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028 » Thirsty motherfuckers return to their roots

[On the whole, life hasn't changed that much for Severian since the death of the archbishop. Researchers that lock themselves away with musty tomes are somewhat disconnected from the world as a whole. That's not to say it hasn't changed at all, of course — Ser Aymeric is far less keen on defeating death, and his funding has been cut significantly as a result. This has Severian forced to do something he dreads:

Take requests.

Hopefully, that's what he'll be doing today. An old schoolmate approached him vaguely asking to talk privately after service, and while he would usually decline (he doesn't have time to chat!), when the request comes from a son of one of the high houses it seems prudent to agree. Though he always got on with Francel well enough, he can't imagine that this visit isn't related to his field of work. Even Severian's heard the gossip about him going to stand at Haurchefant's grave on a daily basis. He agrees readily and leads Francel back to his modest room, inviting him to sit while he brews some tea.]

How can I help you, Lord Francel?

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[the issue weighing on francel's chest is a heavy one,

he chose to call upon severian not because they were even especially close, or even because severian was the most qualified person to address his problem, but because they were just close enough. severian was sober, diligent, serious; he never got involved with the petty goings-on of the "den of vipers" in the scholasticate. francel remembers severian as the sort of man who would keep a secret — if only because he considered gossip too beneath him to be even worth spreading.

it's sort of strange, being in another man's room. granted, severian is a holy man now, and francel should address him as such — but part of him still thinks of severian as the dark-and-brooding, dangerously handsome upperclassman who never seemed to be especially friendly with anybody. it makes him strangely nervous.

francel takes a seat. he laces his fingers loosely in his lap. he keeps looking around with an uneasy expression, as if expecting someone to just walk in.]

I — I have a rather singular dilemma, Father Severian, and I... I must needs beg your assistance.

[Yes, Francel. He's well aware his assistance is required here. Very few people bother to engage with him otherwise! It's easy to tell that the young man is nervous, no doubt because the subject matter is something best kept in the shadows. Severian sighs, resigning himself to the fact that he's going to have to drag this out of him if he wants to get to the heart of things.]

Very well. Consider what you say in this room to be held in the strictest of confidence, [he says in what he hopes is a soothing tone, removing his klobuk now that he's not out in the halls. As much as he likes to be covered head to toe, it's a bit restrictive and he prefers to not wear it in his own quarters.]

[if anything the removal of the Priest Hat makes francel even more nervous, but as a gesture of general goodwill he sweeps his own feathered hat off his head. it's a good thing; it gives his fingers something to knead as he's struggling to explain himself.]

I... I think you know me passing well, Father, and so — so you understand that when I say I have ever strived to be devout, I mean it plainly. I am not a heretic, though I was once accused as such... and I would never do anything to compromise my House. I promise you I have done nothing unlawful or immoral. I promise you, but...

[he presses his hands together as if in prayer, and then unlaces them entirely. he looks up at severian...]

I... I have in my possession a complete copy of the Necrologos.

[...it's hard to meet those piercing crimson eyes. francel lowers his gaze.]

[He's barely listening as Francel offers up the necessary drivel about his innocence and the like. Yes, yes, he knows — "My faith is strong", "I am ever a servant of Halone", "I just need this one thing"...

Severian stops cold when he finally gets to the point.]

You know that's a dangerous tome to have, Lord Francel.

[And one that's been known to possess people at that. It's capable of more than just summoning voidsent. He abandons the tea on the stove (it will be awhile before it's ready anyway), crossing the room and looming over the poor young man. Severian studies his face intently, searching for any signs of possession or corruption.]

I know...

[francel mumbles, almost ashamed. he doesn't seem to be displaying any telltale signs of possession. but then, an exceptionally powerful voidsent might manifest itself without giving itself away...]

You... you recall when House Haillenarte was plagued by accusations of heresy, levied against us by an impostor inquisitor. Many in my House died to prove their innocence. I was so distraught at the time that I had not even the heart to search their possessions. I finally did so some weeks hence...

[he fidgets uncomfortably under severian's judgmental gaze.]

I... found the book in a chest belonging to a relation of mine. This man — I do not think he was in thrall to the Dravanians, but he had an uncommon interest in voidsent. I know not how he came to own the book, but I cannot simply take it to an inquisitor, for if I did, they would surely fall back on the old charges of heresy. I thought, if anyone knew how to handle such a tome, it might be you...

Edited 2017-03-27 05:10 (UTC)

You are not incorrect. I have the skills necessary to study it without undue danger. However...

["Handle". As if taking the tome and sealing it away is all he wants him to do!]

Speak plain, Lord Francel. You wish for me to use it, do you not? I may not listen to gossip when I can avoid it, but even I have heard tell of you making off to your fallen friend's grave so often that it's something of a miracle you haven't fallen prey to frostbite.

[Though his tone may be scolding, that's all it is. Severian doesn't sound outraged at the thought; he merely sounds somewhat put upon by having to force Francel to admit to it.]

I — no!

[he says that quickly, and with genuine horror, too, but it's more horror at being so easily found out than it is horror over what severian is suggesting. a voidsent servant in haurchefant's form... francel would be lying if he said that he hadn't already gone through other tomes (less dangerous than the necrologos) looking for the necessary summoning runes for that to happen.]

I — calling upon the denizens of the void can have no good ends for any involved, and — a-and, moreover, a voidsent in thrall is poor substitute for the man I knew...

[he looks down at his feet, tensing his toes underneath his shoes. his next words are all too telling.]

...Besides, it would not be in my service unless I myself performed the ritual...

[A smirk tugs at his lips at that last line, but Severian resists allowing it to take hold. Offending the young lord Haillenarte overmuch at this stage could potentially cause more trouble than it's worth.

Even if it is painfully obvious what he wants here.]

My research focuses on calling back a soul, Lord Francel — not a voidsent. That would hardly be appropriate.

[He may not be the perfect image of a sweet, charitable priest, but he is a priest nonetheless. Severian is careful to toe the line, even if he comes dangerously close to crossing it on a frequent basis. That's not to say he isn't capable of such a summoning, of course...

The kettle goes off and finally, he straightens up, stepping away from Francel briefly to pour them both a cup. It's a calming blend since he'd been expecting this sort of subject matter from the start.]

Here.

...Thank you.

[he doesn't touch the tea just yet, reasoning that it might be too hot to drink. instead, francel readjusts himself in his seat, trying to make himself comfortable.

he didn't come here for this, and yet...]

...I don't understand what your research entails, Father.

[Severian pulls up a chair as well, but he actually does take a sip after blowing on it a bit. It's mostly because that's what he would want someone that offered him a drink to do — otherwise he would worry that it was poisoned, but he's excessively paranoid.]

Essentially, the goal is to call a soul back to a body temporarily. This would give the one who was summoned enough mental acuity to be able to answer questions and have a coherent conversation. Souls that aren't anchored tend to be... flighty at best.

[Not always, but on the whole they certainly aren't reliable.]

Naturally, such research dips into necromancy frequently. The intent is not to damn or enslave, though, merely to find answers.

...I see.

[swallowing hard on a dry throat, francel slides his hands around the cup and allows the heat to warm his palms, but he still doesn't take a sip. he still isn't quite meeting severian's gaze, either.]

So, with... with some recently deceased vessel? Or their own?

Their own. That is where the necromancy comes into play: reconstructing the body and making it viable to house a soul.

[Even if only temporarily. The main part of the process that fascinates Ryan is that reconstruction, the skill required to pull the body back together — intact books on necromancy are relatively rare though, so he can't deny that he's interested...]

...well, I shan't argue with you about what you want me to do with it for now. 'Tis dangerous to leave it lying about, so it would be best for you to bring it to me as soon as you can manage.

[Once the book is actually here and he gets a feel for it, it'll be easier to figure out if Francel has been tainted, too.]

...Ah — you wish me to bring it to you?

[francel bites his lip, still staring at the tea in his cup. his guard slips enough to take a sip, as he suddenly feels as though he needs to steel his nerves.]

Are you — are you sure that I can travel with it? I thought, perhaps...

[well, he thought ryan would come out to skyfire locks. but then, that wouldn't be a very comfortable ride, now would it? how stupid of him...]

[Perhaps...? Does Francel really want him to go all the way out to Skyfire Locks (which isn't that far, but Ryan is a big baby)? It makes sense. They're both so much less likely to get caught that way, but he's loath to travel out of the comfort and safety of the city.]

You think it would be best for me to travel back with you? [he finishes with a quiet sigh. He shakes his head.]

You're probably right. Stay in the city tonight; I'll wrap up my affairs for a little while.

[Though he'll have to think of a good excuse to go stay with Francel, otherwise people are likely to guess a little too close to the mark.]

Edited (last time i swear) 2017-04-28 05:19 (UTC)

[francel nods, solemnly, as he sips once more from his teacup.]

...Of course, Father. Thank you... for your assistance.

[a brief pause. francel is, evidently, thinking of the same thing] Should I wait for you at my home, or should we leave for Skyfire Locks together? It... may look odd for a man such as yourself to... pay a house-visit.

[That prompts the smallest of smiles from him. He's trying awfully hard to not say what an unsociable grump Severian is, isn't he?]

I do not make a habit of leaving the city, but I can craft a plausible enough reason to visit Camp Dragonhead. You may have to wait a few days for me after that, but I will make my way to you as soon as possible.

[It shouldn't be difficult. Severian is certain that the people in Camp Dragonhead fret over Francel on a frequent enough basis that it wouldn't be too terribly unusual for him to pay a visit while he was already out of the city. He's never been all that social, but he did tutor Francel a bit when they were attending seminary.]

You can go ahead and return to Skyfire Locks. It wouldn't do to have people getting curious about why we left together.

Yes... of course. Thank you again, Father Severian.

[several days later — long after francel leaves ishgard for skyfire locks, and has forgotten the taste of severian's tea — francel is waiting in his home, dutifully adding wood to the fire. his knights are out on patrol. the necrologos waits like guilt in a locked chest hidden behind some of the boxes in his home. just having it is dangerous, he knows. but what else could he do? disposing of it in a less discreet manner would only make the criticism of house haillenarte more believable.

he wonders if this is the day father severian will arrive.]

[Straigthening out his affairs in the city and coming up with a plausible reason to visit both Camp Dragonhead and then Skyfire Locks takes time — time that he would rather spend studying the tome! Thankfully, most people outside of academic circles don't really know a blessed thing about him, so it's easy enough to get people to think he's a nice, concerned priest during his visit. No one will bother to talk much when he drops by to visit an old schoolmate that's been having a hard time. Since that heresy fiasco any priest visiting Francel is worth gossiping about a little bit, unfortunately. But so long as they can plausibly believe that he's mostly checking up on him, it's fine.

Severian's arrival is heralded by the angry squawking of the chocobo he's trying to get settled all by himself. He's never been good at handling animals. Riding a chocobo is one thing, but taking off its tack and brushing the snow off of it is another entirely. It's made even more difficult by the fact that he's wearing so many layers that he basically looks like a marshmallow...]

[the telltale sounds of a chocobo squawking outside his door alerts francel to his guest's arrival. francel opens his door carefully, a letter-opener in hand to ward off attacks — but he relaxes once he sees that it's only severian, and a rather ridiculously bundled severian, at that. francel tries to hide his laughter.]

Father Severian! Please, come in. It is a warmer day than most, you know; you need not have worn so heavy a coat...

[seeing severian's problem — namely, a lack of experience — francel reaches out to take the chocobo by its reins. it settles once in his hands. if there's one thing haurchefant managed to teach me, it was how to ride...]

It was easier than packing them up again, [he grumps, taking his bags before fully relinquishing the chocobo to Francel. In truth, he just bundled up because he's a city boy with city sensibilities. Scholars like Ryan rarely have to move far from a fire. He waits for Francel to get the chocobo settled, then he turns toward the door proper.]

After you.

[Even if Francel told him to head inside, he feels like it's a little rude to go charging in first to shake off the snow.]

[once the bird is secured to the wood-house that doubles as a chocobo stable for francel's home, the young lord beckons his guest inside.]

Please... close and lock the door behind you.

[he lowers his voice even further as he waits for severian to relax.]

...The Necrologos is in my room.

[He doesn't have to be told twice to lock the door. Severian is under no illusions about what would happen if someone barged in on them while he was leafing through such a dangerous tome with someone that's already been accused of heresy once. It takes him awhile to strip down to his indoor clothes, and though most people would probably wear something more casual when traveling, Severian's just wearing the same priest's vestments he would wear in the city.

It's because he doesn't have any other clothes. He really just doesn't care about fashion at all.]

...in your room? Have you been having nightmares?

Well, there was nowhere else to keep it...

[francel shakes his head, readjusting severian's coat on its hook by the door. his one comfort is that, since inquisitor guillaime was removed from his post, brigie is the only inquisitor for the entire dragonhead area, and she must be busy with the weekly rites about now.]

...I have, but — no different from my usual dreams.

[Severian shoots him a slightly suspicious look. Well, once he gets a feel for the tome, he'll have to make sure Francel hasn't been enthralled by it. He takes a few steps further into his home, toward where he assumes his bedroom is.]

Let's have a look at it, shall we?

[After that he can see about getting something warm to drink — and getting a good look at Francel.]

[francel nods. he leads severian into the mixed bedroom-kitchen-reception desk, and then for the crates and the chest where he has been keeping the necrologos. he removes it gingerly from its prison and lays it on the desk for severian to inspect.

it is not encased in chains, nor does it emit a dark aura. it is simply a slim leather-bound tome with an eerily blank, black cover.]

Here it is. I assure you, it is the genuine article.

[The size of Skyfire Locks is somewhat... oppressive. He hasn't even seen a proper bathroom! Do they just use the outhouse and boil water to pour into a wooden tub? How horrifying.

Thankfully, the tome takes his attention from the somewhat lacking accommodations. He drags his fingers over the inky black surface. Strangely, he doesn't feel any real darkness from it. Chances are any defenses it has will activate once it's opened.]

Is there an area nearby blocked off from sight? I need to open this, but it may... fight.

[He'll wait until nightfall either way. Anything to minimize their chances of getting caught.]

Oh — yes, actually!

There is a sort of corridor just behind my home — it is surrounded by cliffs on all sides, so it is perfect for outdoor privacy. [he seems oddly pleased to think of it.] I often use the area to practice my archery. It should suit your needs.

[with nothing else to occupy himself, francel shoots an anxious glance at the book and tries to think of something to do.]

Ah... would you care for some tea?

Please. It's good to hear you have a sheltered area, but it would be prudent to wait until after nightfall anyway.

[Severian is just a wee bit paranoid, but it serves them in this case. He lifts his hand from the tome and glances around the room.]

It... may take a few days to fully unravel this. Do you have any other facilities...?

[Or will he be sleeping in his coats on the floor? He can handle that, he just wants to know.]

[francel is, well... just a wee bit worried. he hadn't thought of where severian might stay! and it's not as though he can just allow severian to stay at camp dragonhead like he usually does with his guests — not when the priest is going to handle contraband for him.]

Er... I'm afraid this is really the most comfortable building for our needs at present. The other Locks are occupied by farming families. I do have additional blankets and pillows, if you require any...

I see.

[His tone is clearly displeased, but he’s not going to shamelessly complain about the accommodations to someone from one of the high houses. That seems crass even for him.]

My coats should be enough to sleep in, thank you — but I would appreciate the pillows.

[His back is likely to be killing him after a single night...]

Yes... yes, I shall provide our best...

[which is still not great, by the cushy standards of ishgard, but... well. it's the best he has. after a moment, francel looks around, and lowers his voice so that no one could possibly listen in past the howling gale.]

...What do you intend to do with the book once night falls?

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