(120-12-13) Something Supernatural
Something Supernatural
Summary: Rona encounters Isador again, and bears witness to something that puts her on edge.
Date: 120-12-13

It is late and dangerous for most folk save perhaps a Bravo and a witch. Though the former is more obvious Isador is about to have a taste of how the latter being less obvious directly affects her. She has adopted the more modest attire of a shawl as she passes from one area of the city to the next - perhaps merely seeking a view of the waterfront under the moon she winds her way through the half empty docks. Some drunken sailors can be dangerous after a few more cups than would be regarded as sensible. In short a young buck challenges the redhead - gets a little too friendly with the support of his friends - up until a point this is tolerated by the blood maegi.

Rona still had a few belongings on the Moondancer. Now that she has some semblance of permanence in the form of an inn room, it seemed about time to collect them. With a traveling sack slung over her shoulder, Rona emerges once more from the Braavosi ship, making her way along the docks, until she sees a pack of inebriated sailors making trouble for what must be a woman by the sound of their catcalls. With a sigh, she drops the sack onto the dock, and saunters toward the group. "Boys, boys. She is not the one you want to be paying attention to." In the flicking lights of the nearby lanterns, a cheshire grin spread across her lips, and a single finger can be seen touching the pommel of her sword.

Isador saves Rona the effort though introduces an element of complication to her situation that is unneeded. The young lad that first espied her grabs her arm. And whilst his half dozen or so friends are actually paying attention to Rona's challenge the poor randy child is realising he has bitten off more than he can chew. Though a wildling and capable enough in hand to hand combat Isador hasn't flexed her mystical muscles in quite some time. She grabs the boys opposite arm and starts speaking - her green eyes turning white for a moment. It sounds like several people are talking through her mouth. A singing noise comes from the boys arm and her falls down screaming in pain. His friends attention turning to the white eyed woman again they flee in all directions - leaving a raving and possessed witch alone with a screaming yet paralytic boy and a female bravo.

Rona's gloved hand grips her sword when the men look ready to receive the challenge. Her dark eyes narrow, and gleam with anticipation. She's been itching for a good fight. But…suddenly it's over before it's begun. Someone is screaming. This is not fear of a superior opponent. This is something much, much worse. When she finally sees Isador, the pieces start falling into place. A blood witch, she had called herself. Rona had assumed she was telling some tall tale, but this…this is no fantasy. "<Stop this, Isador!>" Rona calls out sharply in the Braavosi tongue. "<Stop this at once!>" Though her blade remains sheathed, she stands poised to lunge if this should go badly.

Isador continues chanting for a few moments in the strange variant of Valyrian almost oblivious to the chastisement - but either because of or in spite of Rona's remarks color returns to the pale girls face and her eyes go back to their dark green hue. "Get the Fuck out of me!!!" she screams aggressively. The eldritch atmosphere is dispelled and the boy passes out. But Isador sinks to her knees - reduced to simply checking her would be rapists signs of life.

Rona remains where she is, unmoving — calm as still water. There is no fear in her eyes, only a heightened alertness. "What did you do to him," she says, not so much a question as a demand for an answer.

"Nothing permanent - I think," says the witch, "Not that he wasn't undeserving. I think he will take more care in the future with his actions. That is assuming that he is sober enough to remember what led up to his getting hurt." As for what she did to him, "I called the dead down upon him - a small trick with a couple of drops of my own blood. His ancestors do not like him apparently - mayhap they were moral men and women - or perhaps they were evil and he has been underachieving. It is never simple."

Rona's eyes shift from Isador to the unconscious young man, her internal struggle only barely playing out in her features. "You will bring the wrath of this city upon your head doing that. We should go. Now." There is a light click as her sword finds its way fully back into its sheathe. She takes a few backward steps, picking up her discarded sack. But her eyes never let Isador out of sight.

Isador reveals at least some of the traits that have allowed her to survive so far to the beleaguered Bravo, "Only if a group of drunk raping sailors are believed over a woodworker who spent the night flirting with the only resident Targaryen and his courtesan. And who found favor with both. Not to mention the Brn the Tully Lord or Trystan the lord of the Banefort. All of whom know exactly what I am and have sought out my counsel at one time or another." She sighs, "You are right - let us flee - but vile as he is I will not abandon this fool lad to the streets. Let us secure him first."

"All of the noble favor in the world will not help you against a mob of frightened smallfolk," Rona grumbles, stepping forth the collect the fool lad in question. Slender as she is, she is a fighting woman, and there is hidden muscle in her form. She hefts the boy into her arms with only a light grunt. "We'll deposit him in an alehouse. At worst, his purse will be stolen. In fact…take his purse. It is the least he owes you."

Isador cants her head, "Perhaps I don't need their help against a mob of frightened smallfolk - but I take your point," looking somewhat exhausted she helps wrench the lad up. "I do not need his purse." It is easy to imagine she has other ways of garnering wealth such as she is. "I am sorry Rona for this…"

Rona, apparently, does need his purse, as her deft fingers untie it from his belt. "Just so. It is done, and we must write a new ending to this story. Come. You know this city better than I do. Lead me to the nearest alehouse."

Isador does as much suggesting they dump the young man outside the alehouse rather than sneak in. "Looks more plausible no?" As and if they walk away Isador reiterates her contrition, "I'm sorry Rona," she says sadly.

Rona deposits the scant handful of coins into her own purse as they depart, casting the young man's empty one to the side of the street. "No more apologies," she says curtly, taking a long, slow breath. "It is true, then? You are maegi. Are you dangerous to me?"

"There are many forms of magic but most are confined to street theatre and simple glamors. The darkest and truest and most dangerous form is Blood magic. Gascoign who bought me as a slave and emancipated me was a master of this. He identified a savancy in the arena with me that he maintained surpassed even his own. He taught me everything he knew out of love - nothing tawdry about his affections - he wanted a daughter and I was for all intentions just that. But I was a carnal and licentious creature in my youth. And I had enemies that I hated back at home. So when he labelled me as potentially the most dangerous and skilled practitioner of the dark arts he had ever encountered I took it seriously." She sighs, "Suffice to say I have only killed once using blood magic and never will again. It always asks for more than you are prepared to give."

Rona listens quietly as they walk, and she is careful to steer them well away from any prying ears. This is not a conversation to be overheard by passers-by. "I am hopeful that you will maintain your resolve in this. But you did not answer my question. Are you dangerous to me? Other than the obvious danger of being associated with a witch."

Trying to tackle the point semantically Isador answers candidly, "I wield a dangerous tool - that I try to avoid having to use. And yet occasionally I find it impossible not to. So it depends upon what you mean by danger. No shadow demons of any consequence are stalking you on my account if that is what you mean. A sailor who wanted me to carve some cyvasse pieces for his friend came to me the other day stating that his friend thought he was cursed because of the missing pieces. I could have dispelled the curse if it existed and even informed him of its non existence." Pausing, "So on one level no. But we can all be threats to each other. I may misjudge my art in the same way you might misjudge your politics or dare I say even a single fateful sword thrust."

"You did not seem to be in control back on the docks," Rona explains candidly. "'Get out', you said, as if possessed." Though she may handle the fearful situation with stoic calm, there is clear concern in the bravo's eyes. "This is what I mean when I ask if you are a danger to me. You were kind to me, and I do not forget a kindness given. So, while I might put great distance between myself and another, you have earned more consideration."

"Never invoke the dead without fear of consequence," Isador says, "I was angry - I am not often such - mostly I am sad and pensive. But again I am only twenty and two summers old and to have refused to use my power to kill after the first time even after my first great love died in vengeance should amount to something. I am no more danger than a skilled man with a sword - I just have an unusual invisible sword."

"Hmm. I'm not so sure your comparison holds water." Rona eyes Isador warily for a moment, but it soon gives way to her more familiar smirk. "But, very well. I will trust you. I cannot say that I had anything less painful in mind for those men."

Isador histrionically feigns shock, "They'd have died if they'd fought you Rona. Now they have a tale to tell their grandchildren. They may even miraculously work out to be better men." She smirks, "And a better outcome through legitimately described 'black magic'".

Rona tut-tuts, shaking her head. "Nonsense. I would not have killed them unless they drew steel on me. Even then, I would likely have merely ensure they could not have grandchildren. Though, I suppose some men would consider death preferable."

Isador pouts, "Would you be so unkind as to not allow them grandchildren. They themselves had their memories violated by a witch - is that not enough? I can punish them better sister and leave them whole.." Isador smiles, "I think it's about the only thing I have really perfected."

Rona scoffs a chuckle. "Leave them whole to rape another girl instead? Memories fade. But a man's cock does not grow back." She wears a slightly sinister grin. "But I would likely have only done it to one or two of them, as an example."

"I perhaps am more forgiving than you are dear bravo - but I am a blasphemous witch rather than an admirable warrior." She turns, "We should part - meet agaion perhaps?" the question open - but Isador is gone before it can be answered.

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