The receptionist has not changed since Elise's last visit to the Mages' Guild Hall, at Babel, though the primping Eeee, unsurprisingly, shows no sign of recognizing Elise. This time, the poodle arranged an appointment ahead of time, and the receptionist does not bestir herself once Elise verifies that she knows the way.

Apart from the secretary, little about the Hall has remained the same. The tower, which never seemed full, now feels almost deserted. As Elise makes her way to Cyprian's quarters, she notes no servants bustling in the halls, no rich clients walking to their appointments, no mages strolling by on their way to study. Only the flickering lamplight in the inner hallways betrays that the place is inhabited at all. When she knocks at the door to the Procession Suite, Cyprian himself answers.

The black-furred Eeee mage looks worn. His hair, once cropped to the same length as his facial fur and seeming almost identical, has grown shaggy and unruly. A few strands stray into his eyes, and he pushes them out of the way as he greets her. "Good afternoon, my lady," he says, with a bow. When he rises, he smiles at her, and his green eyes gleam with an unmagical glow distinctly his own. "It is a pleasure to see you again at last. Please, make yourself comfortable." He stands aside.

The hooded black Gallah inclines her head to the mage and offers him a slight smile as she passes into his chambers. "Mage Cyprian," she begins in a low murmur, "are you familiar with detecting a scrying attempt?"

The bat swivels one ear. He hesitates before answering. "My lady," he replies, in an equally soft voice, "I am not, of course, an expert at scrying. However, unless the scryer is well-shielded, any attempt to spy on me using such would be immediately apparent. Trying to use magic to spy on a mage is like … moving without footfalls to sneak up on a man, while simultaneously shouting 'I'm right behind you!' at him. It is not, usually, very effective."

"And what of scrying on another? Such as myself? Are you familiar with the magical capabilities of the Yodh, Mage Cyprian – specifically the Yodhbarada?" inquires the woman as she limps towards a couch near the center of the room. The black cane in her hands raps against the hard floor as she moves.

The mage closes the door, then turns to join Elise. He offers her his arm. "If," he says, choosing his words carefully, "a mage were using a typical scrying spell to watch you, at this moment, I would sense it. The College does not credit any of the Yodh as having anything more than a hedge wizard's prowess, which would also be self-evident to any well-trained mage." Something about the way he emphasizes 'the College' suggests that his own beliefs are not, necessarily, the same. "However, if you have reason to suspect an expert of spying upon you, then you would do best to see the Hall's scryer. If magic is being used actively upon you, in any way, then she would be able to discover it." He pauses, his eyes hooded.

Elise accepts Cyprian's arm and listens as he speaks. As he continues, she casts a wary glance around the room and especially to the windows. When she finishes, she continues, "I'm uncertain if it is magic at all, purely a case of more mundane spying, or simply an empty threat of a dying priestess. But I believe I will accept your suggestion of seeing the Hall's scryer. I can't imagine she would be hard to locate as the 'other' mage present in this ghost tower."

Cyprian casts her a quizzical look for a brief moment, then smiles wryly. "I see you have noted our dearth of people. The Hall is not quite down to two mages yet, no, but we are not as we once were." He stares into space. At length, he says, quietly, "I do not know if she is busy now, or not. But perhaps it would be best if we determined that at once."

"Yes, let's," agrees the woman. "And I appreciate your aid in helping me make the journey. My poor leg has had quite a strain enough already." With her free hand she pats the arm that holds hers.

The dark Eeee lays his hand over hers. "Of course, my lady," he answers, with an almost self-conscious nod of his head. "You have done, I should think, enough clambering about in this tower already. Please, allow me to help you to a seat. I shall locate Mage Abeliara and bring her to you, if she is free."

The lady nods. "Thank you – but I believe I have changed my mind about where to sit. A pleasant chair by a wall should be sufficient." Elise takes the chair and rests in relative comfort. Here she unbuckles her crossbow from its hook and rests it upon her lap, her cane placed nearby against the wall. The numerous "tools" of her trade are partially visible beneath her cloak as she releases the latch of her crossbow. "I should warn you this may well concern you, too, Mage Cyprian. But enough talk – we can continue more when your scryer is present."

He nods. After seeing her comfortably settled, and making sure suitable refreshments are close at hand, the mage takes his leave.

A quarter of an hour later, he returns, alone. "Mage Abeliara is in the midst of a ritual at the moment, and she has another message to relay after this one. She will join us in two hours' time, if you are able to stay so long to wait."

"We should wait. There is no point in my departing until this matter is settled," says the lady. She removes her whetstone, and starts tending to the blade of the sword concealed within her cane. "You'll forgive me if I don't elaborate much until she has joined us."

A little over two hours pass, in between small talk, and uncomfortable silences while the black-dyed lady poodle scans the windows, nervously. Cyprian conducts a detection spell of his own in the meantime, perhaps as much for its value as a distraction, as out of any hope that it would prove useful. He finds nothing. Finally, the scryer arrives.

Mage Abeliara proves to be a middle-aged bat with medium gray fur and what seems to be a permanently harried look. She rolls up the sleeves of her robe, and studies Elise with a professional eye, as if she were some particularly interesting sort of bug.

After brief formalities, the scryer cuts to the heart of the matter. "All right. You think you've been cursed by a Yodhbarada, is that it?"

The canine inclines her head. "Yes," she answers, "the 'Curse of Barada,' she called it."

The gray furred mage nods. "Tell me exactly what happened." She doesn't take the seat Cyprian offered to her, preferring to stand. In response, the black mage remains standing, as well, saying nothing, listening.

To the question the lady raises a brow, as if surprised the scryer would be so inquisitive about the matter. After a second or two of consideration, the black-furred canine gestures briefly to her weapon and begins, saying carefully, "The Yodh told me that 'all my secrets will be laid bare' as well of the secrets of 'those I love' for 'so long as you live.' She gave my name, which I had not spoken, and something of my history and then I executed her. Strangely she continued staring at me even as she died. Rather more defiant a gesture than I would have expected from a Yodhbarada in her final moments."

The scryer flicks one ear from side to side as Elise speaks, and she glances to Cyprian, who looks increasingly grim. The scryer looks over her equipment. " … Execute? I … mm, take it you are one of Rephidim's Executors? And this Yodhbarada was a criminal in your land?"

To that Elise reaches past her cloak and in to one of her numerous belt pouches to procure a writ of execution. This she offers to the scryer with her left hand. "If that is insufficient I possess my badge of office as well," the lady adds.

The scryer takes it, and the badge as well, studying both. She tsks, shaking her head, then returns the items. Abielara clears her throat. "All right. This Yodhbarada, Davaryna. Did she pronounce any words that you did not understand? Did you observe any unusual phenomena – glowing lights, strange noises – about her at any time, before or after her death?"

Elise stows her documentation as she answers. "No unusual words – though I understand Babelite and runic well enough. As for light, the Yodh was within her carriage for a majority of the engagement and I did not see her until shortly before I dispatched her – that being roughly a minute or so. I did hear the departure of two beings who I did not manage to spot after she died, however. I had not noticed any other persons present up until that point who I had not already nullified. That, of course, does not mean they were there. Or even magical envoys. They could well be quite mortal, or even uninvolved. But I feel it's best to consult an expert on these matters."

The gray mage considers this for a few moments. "Mph. Let's get you in the circle, then, and have a look. I assume you heard no words spoken in runic?"

Cyprian quietly helps Elise to her feet, guiding her to the dais with its tile-inlaid circle at the center of the suite.

"Nothing like that," answers Elise as she hobbles to the center of the circle. "But I am familiar with the concept of magic retained after the initial incantations are largely completed. What, however, I am not familiar with is the details of such 'hedge wizardry.'" As she enters the circle she passes her cane to Mage Cyprian, tapping it once and looking to him in a meaningful manner before she proceeds to the center. There she tucks her arms under her cloak and behind her back so as to rest a hand upon her dagger. The feel of a weapon within reach has always made her feel a bit safer.

"Hedge wizardry relies on the same principles as proper magic, except that is less reliable and more complex. Lacking formal training, hedge wizards are incapable of distinguishing necessary procedure from worthless mumbo jumbo." The mage speaks with a disdainful air, sounding like she is repeating an oft-said mantra. "In truth, I cannot fathom that a hedge wizard or a priestess would have the skill to pull off a held spell. Still, there's nothing saying such a spell couldn't have been cast since the slaying, by her escaped associates. We'll have a look." She starts laying out components for her work.

Two hours later, the mage finishes her work After downing most of a cup of tea thoughtfully provided by Cyprian, Abelaria shakes her head at Elise. "The only magic I detect on you is some residual traces in your hair, which as far as I can tell isn't doing anything except make it hang a bit straighter than it would otherwise." She rests her fingers against her temple. "No signs of anyone magically spying on you whatsoever."

"Well that's a relief." The Gallee, sipping her tea from where she is seated in the circle, continues, "I suppose now I'll simply have to worry about more mundane spying attempts. Unless Barada herself decides to manifest to make my life more difficult."

The two Eeee respond to her last comment with the kind of sober expressions that aren't, in the least, reassuring. "At the moment, no one is spying on you by mundane means, either," the scryer comments. "Though I can't vouch for what has happened in the recent past, or what may happen in the future. But for now, I believe you are safe from scrutiny. If there is nothing else … ?" She glances between Elise and Cyprian. The latter is standing near one of the white couches clustered about the dais, his thoughts turned inwards.

"I believe that is sufficient. The College's aid, as always, is appreciated greatly," answers Elise as she draws herself to her feet. "If you have any costs, you may forward them to the appropriate offices or else to Caroban. I will see they are dealt with." Even as she continues speaking, the lady begins hobbling over towards Mage Cyprian stands, frowning at his expression.

"I'll send the bill to the Temple," the woman says. She bows, taking her leave. Cyprian comes out of his reverie enough to give her an uncharacteristically absent-minded farewell. But as soon as he and Elise are alone again, his thoughts seem to close in on him once more.

"She seemed to think it was a personal action," Elise explains as she nears close enough to Cyprian so as to be no more than a step or two away, "and cited that ridiculous title some Eeee have taken to using for me. Perhaps now I will be 'the Cursed' and that will at least be more accurate." Her brow raises in a kind of inquiring expression that suggests she's wondering what the other is thinking. "If they are really intent upon discovering every secret I and those close to me possess, well … "

As she steps towards him, Cyprian draws away. He turns his head to one side. A lock of hair falls into his face, shadowing one eye. He opens his mouth as if to speak, but he says nothing. After a moment, he closes it again, shaking his head, still silent.

That Cyprian would draw away from her seems to evoke more surprise than the entirety of the previous day's conversation. The lady blinks, startled, then cocks her head to the side, considering, as she watches him. Her surprise is quickly hidden, fading from her face to be once again masked along with her other emotions behind the veil of her professional expression. "You have something to hide, … I know … we both do. Or is it your gods' favor that concerns you?"

He presses the fingers of one hand to his forehead, and closes his eyes. "My lady," he says, and his tone is neutral, carefully blank, "you have no idea."

"Now might be a fine time to elaborate. Whatever it might be, you will have my support, you know that – or should at any rate. It's more than your gods will ever give you," offers Elise. Her shoulders twitch in a shrug. "If you trust me enough, or desire that support, at any rate."

The black Eeee glances at her out of the corner of his eye, catching the shrug. His mouth twitches, but whatever expression he was about to make, he controls. His face is a mask, inscrutable. "May I ask how much longer my lady intends her stay in Babel to last?" The inquiry is polite, and otherwise, inflectionless.

"I have remained in this tower longer than I would have preferred, but that was to be expected. My contact will likely depart should I tarry too long. However if the College is arranging any flights to Rephidim soon, I might remain longer, assuming I can manage to arrange transportation," answers the lady, her voice as neutral as Cyprian's expression.

"The Guild here has little contact with Rephidim in these days, my lady," Cyprian says. He glances at her again. "Please, have a seat." He gestures to a nearby couch. "My lady should not be standing unnecessarily."

The lady seats herself and rests her cane across her lap. She folds her hands atop the length of it and watches the mage with a attentive perk of her ears.

Cyprian takes a few paces, back and forth, then settles on an adjacent chair. "My lady," he begins, "do not belittle the Kindly Ones."

"I have heard they have begun to manifest," responds the lady as she begins to tap a finger against her cane in a mirror of Cyprian's own nervous agitation. "So perhaps you are right. I'm afraid I'm not terribly confident in my given title, either, alas."

He gives a sharp, hoarse bark of laughter. "You slew a dream figment, a product of an illicit cabal's fevered workings. I would not expect a match with the original to be on grounds as favorable."

"Yes, I imagine it would be they who would strike at me while I am unaware. Or some such. Gorphat isn't exactly the fighter of the pantheon either." The lady gives another shrug and grins wryly. "I suppose if it had to be any of them I would choose Rephath. I can, at least, understand vengeance." Her grin shifts to a crooked smirk. "But enough of that. What troubles you so? Is it only your gods? You have been hinting at some dark past for half as long as I've known you. Is it that?"

"Some 'dark past'?" Cyprian half-smiles, closes his eyes. "'Only' that? Is that enough? My lady, you have slain a priestess of Barada, and admit to it as casually as one might discuss the day's purchases at market. 'Only your gods'? If it was a priest of the First Ones my lady had slain, would my lady be equally nonchalant?"

"It would wholly depend on the priest in question," answers Elise. "The Yodh died, as was my order – my objective. If I had the same order against a priest of the First Ones it would be little different. I do not often have the privilege of mercy or compassion, Mage Cyprian, at least as far as what I am ordered to do. For I am the very expression of the harshest answer to a law broken. Perhaps 'Slayer' is more accurate, indeed."

At her reply, Cyprian looks at her. Just gazes at her, as if she were speaking some unknown and unknowable language, a cipher for which he did not have the key. Finally, he says simply, "Or perhaps, merely, 'god,' since my lady appears to think she is one."

The lady gives a snort at the indignity of the accusation. "For one, I would make a horrible god. I have an entirely mortal fallibility. Secondly I do not believe the Seven Sisters are gods as the First Ones are. Merely collections of belief and magical energies, little different than their dream counterparts, though perhaps more powerful and more free-willed. Beyond that I do not care for the lot of them. If contempt and confidence suggest as such to you Mage Cyprian, then a god I am. And I shall expect your apology lest I smite you with a bolt of lightning." She gives the mage a wry look, shakes her head, then reaches out to punch him lightly in the leg. "Some god I would make. Really, Mage Cyprian. Do you think so little of me?"

Cyprian's ears flatten against his scalp. "My lady, I do not know what to think of you at all," he answers, stiffly. "This jest, if jest it be, is in poor taste. I doubt the Kindly Ones will be so entertained by it. My lady is under the curse of one of the Sisters already. I would advise her not to invite the wrath of the remainder."

"I'm afraid I just don't believe in them like you do, Mage Cyprian. I do apologize if my jest is poor, however. I fear my sense of humor has rather soured. Or perhaps I'm simply boasting because I am indeed scared, and really that was my one great accomplishment." The lady frowns, then shakes her head again. "Regardless, I'm tired and I have a long way to return. You'll be glad to know I'm seeing someone now, I'm sure, and haven given up on you finally. Though I'd imagine he would rather agree with you for the most part. Then there's von Shanar … " Her lip twitches.

Cyprian's face, at last, relaxes, his ears straightening. He leans forward, placing one hand over hers. "My lady," he says once more, but this time his voice is quiet and gentle. "I … hope I may impose on you to stay, at least a few minutes more."

The Executor suddenly blushes when Cyprian puts his hand on hers. She looks away, not willing to face him and contribute any more to the embarrassment that she feels in her ears and face. "I really should be leaving, but," she glances at him out of the corner of her eye, "if you'll forgive me for my poor humor sense of humor then I suppose I can be persuaded to stay a while longer yet."