• Solo • Haruspical Auspices

[Sybil Malach]

The room was simple in design. Rectangular in construction, and bricked solidly with stones. The room was kept alight by nothing more than a single lantern, stationed at the center of the table, revealing the participants of the evening's gathering. A fidgeting woman, whose hair seems to have been burned from her scalp, casting uneasy gazes upon the group. A formally dressed man, whose smile begets a sense of sincerity, as well as the scent of aged liquors. An elderly woman with long, thin fingers, eyes never opening from their resting position.

Sybil knew these men and women vaguely. They were those that spoke incendiary words among the stacks of the university. Associating with them left a fetid stain on anyone that was readily seen with them. Regularly, they could be seen getting into arguments with anyone that held any semblance of authority. Nadyashka, the burned woman, was known for wanton fits of euphoria. She was last seen being detained by a Ranger, after asserting that the study of arcana was the expressed means for humanity to usurp the authority of the gods. It didn't help her case that she threatened to bite the throat out of a man that contradicted her rhetoric. Reginald, the rugged dandy was known for his mercurial rage. Unlike Nadyashka, he has a history of strangling those that practice ad hoc. The last time he was seen in public, he had to be pulled off of someone. Robyn, the woman dappled with age, was last seen asserting that the Ranger authority were hiding the secrets of the stars. Her calm demeanor is kept in place by careful doses of sedatives, lest she begin to see divine figures upon the air.

Sybil simply takes a seat, eyes from the three men and women feeling as though it bore through the student. Refusing to take off the cloak, Sybil's eyes slowly glance between those present. The invitation was open to all, inside of this rented out cellar. Yet the student could distinctly feel that the invitation itself, was a farce. All four of them knew that the 'astronomy society' was a lie. And all of them knew that anyone with half a brain wouldn't be seen dead attending it, with the three present. Yet, here Sybil was. An uninvited guest to a publicly open gathering of people. A dreadful silence began to hang upon the air, as the student settles in. Eyes slowly glancing from among one another.

"How much did the rangers pay you, kid?" Reginald asks of Sybil. He shifts in his chair, leaning forward. Letting out a slow, and steady puff from his pipe, his brows furrow. Whatever he was smoking was pungent. Sybil could feel the measured aggression to his voice, as he attempted to assert himself as the dominant authority of the room, "We got nothing to say to you." The words from his lips roll like molasses dripped across roughed gravel.

Sybil's lips parted, for a split moment. But, was almost immediately interrupted by Robyn, as she spoke, "Don't you see, Reginald? No, no. Not the rangers. They wouldn't send someone bearing the curse he has." Her voice, riddled with age manages to sputter out, as her yellowed, almost misty eyes began to settle upon Sybil, adding just one more gaze upon the student, "They wouldn't leave something like that to chance, would they?" She babbled.

Nadyashka's eyes furrowed, as she tried to find the words to say. She didn't quite know what to make of Sybil, "You said that last time, Birdie. And whadd'it that get us last time?" She gritted her teeth, tapping at the table with her dirtied fingers, "I'll tell yah what it got us. Snitched on." Sybil's eyes slowly glance towards the burned woman, perplexed at her words, as she spoke. As it turns out, just having another member isn't enough for this small group.

Sybil could only remain silent, as they began to fight among themselves. They weren't harmful, so long as Sybil remained calm, and unobtrusive. That was the name of the game. The three dripped of absolute illness. Some sort of mania that was burrowed deep into their skulls about some neuroses or another. But they weren't going to attack unless Sybil gave them a reason to. And that was clear, upon the air, as the student glanced between them, in the half light.

This place obviously wasn't someplace that they were comfortable with. Robyn, even from seeing her from a distance, was under the influence of some sort of sedative. An opiate perhaps, by the way she's breathing, and the slow movement of her eyes. Nadyashka similarly seemed to be under the influence of something. But the way she acted, it seemed that she was prone to the other direction of energy. Something is keeping her active. Reginald's breath stank of alcohol, and it could be smelled from across the room. They were behaving in such a way that it was easy to assume that they were trying to compensate for comfort. It would be impossible to communicate, if they were in this state, constantly. Then again, perhaps that's somewhat the point of their opinions and debates being forced into places like these, rather than being accepted as fit for public digestion by the Academy and authorities.

[Sybil Malach]

"If I was, then I'd be pretty dumb." Sybil says. Luckily, it wasn't a lie to say this. The student was able to speak with a level of freedom here. Indeed, the Rangers hadn't sent them. This was a personal inquiry, even if it was more profitable to snitch on their activities. Settling on the chair, Sybil simply offers a cant of the head, "Everyone knows this is a meeting. It's why you have several people waiting outside that door, trying to look for a show." Sybil's words are easy. A tired tone carrying their voice. It's better to be curt and honest with these folks, than to lie through one's teeth. The moment they sniff out a lie, they're prone to very violent acts indeed. And this in on itself is something that's wholesale dangerous to be around. After all, between the three present, they could very readily overpower the student, and kill them, before anyone could even hear the screaming from outside. It was just the nature of things, in this cellar.

Reginald sneers at the implication. Teeth grinding against his pipe, the man gained Sybil's attention, with a smooth movement of the eyes. His agitation was rising. It was likely from the liquor that Sybil could smell radiating off of him, tinged with the vaguest note of vomit. But it was unclear if he was anything other than simply tipsy, rather than drunk. While he was aggressive, Reginald didn't seem the type to act out in violence only because of drink. He may use that as an excuse, of course, but his movements are too... Calculated, and sure, to be just an accident.

"Didn't answer my question, you brat." He spits, using the corner of his lips. The dirtied wad of saliva sticking itself to the surface of the table itself. A low, rolling laugh leaves his throat, like the purring of an alligator. More at home with a bag of rocks being shaken, than human lips. "Rangers hire rookids like you all the time. Idiots are plenty disposable. It's why there's an entire Prism for 'em." His words were dripping with a very cruel, but fair intentioned tone. "Don't think you can just play it off, kid. Just bringing more attention to yourself, if anything." He barks out in laughter.

The burned woman couldn't help but let out a chuckle. She appeared to be more entertained by the interaction, more than anything. Sybil couldn't help but feel dumb, making an approach like this. It was almost debasing to do so. These people had the academic legitimacy of two infants combined. Questionably psychotic, and absolutely debased when it came to their politics. These were extremists. These weren't the average person, and they were thoroughly rejected by the Academic societies of Viden. And at this point, Sybil couldn't blame them for the choice.

"I'm not paid. If I was, I wouldn't be living in the Carnelian Prism. I'd be living the high life in the Amber." Sybil glances towards Reginald, eyes slowly blinking, in quick succession. Pulling the cloak close, the student's words very quickly find a means to be heard, "Besides. The Rangers are idiots. Why the blazes would they hire someone that was part of a court case that thoroughly shamed them?" Sybil's words were measured at this. This was the student's only ace in the hole when it came to this matter. Revolutionists always did love anarchist rhetoric.

A distinct pause is had, as Reginald leans back onto the chair. Pulling the stem of the pipe close to his lips, he takes a deep, long drag. His silver eyes not leaving Sybil's green. He seemed unfazed by the assertion made by Sybil. But perhaps more importantly, his anger started to abate. This was a moment of quiet relief for the student, as he was proving to calm down, slowly and thoroughly, as time crawled forward. Pulling the pipe away from his lips, he allowed the smoke to billow out, drafting down the front of his clothes, and blanketing the very air itself.

And then, he plucked it from his lips, and placed it upon the table. "What game are you getting at, kid." He says, with a very clear tone, "I thought you were an idiot for thinking that we'd just take you in. You're an absolute, bloody moron if you think that some wago that was found innocent is some sort of pariah." He says with a very clear tone to his voice. Leaning back, he allows the half light of the room to take his form, shrouding him in the shadowy blanket that the dimly lit area afforded him, "Got some balls coming here. But you still gotta prove yourself like everyone else."

Perhaps there was a bit of truth behind that. Lips knitting to the side, Sybil's eyes slowly slide between the people present. They all looked at the student as though they didn't belong. And while there was truth to that, perhaps, Sybil expected them to be more desperate for members. It was strange, that despite their smaller numbers, that they seemed to be rather apt on keeping things that way. The Academy made these folks seem like they were some sort of radical academics rejected by society. But perhaps, were they just lunatics?

[Sybil Malach]

Yes. These men and women were zealots. They weren't interested in some greater truth being explored and shared with the world. They're too far united in their dissenting voices to care about that. They've given up trying to appeal to those around them. As Sybil's eyes glance to the side, for just a moment, the student's strengths began to shine through. Insight. They were given a voice, because of their beliefs being combined into one of increased volume. They may be absolute lunatics, and have such differing opinions that it makes no sense to even pair together, but they realize just how important their status as outcasts are, to be able to latch onto one another, like parasites, and have their voices heard. Reginald's slip of the tongue, all but hinted at it.

"Very well." Sybil softly sighed, eyes returning to the table. They were all staring at Sybil, now. The student knew what had to be done. This would end poorly for Sybil, but it was necessary to explore the more extreme side of their beliefs. And it was naiive to think that they could just meander around without saying it, without having their views challenged. It was a paradox to think in such a way. Something that would need to be removed, in order to grow as a person. "If that's the case, then allow me to prove myself." Their words left their throat with a smooth, calm sort of manner. Standing at complete odds with he manic affects of the men and women around them. This would be the start of a debate. The start of something potentially violent, with this crowd.

Reginald's brows furrow. The man was clearly the person that handled the vetting. Which begged the question; who else sat in this chair, in which Sybil sat? How many people attempted to understand these strange psychopaths, and their incomprehensible ways? Tapping off some ashy remains of whatever he was smoking within his pipe, Reginald simply says, "Then do it. What in the Eight Abysses gives you the right to sit around us like we're some sort of circus for your fekin' rookid entertainment?" His voice rumbles out, eyes half lidded. He was clearly not approving of Sybil's meandering. Moreso, Sybil seemed to lose understanding. The Eight Abysses? What in the ungodly earth did that mean? The student's eyes glance to the side, thinking of something to say.

Something incendiary.

"I object to the use of magic." Sybil finally says. Eyes glancing between the present parties. Their brows furrow, something that wasn't fully expected, from the level of insane beliefs that was presumably held between these people. "I think that they're criminals that pretend to benefit society." The words from Sybil's lips began to flow, as the temperature of the room is gauged. For once in Sybil's life, it was impossible to read the emotions that were fluttering. A completely unexpected reaction. An overwhelming silence takes over the room. Is this what it feels like, to be viewed as entirely off your rocker, to a nuthouse? A slow breath is taken. Sybil's heart steadies. It cannot be interrupted by nervous laughter, or uncertain looks. Sybil had to remain firm.

A morose chuckle comes from an unlikely source.

"Oh? I told you lot. This imbecile is nothing more than a stray. The Rangers wouldn't dare be associated with rhetoric that poor." Robyn clears her throat, a small grin crossing her face. "You do realize, that this city is held up on the backbone of Defiers, correct? Those ice walls are not constructed of mundane means. Graft? Our scholars claim ownership of being some of the greatest in the lands." Her thin, withered fingertips softly rap against the tabletop. Her smile, at best, was degrading. It made sense for Robyn. This was something that directly went against the very things she held dear, believing that usurpation of power from the divine was possible from the art of the arcane. "The child's an idiot. Nothing more."

Reginald seemed to be entertained, at the very least. His eyes glancing towards the elderly woman. "At least the wago's whole argument isn't some divine nonsense." The comment received an exasperated scoff from Robyn, her eyes widening at the vile assertion from the larger man, "Then again, our, ah... Guest, has barely even started, Mm?" His gaze turns back to Sybil.

"If yah hate them so much, then just burn 'em." Nadyashka says, rather pointedly. It's as though she's simply talking about something else entirely, than literally ending a person's life via the most painful means that Sybil could imagine at the present time, "Don't need to go arguin' something that people fix all the time." ... Did the woman just... Advocate for serial killing?

The situation was surreal, and something that wasn't fully able to be understood. Looking between the people, there was such a diverse gathering, despite there only being three people. How would Sybil even manage to make a stable argument that isn't just shot down because they have interests elsewhere? A chill runs down the student's spine. It would be very easy for this to degrade into something that wasn't entirely a pleasant outcome for the student. Reginald's easily aroused anger. Robyn's apparent sedation. Nadyashka's excitability. It could very well end with Sybil getting beaten half to death and tossed out.

[Sybil Malach]

But the fact of the matter was, in the end, Sybil would have to defend their stance. If social suicide and passable rhetoric was required, in order to gain an understanding of this radicals, perhaps it would be best to humor them. But Sybil was a poor liar. It would be a game of self radicalization. Many of the views Sybil had, until now, were entirely suppressed. After all, for the reasons that the three had so aptly put out there in the discourse, Sybil simply did not share these opinions. So of course, there would simply be no method of defending something that never made the rounds, when it came to any sort of debate. A moment of silence crosses the student's lips. Eyes slowly shifting from person to person, it was hard to come up with something to say. Sybil's mind raced for an opening rhetoric, feeling overall dumb that they had expected to be among these sorts of people without having to apply this sort of talk to action.

"When I was young, a murderer ripped my family apart." Sybil began, eyes slowly shifting towards Reginald, "The only man in my life that had any sort of idea that there was something outside of academics and trade, a life to be enjoyed, was murdered by an assailant using magics of some sort." The student's words slowly began to flow, as the words started to come easier. The look given in return by Reginald, an amused half grin, wasn't entirely comforting, considering that they could practically taste the rebuttal coming. "There is a commonality of all evil. It is not born into us. It infests us like a plague. And like all illness, a plague requires a body to possess with its ill intent. To kill, and to spread." The words started to make sense in Sybil's mind, as they began to enunciate a bit more clear, leaning forward onto the table. "While magic may not be evil, the power it breeds, is like a cancer. Man, is the link."

"You think that just because you've had a single death, that it makes y'er point worth anything?" Reginald chuckles, as he crosses his arms. The flaw in Sybil's argument was clear. Their eyes glance to the side, towards the towering man, his teeth glinting in the half light, as he seemingly found a new person to toy with. "Plenty of people get killed over shite that's more important. Just because someone gets killed with 'ah knife, doesn't mean we go around makin' a knife guild, and demandin' people join it in order to even hold one." His head tilts to the side, consideringly of Sybil. His dim view of their rhetoric clear upon his face. It seems that he would be the first that would have to be convinced.

Sybil's lips knit to the side, "Indeed. But is it truly fair to liken magic, to that of a knife?" Sybil asks of the man, returning his cant of the head. Attacking the direct statement seemed to make Reginald flare one of the veins in his forehead. It seems that he doesn't like direct attacks upon his rhetoric. "I do not recall knives being able to do the things that magic can. Moreover, there are things, far, far worse than getting a throat sliced, that can be done." Sybil's hand gestures out, as they take a soft breath, "... If a man, who can sin with a knife, has the ability to rend flesh, able to give it life at his fingertips, he has abilities that none else has, when it comes to death and torture."

"And what makes it any different than a brewer usin' his ale to burn someone? Should we ban drink, just because it can be used like that?" Reginald gritted his teeth, as he plucked his pipe from the table. His molars were grinding together, the leathery flesh of his cheek working against itself, as he idly gnaws on the stem, reaching for a sachet, smelling strongly of herbs. He simply keeps his eyes upon Sybil, silvery orbs boring into their soul.

The student can't help but be taken a bit aback. The comparison seemed brutally against the point. The smug look on Reginald's face all but implied that he knew what he was doing. "Well... No. But a brewer isn't trained to make fires that cannot be extinguished, even by sand. Nor is he trained to make poisons. Nor does he particularly bend the will of Idalos to his whims, at some attempt for power." Sybil glances to the side, towards Robyn.

"Why don't we get a more... Professional opinion." Reginald chuckles out, in a rumbling baritone. Plucking the smoke from his lips, he gestures the bitten stem towards Robyn. Who seems to be in a bit of a daze, all things considered, "Robyn here, has the Graft." The student paused. Eyes focusing on the older woman, Sybil couldn't help but seem confused at this turn of events. A mage? Here? While she was a supremacist... No one said anything about this at all. "Ain't that right, you old codger." A rolling laugh leaves his throat.

For a long while, however, Robyn remains silent. She looks almost euphoric, for a moment. She's staring off into space, looking into things that cannot be normally seen. Sybil casts a confused glance to Reginald. He slams his closed fist against the table.