sense of disagreement within the younger man… but Vito would never admit any fault of the Theocratum so blatantly, especially not in front of a foreigner, and truly he did not see many in the first place. The Church had raised him; taken him in after his heretical parents had failed to find their honest faith, and if there were any flaws within their ranks, the Tribunal was entirely blind to them. Whether it was a willful blindness or true ignorance, it served the same purpose.

In spite of his devotion – or perhaps because of it, in his need to solidify the will of his god and further His influence – he agreed. His red eyes continued their slow survey of the sitting area while the representative spoke, and his expression did not shift, as a careful neutrality maintained on his pale features.

It was difficult to tell if Woe was telling the truth, and truly cared to help bolster the strength of the Church and those within it, or if he was merely attempting to appeal to the Tribunal. It did not matter in either case; Vito had already agreed to the matter of listening by taking Woe’s invitation. Anything that he did not want to hear… it was partly his own fault for enabling it.

“Of the Theocratum’s birthright?” this time, his voiced repetition did not fall flat in tone, but neither did excitement fill the gaps to make up for it. A portion of the Theocratum’s birthright… something about that did not sit well with him. He had certainly never heard of anything sitting in the undercroft of a house in Gleam, which meant that either the Church was unaware of it, or Woe was lying to him, and wanted him there for some other purpose.

Red eyes narrowed, Vito hummed but did not otherwise question the matter. He watched as the bookcase gave way to a dark, hidden passage, and remained where he was for a moment longer. The smart, safe thing to do would be to walk away now. Leave the foreigner to his odd home and whatever laid down there in his basement. He could not help but wonder, though, what the representative wanted of him – and on the off-chance that he was telling the truth, he did not wish for someone else to claim this unheard-of birthright.

“You have more of a way with it than many foreigners,” said Vito of the language, as he stepped forward and moved to follow the other dark-haired man through the passage. A torch was very hesitantly pulled from the wall, and he carried it awkwardly as he walked, as if he had never held anything like it before.

Despite the darkness not illuminated by means of the torch, and the oddity that was the mage before him, something kept the Tribunal calm as they descended the stairwell. Though a note of easy, familiar confidence had risen to the surface, and his irritations ebbed in allowance of curiosity instead, it seemed that what envy rested deep within his tangle had nestled itself in there for good. The biqaj gave no indication of any such feeling, nor did it seem as if it were anything out of the ordinary, like it was as much a part of him as his arms, or his legs.

Once they had made it to the bottom of the stairwell, Vito paused only for a trill in his glance around the area – but he could see no farther than his torch allowed. He fell back into step behind Woe, and followed the representative until he came to a stop.

“What exactly am I meant to be seeing down here?”

He held the torch at a distance, away from his body, and looked around in some attempt to see more… but they were far from ideal conditions, and he gave up quickly before his red gaze once again returned to Woe.

[Woe]

Woe found Vito to be a laconic individual. Not much of one for words, but probably with a great deal to say if he were of a mind. Woe wanted to encourage an openness eventually, because it often was that those most reluctant to talk had the most sense to impart. He probably could shed much light on the Theocratum's inner workings. To the point that Woe could learn much more than he did with his amatuer groping for information.

At the narrowing of the young man's eyes, he could understand the Tribunal's reluctance to trust and comply, even with his slight etheric prodding, the slow drip of etheric honey onto his tangle. He wanted to get him under there, though. It was a matter of national security to strengthen the Theocratum, and Vito, whether he knew it or not, was the future of that church.

"Thank you." Woe said as he led the way down the passage, relying on his Omnivision to spot his way through the gloom. He went for many paces, and it would seem to Vito that there was no end to the labyrinth's twists and turns. They must have gone several hundred yards and yet nothing appeared to either of them, but dilapidated stonework all around, and perhaps a bas relief here or there.

"You see, one wouldn't think to search underneath a house to find a bit of lost lore, or artifacts of bygone ages. But you know, every civilization, even those that are hundreds of arcs old, are built upon the bones of others. Quacia is perhaps the eldest of civilizations on Idalos, by all accounts that I've heard since landing here..."

Woe stepped around a corner, and it wouldn't be long now before they reached the trap. He was almost disappointed with how easy Vito was making it. His impetuosity would need to be tempered at some point if he was to become a powerful mage and force for the supremacy of Quacia.

Woe felt relief wash over himself as he walked over the trap. It would be but moments before Vito stepped in it. But then, the Tribunal stopped just a few inches shy of the outside of the runic trap. Vexing!

It took much in the way of discipline for Woe to disguise his annoyance. Instead, he channeled his interest in the underground works of Quacia. "You see..." Woe said, urging Vito to join next to him, and sight one of the bas reliefs on the wall, which depicted the invasion of some alien being to the Forests. Woe ignored Vito then, only giving him spare attention as he investigated the stone bust. It looked like it might've been warning of an Immortal, or... something? He didn't know. He only needed Vito to move a few inches closer...

If the young man did and walked up to inspect the bas relief, Woe would swiftly turn and deliver a palm strike to his solar plexus. With that, he activated the release of the ether tasked to incapacitate Vito with a verbal trigger.

"Anathema!"

If Vito had indeed stepped onto the floor, he would find himself falling through, about a dozen feet until he fell into a cage. The last thing he would see, from then on, was the fading light from above as Woe shut him in.

[Vito Rossau]

48TH OF YMIDEN, ARC 720

It took far longer than Vito would have imagined to reach anything of note beneath the mansion. After a while, he considered the fact that it could all be some elaborate ruse… that the mage that led him through the darkness could in fact be leading him to something far more sinister, or that he could have simply been delusional. It would not have been the first time that the Tribunal had been pulled along through someone else’s clouded thoughts; he would not expect any less from a foreigner, especially one that he knew so little about.

Woe had given him little reason to doubt his intentions, however, and for that reason alone, he continued. Vito’s gaze gradually returned to the cool, dark green of what he thought forests must have looked like. He glanced over what stonework and items he could see, but in the low light provided by the torch, it was difficult for him to make out anything more.

He said nothing, as he was not entirely certain of how to respond to the explanations given. In truth, he knew far less about the rest of the world than it seemed Woe knew of Quacia. Whether the holy city had been around any longer than the rest of them… he was not sure, but it sounded right to him. It only made sense. So whatever the mage had found beneath his house (if he had truly found anything at all, Vito reminded himself), he could believe easily enough that it was far older than either of them.

Whatever it was, the Theocratum could find use for it.

They had rounded another corner when the dark-haired biqaj came to a stop. Close enough to see whatever it was that Woe wanted him to look at, he thought – but the older man urged him closer still. Vito held the torch a little farther away and stepped closer, clearly unsure about how close it was meant to get to himself or his companion, and then he looked down to the bas relief.

“Odd,” commented Vito, though his tone did not betray any other feelings he might have had towards the stonework. What was it doing all the way down here? It was clearly old, but much of the city was – and so long as it did not break apart in the removal, he supposed it could serve well in a church. With a glance back to Woe, he inquired, “why do you suppose it–”

– a hand struck between his ribs, hard, and Vito dropped the torch in his surprise –

“Anathema!”

– and before he had the chance to ask what the absolute fuck that was all about, the floor gave out beneath him. Truly, his luck with remaining on stable ground in Woe’s presence was severely lacking. He fell through and hit the bottom of… of… something that he could not make out, and the Tribunal’s surprise escaped him in a pained shout.

Widened eyes of a bright blue-green darted upwards. The fact that Woe had gone against him was not entirely surprising, but what was this? What was it for? Disoriented and distracted from his typical calm, Vito scrambled onto his knees in the tiny space and watched the last of the light fade away above him.

“Wh-what are you–” Woe had shouted anathema, why? Perhaps because he knew that that was what he would receive for such a bold attack on the Tribunal? In the darkness, his hands felt around for something to open, unlock, anything to escape from whatever the fuck he had fallen into… but his fingers found nothing of use. With a frustrated shout, he smacked his hand against the siding and sat back. Whatever Woe wanted of him, he only hoped that he was not left alone for long.

Into the darkness, Vito called, “how bold of you, representative! If you wished for the freedom of anathema, you needed only ask!”

[Woe]

“how bold of you, representative! If you wished for the freedom of anathema, you needed only ask!”

It was rare that Woe had occasion for amusement. But the Tribunal's words of threat did tickle his sense of irony. Did Woe wish for the freedom of ashes and death? Perhaps he didn't care anymore. It was possible he was done making the motions through life, crawling from one obsession to another. And now he wanted to commit offenses that would result in his arrival at final judgment, or a last stand in a blaze of glory.

His voice reverberated, echoed throughout the halls of the Undercroft, and was heard through the trap door that Vito had fallen through. A door that he'd shut with a simple lowering of a bannister that lifted as he fell with his full weight upon the trap.

"Freedom is a curse, young Vito. Soon enough you will learn the wages of choosing." Woe let that reversal of a platitude hang on the air a moment, before continuing. "Or will you sacrifice your free will, and allow me to take your sins for my own?" It was possible, and it occurred to Woe as he said these words that were only half his own, that he may have been going mad. "I offer power, or absolution. Which would you rather have?"

For a few moments, Woe's footsteps echoed farther from the trap door that Vito had fallen through. And for the next ten bits, it seemed he'd been left alone down in the trap cage.

Nearby, he could hear, and smell, the workmen that Woe had trapped down there in order to ensure their silence. They groaned, and shouted at the sudden appearance and then absence of light. "What happened! Who is here!? Are we going home, oh please let us go home!"

A chuckle vibrated from beyond the iron door at the far side of the dungeon. It opened with a clangour, as Woe lit the area with a torch. Then it shut behind him. He lit the furnace at the center of the room, in which his faldrunium whip was located. There it would heat up, harden, and get sharp for the work he had ahead of him.

"Your suffering will soon end my fellows. It all hinges on the good Tribunal's choice."

Woe held the torch up over his head, as he came within arm's reach of the Tribunal's cage. He stood there, staring at the man's eyes. He searched his tangle then, diving deep with the tendril-like silken threads of his spark's influence. Pincers sank their feelers into his collection of emotional threads, searching for activity beneath the surface. He wanted to know more about the Tribunal, what made him afraid, what made him uncertain. But more important, what gave him faith.

"Well? Power, or Absolution." Woe repeated. As he said the words, his voice like etheric venom sank into the man' s tangle. He embroidered the man's sense of fear with that of the concept of absolution, and he felt this would be confirmed if his initial judgment of the lad was true. He did not want him to be afraid of power. And he did not believe he would be.

"I offer you a boon beyond any you can imagine. To start down a path that will ensure your dominion over the minds of your lessers."

He knelt by the cage, waiting to hear Vito's choice, or waiting for him to strike out, as Woe passed within reach of the younger man.

"Vamos ver do que você é feito.

[Vito Rossau]

48TH OF YMIDEN, ARC 720

Woe’s voice echoed through the dark chambers above him, but Vito could not make any sense of it! Whether the attack was personal – if Woe had chosen him, specifically, from the ranks of those that he had met since his arrival in Quacia – or if he had simply been the easiest prey, the closest mark… whatever the older man’s reason was for inviting him in particular, he was the one sitting in a cage, while his fellow Tribunals were hardly even aware of where he had went. He had always valued privacy when it came to his ventures with the public, but he was beginning to wonder if it had been a mistake to visit alone.

When the question came, it was left unanswered. He could hear footsteps for a while, but gradually they got quieter… quieter… until he heard nothing at all but the heavy breaths and groans of others in the darkness. Vito remained relatively quiet himself after that, a glower set upon his face. He leaned against one side of the cage. A few bits passed, and Vito shut his eyes, though his dark brows were still furrowed in his annoyance. How long would Woe make him wait before he received proper explanation?

Or perhaps the representative had no intentions of providing such a thing. Perhaps his goal was simply to let the Tribunal wither away, to keep his hands mostly clean of the crime. Vito did not know. He only knew that it was cold and cramped and he wanted to get out, preferably before he had to listen to the others in their cages for too much longer, because their whines would surely drive him fucking insane otherwise.

Softly, his low voice began to murmur in prayer, “the light of our lives is in your crimson glow…”

He pulled his arms close to his chest while he waited, and continued through the lines.

“...fighting to ease the sorrow we sow.
Then from his grace, he shall send…”

A quiet chuckle from… somewhere. Vito could not tell from which direction it came, but he slowly opened his eyes. When the furnace at the center of the room was lit with Woe’s carried torch, a bright scarlet hue was reflected from his shadowed irises. He ignored the exchange between whining prisoners and the mage; he kept his gaze fixed upon the older man, and turned slightly to face him better.

Even when he neared the cage, the Tribunal did not lash out, nor did he make any other attempt to escape. If Woe was halfway competent, then the cages had likely been constructed properly, and Vito did not wish to waste any of his time or energy trying to get out. His experience on the inside of one was… limited, but he at least knew that.

Woe would find, within the biqaj’s chaotic tangle, that things had certainly shifted drastically since he had last prodded at the threads… but perhaps not in a way that might have been expected. The crushing weight of jealousy had abated some, as frustration and restless fear piled over it, but there was something else – a sense of… admiration? Not quite reverence, not quite amusement, but there was enough of it to suggest that the dark-haired Tribunal felt more positively towards the mage, despite his frown and his surface-level irritations.

The question came again. Power, or absolution? Vito’s scarlet gaze narrowed as he stared back at Woe. As the mage finished speaking, the younger man finished out his verse in a quiet utterance of his low voice.

“...A peace will come to us in the end.”

Vito drew in a deep, silent inhale. He looked to the torch in the representative’s hand, and he answered without further hesitations; his will solidified in his mind.

“Power, Woe. I choose power.”