Fugue (Victoria/PM for Entry)

[Lydia]

Etruria was a land that was both intriguing and dangerous, in Lydia's mind. Her knowledge of the magic of the "Saint" Elimine was limited at best, and she wasn't sure that she wanted to really delve more deeply into it. She preferred the more tangible concepts of the Nether. You gave, and it gave in return. You took its power, and it took your essence as payment. Yes, the Nether magic was completely logical. Etruria possessed knowledge of magic, of its fundamentals and the techniques to cultivate it, but there were few that openly would acknowledge the 'dark' magic or associate with its practitioners.

So she had come to Etruria, to learn from all those she could glean information from, and to watch the advanced users of magic display their skill. She was traveling, trying to learn, trying to deepen her bond with the dark energy that sustained her. She had the Nether, and it was the truest friend she could imagine, the most understanding and compassionate associate. It was a companion, one who buttressed her and helped her to see the world. In truth, she was quite dependent on the darkness, as from it she found strength, solace, and stability.

She thought through her knowledge in her mind. Mire. Luna. Ruin. Fenrir. Eclipse. And, of course, Nosferatu. The magic of darkness. The power of the Nether. She would master the Nether, and the Nether would master her. As one, no longer master and servant, but equals, sharing two worlds apart. She would bring forth the might of the black Void upon Elibe, and the Void would see the world through a life. A fair trade, to be sure.

For now, she walked down the road, cloak wrapped tightly around her. She had a long way to go, physically and mentally, but she would soon see the start of the fruition of her dreams. She just had to keep working at it. She had to continue her training. She had to become stronger.

A thought struck her, and she smiled, laughing to herself quietly. Anyone who came along this path would see her as a young woman, barely more than a girl, traveling alone on a winding path through Etruria. But within, she housed a great darkness, a fatal danger, a demon, really, of sorts. She was a nightmare, in the guise of Lydia.

[Victoria]

Although Tori hesitated to cross that metaphorical line in the sand, she'd already done the deed. Evidence of her magic was plain, both in the scent of scorched flesh - hers and her attacker's - and in the latter's unmoving body. Rigor had already begun to set in while she deliberated, glassy eyes staring her down all the while, wasting what would no doubt become precious time in short order. Tori avoided the dead man's face as she breathed into her burned palms, each breath coming in shuddering bits, the damp only soothing her injuries enough to tease at the concept.

But at this point, she had to do something. Just because the wildlife would take care of the body didn't mean the problem was wholly solved. The brigand had been but one of many, and when he failed to report, with or without her, someone would come looking for him.

The slight blonde closed her eyes with a sigh before finally dropping her hands, collecting what had been taken from her earlier as well as the waterskin slung over his shoulder. It felt about half full when she squeezed the leather, and it was better than nothing. A small voice in the back of her mind reasoned that it wasn't quite looting, that it had been self defense ... but also that she had erred. Tori ignored that voice to the best of her ability as she tossed her satchel and the waterskin a few feet behind her, and drew a deliberate, collected breath before passing her shiny palms over the corpse.

Her lips moved in a near soundless incantation, this time taking care not to botch it. One accident had hurt, probably would hurt for a few days. A second might cause permanent damage. Transient energies coalesced at her murmured bidding, and fire proved once again easier to control than electricity when embers caught. Tori shielded her nose from the stench of curdling meat as she stood, for a moment faltering from the toll of her back-to-back spells, but took cover in the trees to supervise the destruction of their evidence. With dusk setting in, the fire bore its own risks of drawing attention, but no more did it guarantee a human's interest over a beast's.

Blistered hands or not, Tori pulled herself off the ground and - hopefully - out of sight, out of mind for whoever it would concern.

They were too close to the main road for her comfort. At least while taking care of this - but she wasn't strong enough to haul dead weight, especially of his proportions, off a good enough distance.

[Lydia]

The scent of burning flesh rose through the trees.

Lydia stopped abruptly, her mind growing dark and wary as memories of Revenants, with rotten flesh, rose into her vision. She saw once again her fights with them, saw their living corpse bodies cast into flames, smelled the sickly nauseating aroma of burning, charring, melting flesh. She resisted the strong urge to vomit and took out her tome, holding it tightly in her left hand. Truthfully, she did not need it to cast, but she felt more secure that way.

Thus reassured, she continued forward, and soon the flicker of fire caught her eye. She moved nearer, and saw the unmistakable form of a body, though now badly destroyed, as it was being consumed by the flames. The wispy young woman, still cloaked, hood up, hair falling down and forward as she bent, seemed to slowly swoon downward as she hit the earth.

But she felt no snare, heard no sound of branches breaking, felt no arrow whir overhead. It seemed to be a trap, a sign, a message sent by bandits to all who passed by. But this was not the case. Slowly, she raised herself from the ground, and sat, crouching on the balls of her feet, as she watched the man's body burn away. Her mind flowed many places, and she held out her arms to warm them by the fire. Slowly, she rolled her sleeves upwards, laying her tome at her feet and exposing her pale skin, marred with long scars and fresh cuts. There was a veritable tapestry upon her arms, though it was hard to see in the dying light.

And so she sat, silently, warming herself by a fire upon which a man's body was burning. Her frame shook slightly under the heavy cloak, as if she was shivering, and her hands clenched and unclenched repeatedly. Her dull eyes seemed to see no one as she remembered, lost in thought and oblivious of the world around her.

"The head is a primary target. Information processing occurs there so large surges of magical energy can disrupt whatever maintains it and render it permanently dead. Severing the head physically accomplishes a similar goal. Attacks to the body and extremities are largely ineffective. Does not appear to feel pain."

A shudder ran through her as she remembered her vials of antitoxin... She had found such good results when she used them on small animals. So why hadn't it worked on the wounded man? Why had his wound festered and blackened, why had the poison spread until his arm was no longer salvageable? She was horrified by the memory and furious that she had recalled it, and automatically she reached in her pocket, withdrew a razor, and sliced one gash upon her arm, sighing at the familiar numbing pain and then lapsing back into silence as she stared at the fire. It looked like it was burning low. Still, she made no move to find wood for it.