A white poodle in the robes and armor of a Rephidim Templar sits by herself at a corner table, sipping at a mug of mulled cider and picking over a grilled filet of Bromthen hog as she leafs through correspondence from Rephidim. A folder with blank sheets of paper and a pen with inkwell rests at her elbow, for whenever she gets around to composing her replies. For now, a writhing flame approaches her, bearing an empty tray licked by fire at its midsection. "Is everything all right, Madame?" it asks with a crackling voice.

"Oh, everything is… " The poodle woman looks up from her papers and notes the talking fire, "… fine. I am simply considering what to write." She smirks a bit at the idea of talking to a fire about writing, imagining the fire may not understand and if it does she rather doubts it writes.

A party of three journeyman mages seat themselves at a table near hers, and the flame, after bobbing its top half in response to Elise, moves to them. After it leaves, one of the mages, a feline – and young by the sound of her voice – says, "I can't believe how awful that was." She speaks softly, as if she doesn't mean for her words to carry, but either the acoustics work against her, or her whisper is too loud.

The Rephidim poodle returns to her work, lowering her head to stare at a clear sheet of parchment as she attempts to deal with the writer's greatest enemy – writer's block. The arriving mages provide a much needed distraction, however, and she perks her ears slightly to eavesdrop while she further considers what to write.

The mages converse quietly, but snippets carry over to the poodle, mostly from the first speaker, her voice drifting in and out of the audible range as she emphasizes certain points. "… just relentless!… if he had nothing to hide… why not just give it up?"

"Obviously he had something to hide, Marianne. Just nothing relevant to the Test. And a man is entitled to his secrets," a Gallee at the table responds, in a normal tone of voice, sounding a little annoyed. She folds open her menu with some solemnity.

Elise's head turns slightly from her work toward the mages seated nearby. Something to hide? The quill pen in her hand drips slightly and the lady poodle sits back a bit, abandoning her work for the moment to listen to what may be a conversation of great relevance to her.

"I just wouldn't think it would be worth it, is all," the feline is saying. "Especially with the way Zhang was after him. Did you see the look in those eyes of his?" She shudders, and out of the corner of her eye, Elise sees the third person nod in agreement.

"Now I know why there aren't any other instances of mind mages disagreeing about testimony in the last fifteen years," the third at the table says. "Even if you're not the mage who lied, it's still an awful ordeal. And so futile for the one who did lie."

The quill pen is placed on the table quietly, and soon to replace it in the poodle's hand is her cup of cider. She takes a sip after overhearing further conversation by the nearby mages, feeling the need for a drink and finding the motion a fine outlet for her nervousness at the news. She keeps an ear perked for further words.

The next few exchanges are too quiet for the poodle to catch much, then there's a murmur around the table of assent. "I just hope he'll be ok," the Kattha whose voice is nearest and most distinct says, after a lull. "He looked so… awful. And haunted." She shivers again.

"I'm sure he'll be fine," the third member, a Kujaku, clucks reassuringly.

The Gallee snorts. "You didn't see him at the end, did you, Cosette?" Perhaps the Kujaku makes some motion Elise can't see from her angle, but the Gallee continues, "I did. I wouldn't be so sure about that." The feline makes a gasping, sad mew at this.

The poodle lets her cup rest on the table for a moment as she stares, focused, off into the distance. The cup is then released and the poodle begins gathering her papers together, readying them for departure.

As the Rephidim noble finishes gathering her materials, the fiery waiter returns, and crackles to her, "Was the food not to your liking, my lady? Is there anything else we might provide for you?"

"The food was excellent. I, however, need to depart. There are matters I need see to," responds the poodle. She doesn't look up from her paperwork as she speaks, the action intentional, for she doesn't particularly want anyone to see the look on her face right now. Even if it is merely a magical construct waiter.

A couple of bored-looking apprentices sit behind the counter, one of them chanting monotonously while gesturing with his fingers. Little sparks of light form along the tips, and cover his furred brow.

A lone white poodle dressed in the robes and armor of a Rephidim Templar enters the building. A few steps in she stops, resting her left hand on the pommel of her sword as she gazes around the foyer until her gaze falls on the few apprentices that seem to be a good place to start for information. Thus she continues walking and makes her way in their direction. "Excuse me … "

"Yes?" asks the Cervani who isn't casting, while his compatriot continues in the same monotone.

"I was wondering if Mage Cyprian has completed the inquiry of him, and if so, where might I find him?" asks the lady poodle. With a patience that takes some amount of work to maintain the officer waits, watching the Cervani for his answer.

As Elise talks, the chanting apprentice finishes his chant, and looks at Elise with glowing eyes. "You don't want to know that," he says, firmly, and all the lights along his fur and around his eyes suddenly flick out.

"Yes, I do," replies the poodle flatly.

"Aw, Dagh take it," the spell-working one says, sagging in his chair.

The deer coughs. "Excuse me, my lady. I believe that the Mages' inquiry is complete. One moment and I'll check to see if we know where he is. May I have your name, please?" He taps the registry book laying open on the counter in front of her.

The lady tilts her head to the side slightly, eyeing the spell working mage for a moment before she shifts her gaze to the more helpful mage near him. She nods her head to him and answers, "Lieutenant Elise Antoine de Bellefeuille."

The Cervani leafs through some papers behind the desk, looking a little nervous as he does so. "Ah, here we are. Lady de Bellefeuille, you say? Looks like he'd be in his quarters – that'd be on the visitor's level. Just go down that corridor to the stairs on the right," he say, pointing deeper into the pyramid, "then up to the third floor, his door will be the one marked, ah, 305."

"Thank you for your assistance, mage," says the poodle. With a respectful inclination of her head she bids them farewell, and then turns to begin on the path directed to her. Third floor, room 305.

The directions prove simple enough to follow, and the poodle soon finds herself before a closed wooden door marked with archaic numerals for "305".

With her right hand, her left steadying her sword as she stands, the officer raps on the door. "Mage Cyprian?" she inquiries of whomever may be beyond the wooden door.

A few moments pass after her quiet rapping, with no response from within.

Another few knocks by the poodle. "Cyprian?" A pause, the poodle lowering her head slightly that she might better pick up any sound from within. "Cyprian? … are you well?"

Shortly after the last rap, the door flings open, to reveal a haggard, exhausted-looking black bat, with green eyes frowning, not even seeming to see her as he snarls out a curt, "Yes?" He stands naked from the waist up, a sheet wrapped around his hips and held in place with one hand, while the other rests against the edge of the open door. He seems to lean against it for support even just standing there.

A look of surprise crosses the woman's face at the angry greeting from Cyprian. For a moment she's at a loss for what to say, and simply stands there speechless until she can finally stammer the words out. "C-Cyprian?" she says, as if uncertain the Eeee before her is really him. "I, I thought you might need some company … so I, came looking for you."

The mage seems on the verge of replying, but instead he clenches his teeth together, as if forcibly restraining whatever words he might have said. His green eyes search her face, as if memorizing each line in it, and they seem, if anything, more intense than in their magically enhanced state, looming in his gaunt, drawn face.

Under the mage's intense scrutiny Elise is forced to look away, averting her face and looking down the hallway. A vista that is infinitely easier to bear. "I was worried," she offers, her tone making her words sound like an apology more than a statement.

Cyprian makes a noise somewhere between a laugh and a cough. "Those damned fools in the lobby." He steps back from the door, staggering back into his room, but does not close the door behind him.

Although uncertain if she is welcome, Elise steps into the room after the mage, and quietly moves to shut the door behind her. Better, even if unwelcome, to talk in a quiet room than out in the hallway, she thinks. "I overheard what had happened while eating. There were some young mages speaking of it, and I took the liberty to listen," explains the poodle. She considers also offering to leave as well, but doesn't feel it best, and decides against it.

The room inside is only illuminated by the glow from the hallway, and the poodle can only just make out Cyprian's form as he half-sits, half-slumps onto the bed. "Ah, the whole campus gossips of me already. Shocking, I'm sure." His voice holds the trace of a growl, and a deep, bone-weariness underneath it, as if he were too tired to be either amused or angry.

After the door is fully closed Elise slowly, carefully, makes her way over to Cyprian. Being she cannot echo-locate or see in the dark it takes her a while to navigate with the minimal lighting. "They sounded worried more than anything. And, so am I," she tells him as she navigates.

With the door closed, the darkness holds unbroken, though she can hear a soft clicking from the Eeee's direction, and unnervingly has the sense of his eyes following her, even without light. "You – " She can hear his teeth grinding together, and his next words come out as a low growl between gritted teeth. "You should not have come. I am not fit company for anyone."

In the dark the white poodle stops, folding her arms and peering down at the floor. "It matters not," she tells him. A shake of her head follows. "I came because I was worried, because I care what becomes of you. Your state is all the more reason for me to be here."

"No," Cyprian growls, and she hears the sheet rustle around him as he shifts position. "This. Should not. Concern you." The words come out brutally clipped. "You should go now."

"Why are you so intent on driving me away? Cyprian, I know you are hurting … and I know that … I am much to blame. But you may think you need to be alone, that you may say something harsh should I remain, but Cyprian … I can endure it. It hurts me more to see you suffer than the cut of a sharp tongued word could manage. If you wish to cast every curse you know at me, if it will make you feel any better, than do so." Without moving toward the door, or any closer to Cyprian than she already is, Elise shifts her sword and kneels down right where she is in the dark, resting her elbow on one knee, and in turn her head upon her hand.

The sheets rustle again, and she can feel him draw closer, until she can sense him standing over her. "Elise, until this evening I had not eaten for five days, nor drank anything in two. I still have not slept for five days. I have had the rituals I maintain every day stripped from me. All this voluntarily," he stresses the word with deep sarcasm, "undergone so that I might have the privilege of being poked, prodded, queried, and questioned by every half-wit journeyman and fingerwiggler who ever glanced at the first cantrip of the Sphere of Mind. All digging and probing at each minute factoid of my life no matter how irrelevant or meaningless it might be to their so-called mission, no matter how much lip-service they might offer to my "rights" to my "secrets"." He spits out each syllable bitterly. "In my head I can still hear them, still feel their fingers in my brain like tiny daggers, each one asking "why? why? why?""

Elise shifts her head so that instead of laying her head on her hand, she runs that same hand through her hair agitatedly. "I am sorry," she says, though she is uncertain what she is apologizing for. "It must have been terrible. I have seen the resilient sent to the Inquisition before, and their state afterwards … First Ones help me, would they guide me to know how to ease this pain of yours."

Another bitter half-laugh from the bat. "I do not think your First Ones will be helping either of us." She senses more than sees as he lowers one hand towards her head, fingers spread and tense, but not quite touching. "And even now I fear to sleep, for I do not think I will find any solace from my own gods, either. Elise," his voice turns gravelly with effort, "what I am trying to tell you is this: the last several days have been hideous and I am not expecting any immediate relief, and at this point all I really want to do is hurt someone, and if you do not leave now then I. Will. Hurt. You." His fingers clench into a fist, and she can feel them just brushing over her hair with the motion – then he draws his arm away.

The poodle stands up slowly and as usual reaches to steady her sword, but pauses. She glances back over her shoulder toward the door for a moment before looking back in the direction she assumes the Eeee to be in. "If that is what you want then, by all means … I am a soldier, if what you need is to strike someone, then … it would best be me, would it not? I am as much a part of this as you are, 'tis not fair for you to endure the pain alone." She changes her stance and assumes a sparring position.

Cyprian laughs again, a strangled sound, like a drowning man. He seizes her sword hand and drags it towards him, spreading her fingers and flattening them against the bare fur of his chest. "Did I say I would hit you, Elise?" he whispers, and his voice is chilling with cruelty. "No. I said I would hurt you. I have some ideas for the best ways to hurt you, Elise, and none of them involve hitting you."

The poodle staggers forward, far more expecting to be knocked back then pulled closer. Her left hand clenches in nervous anticipation of what may come, even if she doesn't know fully what he intends. Her eyes clench shut. "If it will help you … " is all she says.

"Ah, sweet capitulation." Cyprian leans close to her, the breath from his words stirring her fur, almost whispering in her ear, though the hand that holds hers presses it painfully to his chest. He reaches to her cheek with his other hand, fingers brushing gently against her fur. "If it will help me," he echoes, the surface of his tone considering, almost pleasant, but dark, angry undertones lurk beneath it.

Due to the painful strain put on her sword arm Elise twists slightly, holding her eyes shut that much harder. Her tail begins to flick nervously and when she isn't wincing she speaks. " … I forgive you," she says, short like her previous words.

"You shouldn't," the Eeee responds harshly, and abruptly releases her hand, pulling his head back. "Get out," he growls. "Get out now or I will never forgive myself."

With her hand released the poodle steps back and clenches it, knees bent slightly as she recovers from the pain. Her eyes open and she nods slightly. "As … as you wish … " she whispers. Still holding her hand she takes another step backward and forces herself to stand straight. " … I will pray for you."

"Get out!" the black mage snarls, almost roaring, and she feels the air in the closed room shift as he turns away from her, wings wrapped around his body.

The room echoes with the sound of Elise, her tell-tale armor clicking, taking a few steps backward in rapid succession. Silence fills the room for a moment longer, and then it is broken by the rustling of Templar robes and more steps. Light again fills the room, but only briefly, departing when the shadow that plays across the wall makes its course. The door closes with some force and footsteps can be heard fading as someone walks down the hallway.