A Blade and Her Witch

Archive Altschmerz (Blade)

Content Warnings:

Thrashing. Sounds of screaming. A crucible melting ingots. Hammers smashing into bubbles. 

Those blue bubbles again?

[Hello?] I speak within my mindspace, rising from the Driftdream once more.

"Oh! Thank the Dead Hag, you talk. From our little tussle earlier and your... shall we say less than verbal wielder I'd feared you'd lost that."

The Witch's Ousia and Physis still their motion behind a hard shell, a lingering pulse of blue calling out to me through the Driftdream. Her words reach me through my mind, though with her cadence I assume she speaks aloud.

"But where are my manners, I am the Witch Elevar Nāvahīna. May I ask yours? If you have a name that is."

With a slight effort of will, I weave and expand out an aura mesh of Ousia to map my surroundings, not my regular dome, but something more delicate, sensitive, and all together less of a loss if things go wrong.

[Dead Hag? She's Dead? By the Merciful Moon, it is good to hear that. I... Name? Names. So many missing names and none of them mine. Elevar is a good one.] I cautiously respond mentally, my Ousia barely brushing against hers, showing me just how useless it would be to attack her. 

I have no leverage. There's nothing more frightening than being vulnerable.

"Oh, it's... That's just a turn of phrase, dear. But…" Elevar mutters distractedly before she focuses once more, "Oh! That's so sweet of you to say. Thank you. I do enjoy this name I chose. If you don't have one, or dislike one given that's easy to change. Actually, I was quite surprised to find something like you down here, may I ask how that happened?"

A twisting of her Physis, delicate and subtle and–

BETRAYAL! She weaves at me? Never Trust! Trust leads only to betrayal! I am a fool, she— oh. Elevar is merely looking for contamination. RESPECT.

[I was abandoned here. Rejected due to my refusal to cooperate with an inferior entity.] I respond, lying through omission. I was both abandoned here, and previously rejected. Dangerous to Trust a Witch.

A connection? What is this?

Elevar offers me a thin stream of Physis that I carefully embrace as her spellweaving settles, a porcupine relaxing and offering to share a meal. I expand my mesh to encompass the room. 

I'm outside? After countless moons, I'm finally out of those terrible tunnels‽

"That is quite awful, to be left alone to be scavenged by creatures such as these. I'm guessing you were offered little in the way of good company. The individual wielding you seemed... oh how to put this delicately?" She pretends to think for a few heartbeats. "Stupid. Yes, that's the empirical term that my teacher would have used. Mayhaps alongside other more colorful terminology."

I bristle at the term Wielding but avoid violence. I've learned my lesson. Never ever strike out without the ability to follow through. If you would harm, KILL.

[Yes, Quite stupid. I have longed for a proper partner of some sort.] I offer vagaries. It would not do for her to suspect my desire to supplant her and take her simulacra, her Ousia, her everything and make it mine.

Elevar begins to adjust to sit comfortably, then turns to her surrogate to murmur. "Be a dear and fetch my blankets. The floor here is cold as death and I would rather not catch a chill alongside everything else."

The Surrogate, my desired prize, regards her with hesitation "Is... there anything else you require? This one could instead move the blade."

"That... hm..." She turns back to me. "I'm not sure, actually. Would you mind terribly moving this conversation to the little reading nook we've built? Your form seems quite above such worries but mine would get quite sore if I were to settle here and I'm very much in the mood for good company if you're willing to put up with me. Neither of us wish to disturb or carry you without your permission."

I am confused by this kindness. What motivates her? She has no need to ask permission, I am at her dark mercies regardless of my desires. I delay in answering, long enough that her heart begins to speed up, barely detectable through the stream she offered. [That would be fine. My apologies. I was in that pit for a very long time and have not spoken like this since before then.]

"No need to apologize! Let's only hope I can remember my manners and be pleasant enough company." Elevar states in a bizarrely cheerful manner.

The prosthesis tip-taps its talons and buzzes its quills in a very distracting way. "Mistress, your company is always a delight. Especially when-"

"Oh no. Shush you. Not another word elsewise on that." Elevar chides as she rises to stand, her attempt to hide a baffling smirk failing utterly before my senses. "Now... let's get these withering bones of mine warming before they give out on me."

I ponder my surroundings as the sheath hefts me in porcelain hands and carries me after Elevar into a different area. Some sort of study, well worn books on shelves that seem to be capable of collapsing shut for transport, a low desk piled with documents, a tea shelf, and a few chairs. I freeze up once more as I recognize the furniture. I'm not outside, I'm in the Archive proper, returned once more to my prison.

What should I do? How do I convince her? She has the effervescence of death upon her but seems still so potent, like she's burning Ousia to maintain herself without knowing how to gather more. Is that it? How could such knowledge of Dämmerung have been lost? How long has it been? And the surrogate, Doll, she called it. Odd. She speaks as if the hollow frame is something capable of independent thought. I had assumed it was a mad affectation but it is… too real. What does this mean? The things she said…  This 'Doll' called her ‘Mistress’, I should copy that. Increase my chances.

I take a chance. I Burn Physis and Ousia, dropping my reserves by 20%, enough for ten minutes of anthroparion, to Manifest my human form.

The shift in perspective is immense as it has been an incalculable time since I last did this. But, soon I’m stepping back to regard this Witchling. She’s about a foot shorter than this form, bearing shoulder length golden blonde hair and a soft face with glimmering cerulean eyes that blaze against lightly freckled olive skin. However… She seems weathered. Not simply tired but almost gaunt in places. Sick, but in a way that makes me think she’s been battling this illness for many years.

I sit on the chair that my form rested on, cross my legs as properly befitting a maiden like I appear to be, and offer a small smile as I speak aloud, copying her language.

"Mistress Elevar, Do you value Honesty?"

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