"Fair enough," he muttered, giving the woman a small nod. It was an opinion he could respect, that refusal to admit defeat until the very last man lay dead. "Ideas do not die as easily as we mortals do. More would do well to remember that…"
"Yes, it is." Her shift in posture, however slight, hadn’t escaped his notice as he packed away his supplies and stood. "It’s old magic, what your colleges would call Mysticism, I suppose. And it won’t hurt you. This key obviously belongs to some kind of lock, and the magics pull the two together."
Or it would pull the key to whatever had left an impression strong enough to escape being washed away by the smoke. Aodach assumed it was to whatever lock the key belonged to, but tracking sympathetic links through magic wasn’t always the most precise or predictable endeavor.
Not that the woman needed to know that. She looked about ready to stab him, and that was probably under the assumption he knew exactly what was at the end of whatever trail the spell lead him down.
Delphine grunted affirmatively, though she now eyed the man with greater suspicion. The way he spoke about death and ideas, he sounded like the ambitious types she'd met before... that was never a good sign.
"Magic lock, magic key. Got it. Just hope whatever's in that box is worth it for you."
