Pushing herself gracefully from her chair, Farfalla bid Bojik back under the table, and removed her jacket, laying it over her seat. Stepping into the middle of the small room, the necromancer remained quite still for nearly a full minute, studying the ranger critically. Through eyes that slowly began to glass over and grow bloodshot, Farfalla glanced down at her dog and then back up at the door, as though double-checking to ensure it was locked.
"I ask that you do your best not to move, or to create much of a disturbance or fuss. You may cry out, if you are in pain, but do not step toward me." As she spoke, her voice became rather tight and hoarse, and as each second passed, it became apparently that her body was in some sort of distress- the toxins at work.
"Inhale deeply."
As Parth filled his lungs, Farfalla launched her first attack, collecting the poisons and filth that coursed through her veins and sending it toward the ranger in a suffocating, sticky wall of toxic fumes. They bathed his face and reached up his nose, seeking to enter his body through any membrane or orifice it could reach.
"Take note of your symptoms," she directed calmly, "and focus your attention on how quickly they accelerate and where they originate."
Though Parth was suffering the most volatile reaction out of the two of them, Farfalla of course, had to corrupt herself, before passing on the poisons to Parth. As his nose began to bleed, eager, destructive fingers of magic began to cling to his blood, seeking to thin it, destroy it, and rob the ranger of his strength.
"Spell your name, for me, my dear," she ordered, even as she, too, began to shiver, the dog beneath the table releasing a long, low, warning growl.
To be truthful, I had not thought that he would come.
I could sense Bojik's interest in him the moment that I locked the door behind him; I wonder if it has something to do with his affinity for animals. It's surprising, the possibility that his bond could penetrate the barrier of undeath. Bojik, my father's former property, was as disheveled and disobedient in life as I was before my exodus from Divinity's Reach, and the bullet that was put into his brain for something as inoffensive as behaving as the beast that he was is comparable to the one fired in my direction with the announcement of my engagement to him. The sort of loyalty that raising one from the grave evokes is a useful tool, but to pair it with the unwavering devotion of a former pet leaves one with a formidable ally, indeed. It is not difficult to empathize with the attachment that Parth feels to his creatures; their adoration is unconditional.
His tools are both foreign to me in some respects and surprisingly familiar in others; his pestle and mortar are similar to the ones used when I was first introduced to different methods of weakening my foe, though I found that to do so via magic was preferable. The distance between myself and a target, this way, allows me more mobility. I recall one of the many charr in the Firstwatch commenting that there was a way to feed on imperfections and foster rot in one's blood without first corrupting my own, but I have not seen the sour curmudgeon since. It is a well-placed reminder that the individual I should rely on most to help me perfect my skills, is myself.
He asked me, at the very beginning of our lesson, to do as I had done, to Calathra and Finnr during Firstwatch training. I admit that with both Calathra and Finnr, I had reservations about their ability to fend off attacks of necromancy, and used a considerable amount of restraint, especially with the former. My sparring session with Finnr admittedly disturbed me, albeit for only a few moments, as that tank of a man came barreling down the training field at me. My first and strongest instinct was to cut him a place among the gravestones, for daring to use physical force against me, but that darling, stupid man...
It was more of a challenge than I had anticipated, to willingly cut Parth down, disable him and poison him as though I intended to kill him. There was a part of me that was interested in the methods he'd use to combat the toxins, but there was also a portion of me that feare wondered if there was a chance the damage would be irreparable. I had a care to warn him that if he was unable to resist the poison, there was no man-made antidote, as there already exists with his more cultivated poisons. He mentioned that with permission, he had reproduced Iekk's mixture, the very same that aided both Parth and myself after the diseases got the better of me, in the lab. Clever. To see him in such a state before administering the antidote gave me a very vague, empowering sense of control, of dominion over him, at least for those few moments before his condition was reversed. I suppose I can compare it to the desire to provide for Bojik, as disconcerting as that may be. A sense of responsibility for that which I have created.
We elected to refrain from testing the many vials of poison he'd brought with him until we were both in better physical shape to do so; his point that our constitutions were both weakened was not something I was prepared to consider. Working with others is a fairly unfamiliar concept that has take considerable practice. I cannot deny that the challenge of besting Parth encourages me to seek him out more often, but more than that, my attunement to his blood provides me with a sense of confidence that I cannot place. Time will tell.
