• Closed • The Bear and the Maiden Fair

[Alistair]

(A spin-off of this thread.)

...His eyes scanned the room, searching intently for the man who'd made himself known to Alistair once before.

And there he was, in the distance, approaching some black haired individual. Alistair looked to Xander, and excused himself. "I'll be back momentarily," he said, waving to the Ladies of Solange and the Lord of House Angelreim.

Closing in on the tall man with the mask of a bear, Alistair met him face-to-face and gleamed.

Neither of the men he'd trailed off towards were noblemen, but either of them could satiate his curiosity, their names flowing from their lips directly as he'd arrived in their vicinity.

"Robek and Woe," the nobleman called their names. "I am Lord Alistair of House Venora, First of My Name. It appears your Lady Rey'na -- Robek -- has elected to dance with my companion now that she's arrived. Would you thus do me the honor of dancing with me, in equal fashion? I promise I won't bring shame on shame you -- you can even treat me as the Lady of the dance." The man's eyes narrowed as a smirk grew on his lips. This was his opportunity to learn of their intentions for being here, as from what he imagined, Robek was likely the less intelligent of the two. Even if they revealed nothing, he could keep his eyes closely on them. There would be no Lisirra visiting this night, no. Not unless the presence of her . . . apostle could benefit the mage, in direct fashion.

Forcing the assumption that the man would accept his dance, Alistair placed a hand on the Lotharro's wrist and guided him away from Woe, and the crowd. His eyes focusing on the Becomer, the mage decided to very bluntly pose him an array of questions, absent of any fear. He leaned in and whispered his words, though he found it difficult by the sheer difference in height between the two, the Lothar nearly reaching seven feet in height. It took tip-toeing to be able to meet the man's ear with raised lips, as the Venora posed his questions inwardly, and then outwardly, letting them all come out at once.

"Is Robek your real name?" he asked. "Is Rey'na hers? What are your intentions? Why have you taken interest in such a public outing?"

The man's voice, now, might have become keen to the Lothar's memory. If not, he would reveal himself for who the man would know him as. "If you don't remember me, I am the one who attacked the Mortalborn in the woods on the border of Krome. Do you remember that day? It was sixty trials ago. A lot has changed since then -- such as my patience for individuals like you in my country. Why are you here?"

[Varthakh]

Just as he'd finished talking to Woe regarding his timely intervention with the Anaconda attack a few trials prior, a noble joined in the conversation. He introduced himself as Alistair. "Uhh..." Fridgar attempted to say something as the man kept talking. He wanted to dance with Fridgar? Seriously? A quick sniff of the air explained everything - This was the guy. The guy that had saved them from the woman in the woods. "I don't know a Rey'na, My Lord, but I'd be happy to oblige to that dance." he spoke, trying very hard to maintain the personality he'd put on.

Alistair took him by his reddened, scarred wrist and lead him away from the other dancers, suspicion stirred within him - had Alistair figured him out? The man seemed to try and whisper him something, he bent his knees a little so that Alistair could reach. "I couldn't get in with my real name, the guards would recognise me." he spoke with sincerity. It was only a trill or five that he later realised how shifty he sounded. "I get into bar fights more than I oughta." he explained. "Yeah, her name's Rey'na. You called her diseased?" he asked scornful. "Yeah, I heard that. I know who you are, too. You're the guy in the hood from that scrap in the woods." Fridgar spoke very forward and bluntly, his voice was flat, save for a hint of irritation. It was apparent that the Lothar wasn't aware of plague barers.

"My intentions?" he asked, raising his voice a little as if he'd taken offence. "Do I look like a criminal?" he growled before pausing, having realised that he probably did look like a criminal. "Don't answer that. I'm just trying to protect what's mine and have a good time, pal." he sighed, calming a little. With a roll of his eyes, he looked just about done with the Interrogation. "We havent done anything wrong." who did this Alistair think he was? More importantly, why had he let him continue speaking?

People had died before he'd let them talk to him as Alistair had been. Why didn't he just snap him in two? His nose curled and his lips parted in a small snarl. It was suddenly made clear, Alistair was just another high born, prissy prick noble. A powerfull one, but one of them all the same. "I don't give a fuck about your patience, if I want to go to a party, I'll go to a party. No posh prat is gonna stop me." he was snarling through bared teeth by the end of his rant.

"Whatever." he blew through his nose in an angry puff. "Stay away from Rey, or I'll eviscerate you." he spoke, maintaining eye contact with the noble from above. He had no doubt in his mind that this Alistair would wipe the floor with him, but he could at least give Rey'na the chance to run if he fought till his last breath. With a grunt, he turned to make his leave.

[Alistair]

The guards would recognize me? he questioned. What in the Lord does this man have to hide? Alistair felt unsettled by this man, as much as he was interested in him. Clearly he and Rey'na were distinctive from the crowd, and from what Alistair had learned, this man - Robek as he was falsely called - was a mage. That meant something. It meant he was . . . interesting. Unique, in his own way. And worthwhile. Alistair was trying to make contact with other mages of Rynmere, and this man was as fine a start as any. He'd already learned that most Lothar learned magic independently, outside of the influence of the Seekers and Coven, which was something of positive notion. It meant he didn't have to worry about the Seekers coming down on him for trying to contact one of their own, nor did he have to deal with the sentimentality of those loyal to Ellasin, the Mother Matron.

"Yes, I'm him," he nodded his head, verifying the Lotharro's suspicions. Of course, they were not meeting as familiar friends, but something . . . else. Enemies? Maybe. Allies? Unlikely. Unknown variables? Definitely.

And that could change. It could swing either way. With Fridgar's crude words, the pendulum was swinging towards enemy. Alistair almost laughed at his brazen hostility, though he was reminded of his infantile strength from the time before. Fridgar was worth something as a man, and as a mage, but not in comparison to the elite. His words, no matter how aggressive, did not place Alistair into a state of fear. But rather, he was placed into a position of curiosity, and the man's behavior became his casus belli for further inquiry.

"Posh prat?" he asked. "Please," the man shook his head. "There's nothing further from the truth. Posh? Perhaps, but only because I am a nobleman. It is my duty to present, and no man of my caste would tolerate me otherwise." He spoke truthfully, and he did so without a single negative emotion displaying itself. He wasn't angered by the Lotharro's insults, he simply... stated his disagreement. "And... prat? Really? Hah. The irony." He didn't even need to respond to that one -- Alistair knew of his intellect. It was something he was renowned for, among all of the nobility. His cold, harsh intellect and peerless stoicism had been the reason he'd been given the name "The Wilted Rose".

It was fine. The Lothar didn't know him. And he didn't realize why Alistair had threatened Rey'na, or had inquired so viscerally of their intentions. He perceived the mage as an enemy, in all likelihood. But he was not an enemy, yet. He did not need to be.

As the man turned to make his leave, Alistair's hand once again gripped the Lotharro's wrist. He did so fully prepared to have the man punch him in the face, but he spoke... relatively calmly so as to prevent such a brash outcome at the ball.

"Please, Lothar. Don't make a threat that you can't uphold. I have no desire for your posturing, as I have no doubt of your... manliness, or your conviction to protect your companion," he said, referring to Rey'na. "I asked you for a dance, and you told me you'd happily oblige. I will not lie, I used the occasion to get answers, but that's all I wanted. The truth of who you are. The rest is your own misunderstanding. I did not call Rey'na diseased, I called her a plague-bearer. It's a term for a devotee of Lisirra." A term among the Coven of Ellasin, though he wouldn't say that.

"As for whether or not I threatened to eviscerate her, well... you must understand. How optimistic would you be if the servant of a clearly malign deity came upon an outing you'd shared with your fellow citizens for all your life, an occasion worth remembering fondly every year . . . with a clearly perturbing demeanor about her? Of course I would make such a threat. And how did she respond? With smiles, with ignorance. Like she didn't even hear me. Because she does want something that I'm not supposed to know about. That's how Rynmere works, Robek. It's all a bunch of fools pretending their motives are so unseen, when they're not. And when they're reminded of their own mortality, and their imperfections . . . they pretend. Like your Lady. Pretends she's not a villain. Pretends she doesn't want something. Pretends she isn't a servant of a Dark Lord. And that's fine. I can play that game too. But I won't abide by either of you shaming the integrity of our Kingdom."

He leaned in again, unafraid.

"So dance with me, Lothar. Put on a show. Do you really think Rey'na would want you assaulting a Lord at a ball? Her ambitions would be shot from the sky." His words flared in tandem with a change of hue in his eyes, going amber. Syroa's influence seeped through his veins, and every word of his as well as the lips they came from would hold a certain allure. A discerning allure. One of attraction, one of poise -- but also one of power. He did not play games. He would have this dance with Fridgar, and they would speak further, without all the harsh tones in their voice. That was what he had decided.

[Varthakh]

Fridgar grit his teeth. He didn't know what he meant by irony, but it felt insulting. Alistair gripped him once again - big mistake. Fridgar widened his stance a little, harnessing his weight in preparation for his fake out. The human's calm voice halted him in bridled energy. Suffice to say, Alistair wasn't buying his threat - and rightly so. Whatever the hell he'd transformed into 60 trials ago was beyond powerful, terrifyingly so, but it wouldn't stop him. Fridgar was anything but cowardly. If being blasted to dust is what it took, then so be it.

There he went again, using words that he didn't understand; posturing? Was there something wrong with his posture? He stood up a little straighter. "Then you'd best believe that things are gonna get ugly if you grab me again." he curled his lip into a light snarl before yanking his wrist from Alistair's grasp and straightening out his stance. His body language shifted from aggressive to passive with a turn to face Alistair full on, though the scowl he wore betrayed the otherwise calm exterior.

He exhaled, dropping his shoulders and looking to the right and scratching his chin with his left hand. "Alright, so who's Lisirra? I've heard the name a few times. Are they related to Rey'na?" he turned back to Alistair with a raised eyebrow "Rey's religious? A devotee?". He pondered for a moment before deciding that Alistair was full of shit. "Okay, so how do you know?" he crossed his arms, anticipating an inadequate answer.

He listened intently, his attention had been gripped by the human stood before him, he'd even turned his ears from Rey'na briefly at one point. "She's not a villain." he added before Alistair leaned in with a certain confidence, free of fear. He stepped back a little, not having expected the noble's boldness. Dance with him? Gladly. Let's dance. He clenched his fist, shifting into his fighting stance with one foot forward and readying to raise his fists before seeing the look in his eyes. After a lengthy pause, he exhaled, relaxing his tension and sliding his foot back to a natural position. Did he really want to fight right now? Taking the time to stop and think about it, he discovered that he didn't.

"It's Fridgar, by the way. But don't tell the guards." he spoke calmly. He turned his head from Alistair and looked around the ball room echoing the vision of an eagle, he spotted Rey'na dancing with another man - she was happy. He sighed. "I guess there's a lot I don't know about her." he spoke wistfully before turning to Alistair, almost with a look of sorrow in his eyes. "Alright, but I don't know how." he confessed, casting his blackened eyes to the floor from beneath his mask. "Fancy showing me?"

[Alistair]

Alright, so who's Lisirra? I've heard the name a few times. Are they related to Rey'na? That, if anything, confirmed his suspicions of their connection. The man's expression became a smirk, and shuffling his sheet, the Venora shook his head. "She's left you in the dark, then. How tragic." The man's eyes narrowed, thinking upon where he should even begin. He decided to start from the first words he'd ever heard the Lady speak. "By Lisirra's name, I will have your head. That's what she said when I first found you two. And then, not long after, she came. The convergence of wasps. The entity herself. Clearly she has some . . . plans for Rey'na. And by extension, for Rynmere, I'd imagine. Though one can never be too sure," he said, shrugging.

Alistair had a lot of dealings with overpowered hags in his life, and the one thing he knew to be constant throughout them was their need for glory and gratification. Lisirra was, predictably, attempting to sew discord. There was no need to imagine that she might be on vacation, or that her intentions for Rey'na may be innocent. So how could Alistair not be wary?

"So, you know how I know. The question is -- how did you not know? The signs were so clear. Have you been so preoccupied with whatever... emotional attachment you have for the lady that you've completely ignored where her heart truly lies?" Shaking his head, the man placed a hand on Fridgar's shoulder, and sighed. "I once loved a woman, though in a different way. More like an inspiration. Her name . . . was Ellasin. The Necromantress. The most powerful mage in this world. I once worshiped her. She was the one to help me realize my potential. She taught me how to be a man. She made me a Rupturer. But in my ignorant youthfulness, I idolized her for what she was not, and pardoned her for what she was. A monster. A servant of darkness. A perpetrator of malevolent acts, from one casualty to a thousand. And I allowed her to drag me along, for so long, anchoring my morality to her own. And I sunk with her -- content to become one with her mass. Forgetting my own identity in the face of her aspirations." Only recently had he escaped that life.

He'd begun to value his own dreams above hers, and had accepted who she really was - a beast. Someone who would see Alistair's lands burnt to the ground for her ambitions. Someone who would take everything, and never give in return. Was that who Rey'na was? He did not know, but he didn't doubt the possibility, if she ended up anything like the Immortal she worshiped.

"I'm not saying she's a villain... Fridgar," the nobleman referred to him by name, "That's for you to decide. It's your life, after all. I'll only do what my conscience dictates, and if that involves getting in her way, then I will."

Onto . . . the topic of dancing. He could barely dance, so he'd have to improvise so as to not embarrass himself. The man looked up and nodded, pretending to know what he was doing.

"Alright," he said, nodding his head. There were some dances that nearly every nobleman knew, ones that required virtually no step, posture or skill. He'd have to start with those. Beginning to circle around Fridgar, the man displayed all that he knew, which was virtually nothing. "You walk in a circle, slowly, paced. After four steps, you raise one leg high and leap from another, though barely moving from your place. You only make as much distance as you would with any of the steps before. I step faster around you, skipping, merrily, and make a larger leap upon your fourth step." He put his words into action, dancing around the man, a charming smile growing on his face - he was getting into character. Eyes were upon him.

"When you've grown bored of that repetition," he began, "you pull me in, against your chest, and release me. Or whatever else you want. Let's improvise."

[Varthakh]

"Ha! I knew you'd-! ...Wait, what?" Left him in the dark? No, Alistair was full of shit, he'd already decided this, right? "She didn't say that?" He spoke with hollow confidence, as though he himself didn't believe his own words. Had she said that? His hand shifted from across his chest to the back of his head, stroking through his mane of brown hair. Yes, she'd said that. He could even recall her saying that she'd give up her life or something along the lines to the woman, just to save him. He could clearly remember how ridiculous she'd sounded with a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Okay, so maybe she did? So she's evil because she has a dodgy immortal?" He spoke, leaning forward. "Some would say we're evil, you know. For knowing magic." he spoke, looking to the people at the ball. "But that's just being scared of what you don't get. The same could be said about that immortal." his eyes shifted to Alistair, unsure. "Right?"

What the hell did he tell him? Not to grab him again? His nose twitched with irritation with a low growl escaping his throat he could have... SHOULD have broken his arm at the least for trying it again. He listened regardless of his previous threats. The aggression in his eyes slowly faded with Alistair’s sad story, so he was a necromancer too? "Okay, that's kinda shitty and all. But Rey isn't like that.” He forced the air from his lungs through his nose with half a scowl. "It's different. People just don't want us to be happy, they keep getting in the way." His thoughts drifted to their acts of cruelty, Someone had grabbed her so she cut them, the savage in the woods tried to attack her, so he cut them to ribbons. John Walker, he slept with his best friend’s wife - he deserved what he got. The three women he'd kidnapped with Valyeria, they'd murdered their father, they deserved what they got. "She's not evil, I'm not evil. We're not fucking evil." the urge to spit was a strong one, though he'd spare the floor for now.

"That's fine. We only do what we have to do, we stop villains. We're the good guys." he spoke hollow words near the end, as though he didn't believe the words leaving his mouth. His thoughts drifted to the man he'd killed earlier that night, and for what? Convenience? He reached into his pocket and withdrew the man's deck of cards, holding it with both hands as he looked to it with intent. He exhaled through his nose before putting the cards back in his trouser pocket. "...We're the good guys." he spoke again, determined to believe it.

He lifted his eyes from the floor to Alistair with a squint of confusion. "What? So like... ...what?" Running around in circles counted as dancing? "Okay, but what if-" too late, Alistair was dancing around him. This was stupid. He sighed as the echo of scent and hearing faded, he no longer knew what she was saying or doing, but she'd been having fun up until that point - perhaps tonight would be different? He shook his head, to hell with it all. Fridgar followed Alistair instructions, walking in a four-step circle then raising a leg on every fourth step. How the hell did this count as dancing? He took care not to knee or kick the smaller man with his movements in a wobbly fashion. Each leap threatened to send him to the floor. This was ridiculous. Were people watching him? His face reddened beneath the mask, why had he agreed to do this?

What!?" he screeched at his instructions. Alistair wanted him to what? Hug him? He 'danced' regardless, following the same wobbly repetition. When opportunity presented itself, he reached out and picked up Alistair from under his arms, unsure. This is what he meant, right? He dangled there for a trill in his comparably large hands. His blackened eyes fell to his multi-coloured eyes. 'Dude, just cave in his ribs.' demanded his inner voice. He could have, quite easily too. One hard press is all it would take to crush all the man's vital organs in the shrapnel of his shattered bones. He hesitated. 'What are you waiting for? Just fucking kill him, unleash and get the fuck out of here.' his hands shook, part of him tried to flare up his anger for the ever-present thirst for blood. Fridgar's nose twitched as it threatened to scrunch up into a snarl. 'What the fuck? DUDE, KILL HIM ALREADY!' Roared the voice within.

He'd been glaring daggers at the man for the entire time he'd held him, but his grip hadn't tightened. Finally reaching a decision, he pulled the smaller man into a hug against his chest. "Like this?" he whispered in his ear before letting the man go and plopping him back on the floor gently. 'What the fuck, dude...' he disapproved internally.

[Alistair]

He shrugged. "You're right, Fridgar. Some people do call us evil for knowing magic," he said, looking around the ballroom. In all likelihood, more than half the people here had a problem with magic, and certainly some number of them would describe it as evil. But he wondered, if they were surveyed, how many of these people would consider Lisirra evil? Ninety percent? A hundred? "But it's different. Magic isn't inherently evil. Lisirra is." That was all he needed to say on the matter of the Immortal. There was simply no denying that she was evil. She created plagues and monsters to torment mortals simply for the sake of her own curiosity and amusement. The same even applied to her siblings, the Immortals, who were all as anathema to her. All of them except for Syroa . . . who had unfortunately marked Alistair. The mage wondered if that would make Rey'na reluctant to try and harm him, if that came down to it.

Hearing the rest of his words reminded him vaguely of listening to a brainwashed ideologue. We're not evil, we're the good guys. He said these words in a tone that frankly screamed that he did not know what he was, between the two. Was he good? Was he evil? Alistair didn't like to think of these things in such black and white terms. Some would call him evil, for doing some of the things that he did. He was ruthless. He'd experimented on living people to develop El'ganneth Rhovanion. He politically schemed in lethal ways -- if he could ascend to the throne, he would gladly kill Cassander. Yet some would call him good. He wished to free the slaves, he'd showed great care and love for his people all his life. He often mended the illnesses of others without asking for pay.

Was he good? Was he evil? He did not know. He was in the same dilemma as Fridgar, not understanding. Weighing positive versus negative. But whether Fridgar was good or bad did not determine whether Rey'na was good or bad. They were separate people. He could not weigh her morality against his to make a conclusion.

"Fridgar," he said, calling the man's name in the face of his evident confusion. "Just think about it all calmly, okay? It doesn't have to be now. It doesn't have to be today, or tomorrow - but think. Think on everything you've done and seen, and weigh it against what you believe. That's all you can do." He dismissed the conversation, and continued on with the dancing. The Lotharro seemed confused, which made the nobleman nearly crack up, a blush upon his cheeks. What was most surprising was his response at being told to pull Alistair in to break the repetition. The mage raised a brow. "Are you not comfortable with that?" he asked, smirking. The man was from Uthaldria, in all likelihood -- he knew he couldn't be too shy to the concept of close contact.

Alistair circled around the Lothar, as the man made his steps, pacing in a circle and raising his feet from the ground. He was doing fine. Alistair wasn't exactly a guru in the art of dancing, but from what he'd seen, Fridgar had taken his instructions very well. He nodded as he looked at his footwork, though in actuality - beyond Alistair's perspective on this matter - Fridgar and Ali both had a lot of work to do to master even this simple dance. Still, they were learning quickly, and the man quickly swept Alistair in with his arms to finalize the motion. He was strong. The mage noticed his strength immediately upon being locked by Fridgar's grasp. Like this? he whispered, as he completely locked Alistair against him, overcoming him with his body heat. The mage practically melted into the embrace -- Fridgar was a lot more cuddly than he imagined.

Calming himself, the man nodded.

"Yes, Fridgar," he said, whispering back, before being placed down onto his feet. "You did wonderfully. I know the dance doesn't seem very high energy or complicated, but it's not meant for skilled dancers. It's meant for those who know very little of Rynmere's dances, like us." Looking into the man's eyes, the Rupturer gleamed. He was clearly in good spirits.

"Still want to eviscerate me?" he asked, a wistful grin over his lips.

[Varthakh]

Maybe this 'Lisirra' was evil, by the way Alistair talked about her it definitely seemed so. But that didn't have to mean that Rey'na was evil, did it? How did one define 'evil'? If you could describe it as beautiful, caring and fond of Puppies, then yes - Rey'na was evil. He would believe the noble in regards to her apparent immortal being a 'dark lord', but Rey'na was innocent and nothing would convince him otherwise. He focused on Alistair, unsure of whether or not this man was an enemy or if he'd just been stupid and misunderstood. Probably the latter. "Okay. But just because Lisirra's evil, doesn't mean Rey is, she doesn't deserve your threats." Fridgar declared.

A familiar burn filled his throat, widening his eyes in realisation for a moment. When did he last chrysalis? It didn't matter, whatever was wrong with him was growing in frequency. Nothing could be done for the time being except for a harsh clearing of his throat. Alistair seemed done with the immortal discussion, anyway. He didn't need to stress his voice, thankfully.

His skin grew paler before Alistair imparted his advice to Fridgar. He'd half expected to be told about how Rey'na was just as evil as Lisirra, or words to the effect. But instead, Alistair told him to think for himself. He cocked an eyebrow "I think. I think all the time." he muttered in defense. It was a complete lie, but his dance partner didn't need to know that. Maybe he should think more? Up until now, his every move had been dictated by impulse and instinct. But, at the trill he'd gone against that and listened, considered his actions and circumstances; he'd learned something.

He coughed "It's not that... I just don't touch many people when I'm not fighting." he confessed the truth, there were enough digits on his left hand to count them all - the people he'd touched without the intent to punch. "I guess that makes you special." he spoke with an uneasy smile before coughing into his balled fist, jerking his body.

"No..." he sputtered. "I suppose not..." his voice was raspy as though his throat was full of sand. How could he still want the human dead? He'd been kind enough to explain everything to Fridgar, he hadn't called Rey'na diseased and he hadn't blasted him to dust, or even retaliated to his various insults. He was a nice guy, save for threatening her in the first place. His hand reached up to his own throat and held carefully when he coughed again, lurching forward and covering his mouth to muffle the grotesque noise. Blood seeped through the gaps of his fingers as he looked up to Alistair, "Excuse me." he spoke muffled through his bloody hand before turning around.

The clutched hand moved from his throat and fumbled around his person for the handkerchief he'd been given. Once he'd found it, he put it in place of his hand and forced a hard cough into the reddening fabric. Large chunks of sharp, rugged crystal followed the blood, which he collected with the handkerchief. Once the ordeal was over, he shakily removed his hand and straightened out his body with ragged breathing. He wiped his bloody mouth in his sleeve before turning to Alistair. "...Sorry, I'm a little ill. It's not catching though, don't worry." he reassured the probably confused human. His attention was brought to the crystal chunks wrapped in red-soaked fabric - they were bigger than last time. "Do you wanna keep dancing?" he asked with a haze of hope in his eyes.

[Alistair]

I just don't touch many people when I'm not fighting, he said. The words quite actually made Alistair laugh, but not in a patronizing or rude manner. Instead, it was because he found Fridgar to be... strangely cute. I guess that makes you special. He could see a great deal of sweetness in him, beyond the tough guy persona, and the fierce protectiveness of Rey'na. But that was fine -- that made sense. Lothar were protective people, it was a part of their charm. The nobleman nodded his head. "Haha. I guess I am special, Fridgar," he laughed lightly, calming himself and clearing his throat. "You're special too, though. I don't usually make exceptions beyond my initial speculations. But I actually find you to be quite agreeable, and a good man. Thank you for allowing me this dance."

And then . . . it happened. The man's coughing and discomfort seemed to spike in frequency and extremity, and within moments, he was spurting blood from his throat - it was even seeping through the gaps in his fingers. The man turned around as if to hide something, but Alistair followed to the side to witness the rest of his illness. Shards of . . . glass, or crystal, were coming from Fridgar's throat. Something was incredibly wrong -- lethally so, if the man wasn't treated soon. Strangely enough, the doctor found himself concerned, despite the fact that he knew the Lothar very little, and the two of them started off in very distant terms.

It was a horrible sickness, by its appearance, and he'd never seen anything quite so like it. That amount of blood. That amount of glass. How did they get into his throat? That didn't seem . . . possible, unless somehow he'd swallowed glass and forced it back out the other way? But that wasn't a logical possibility. And it didn't even look entirely like glass, either.

The man's kerchief was covered in a crimson shade, and held the shards within it. The mage, without permission, moved over to investigate what laid inside of the kerchief. Crystals, clearly, and large in size. This had to be some sort of . . . unconventional illness, not caused by biological means. Provoked in him by something else. This didn't surprise him, considering he was working hand-in-hand with an agent of Lisirra. Strange illnesses must've followed that Immortal.

"Hey," he called, looking up to the massive man with concern. "You're not just a little ill. This is something that could kill you." The mage's words were blunt. If those shards lodged into his throat, he could die immediately. In all likelihood his throat was already torn up, and to cough any more of these shards would lead to his death. The fact that he called this an illness meant it must have been recurring. He did not even seem entirely surprised to have coughed up shards of crystal, meaning this had likely happened before. The man's medical instincts kicked in.

"I'm a doctor, Fridgar. One of the best in Idalos, I've been told. Please - after the ball, let me take you to my office. I think I can help you." He offered this with a pleading look in his eyes, showing genuine concern. The mage had actually come to enjoy the Lotharro's company in their brief engagement together this night, and he didn't wish to see him die. If he left the man to Rey'na's hands, he'd probably die, as Lisirra favored her "subjects" dying of sickness.

"We can dance, but only if you promise to let me treat your illness," he said, staring into the man's eyes. He seemed unflinching in his proposal.

[Varthakh]

Dammit, dammit all. If he'd only treated himself prior to the ball, this wouldn't have happened. It was bad enough that Rey had found out of his condition, but now a noble? Along with anyone else who was watching? Worse yet, Alistair had actually enjoyed the dance, or so it seemed. How tragic to end it on such a sour note. He inhaled, shaky and weak. "It's fine, I just need a quiet place to use chrysalis and I'll be healthy again." That was the truth, but not the whole truth. He'd be healed, but for a trial at most, perhaps less. Whatever had afflicted him just kept coming back stronger and stronger, the damage it left in its wake was always lethal, too.

He shook his head. "Maybe. But I can hold it off until we sort something out." he spoke with half the truth, he could hold it off for now at the cost of more and more of his energy and higher and higher risk of overstepping. He sighed, swallowing the excess blood. The sensation was bitter-sweet, soothing his internal wounds a little despite being his own.

His eyes lit up, wide and excited. Could it be so? Was he that lucky? Of course not... Was he? His black globes met Alistair's eyes from under the bear mask. The noble was a doctor? A famous one too? "Alright... if you're sure." He spoke with half suspicion, this was all a little peculiar. They'd not long been ready to break into a fight, but now the noble showed genuine concern for his health. Had he just grown attached to the Lothar over some arguing and a dance? He exhaled, it could have been a trick, but what did he have to gain from such an act?

No, the look in his eyes spoke genuine concern. Maybe it was his doctor instincts, maybe he just liked Fridgar now. Whatever his reasoning, he cared - A trait he found admirable. This Alistair was a good guy, even if he was a noble. That raised the question - why did he jump straight into threatening Rey? They were both caring people, why didn't they immediately get along?

"I think I'll take you up on that offer. Alright, I promise." He nodded, swallowing again to keep the steadily increasing bloodloss from leaving his mouth. "But first, cover me while I refresh? I'll only be a bit or two." he asked with a comfortable tone, as though he was talking to an old friend. He smiled with bloodied teeth, being able to talk of his ablities like they were natural was pleasant, he often indulged in using them freely around the house with Rey. He took a seat against the wall and obstructed as much of his view as possible with Alistair before shifting into his self totem from his self form. The change was subtle, a very slow shift of the colour of his skin along with general repairs for the inside of his throat, nothing too strenuous.

Within two bits, he was well once again. "Phew..." he wiped a sweat from his brow from under the mask. His transformation had probably more looked like recovering after taking a small rest, difficult to determine that magic was at play. "Now, about that dance..." he spoke with a warm smile, leaving his echo off.