Ipsa Scientia Potestas :-: Knowledge is Power

[Izcadella Noxxa]

The snow and ice of Silvanus did nothing to deter those who had a thirst for information, and Izcadella Noxxa, Councilor of Thirteen and the feared Lady Decay, was no exception, although she did enjoy death and despair more than the average Elfin scholar. In fact, Izcadella herself was pleased with the current weather: there was no sun to ravage her skin, and the cold weather usually made the inhabitants of Dustanova become very solemn and melancholy, which the Lady Decay absolutely relished. However, Izcadella had torn herself away from the delicious negativity, and had instead chosen to spend her time in the enormous library of the Brothers Mercaellian, where she would be studying the lore and histories of the Demonic clans of the Ardentian empire. Know thine enemy, Izcadella thought, as she traipsed through the colossal doors of the library. She approached the first floor of the library, then paused. Although she was a frequent caller at the library, she was still at loss at how the scrolls and books themselves were categorized. The former assassin could no better read Elfin than she could have a child, and was therefore at a loss at many of the encounters between her King and those of Elfin descent.

Deciding that wandering around a enormous library would be a waste of her time, she approached one of the female Elfesses who was studying a rather dog-eared scroll nearby. "Excuse me" she said, barely raising her voice above a whisper. The Elfess looked up, starlight hair clinging to her temples, and gazed at the Councilor with eyes that held much knowledge.

"What do you seek?"[/font] she said, in a voice that almost made Izcadella gasp with its musical tones. However, the pleasant feeling was lost as Izcadella regained her hardened exterior. Noticing, the Elf gave a tinkling laugh. "Forgive me, for I presume too much. It is a trait displayed by many who make this place their home. I am Clerice Le'Leu, Sister of the Monastery. You have the look of one who seeks knowledge, so I only thought...

Not wishing (at least, for the moment) to cause unnecessary strife, Izcadella quickly jumped in. "You are correct, Sister, I am seeking knowledge here today. However, it is, one might say, of unusual origin. Sister Clerice, I seek information on the lore and history of the Clans Demonic of the Ardentian Empire. Izcadella turned her head, hoping that none of the other patrons had heard her. The subject of those Demonic had become taboo over the last eighteen years, and she was usually not well-accepted when she attempted to make conversation about them. However, the Elfess just laughed.

"Do not be afraid, Sister-in-Truth, for we accept all her at the Monastery. We even accept those who you seek reconnaissance on, assuming of course, they do not try to eat us." The Elf laughed again, and a smile fell past the Lady Decay's lips. "Jests aside, the information on the Ardentian Empire can be found on this first level. We realized it was a subject many Humans and Elves alike are interested in, so we wisely moved it to make it more accessible. If you would follow me..." And with a final flick of her pale tresses, the Elf strode away at a frightening pace: Izcadella had to jog to keep up, one or twice losing her concentration, and causing toe-sized chunks of the scarlet masonry to decay. When she tried to bring this up, to apologize, the Sister just laughed, and walked faster.

When they finally arrived, Izcadella instantly knew she was in the right place. All the scrolls and volumes seemed to emanate the information she desired, and she quickly strode over to the shelves, and began pulling out books, stopping only after she realized she had not heard the musical voice of Clerice for some time. Tossing her complimentary raven hair out of her face, she opened her lips to apologize, and thank the Elfess who had shown her the way, but discovered that she had disappeared. Turning to another scholar, a male, she raised the question if he had seen where Sister Clerice had went.

The Elf gave her a quizzical look. "My dear Lady" he said, in a serene and sage-like voice, "I am fully aware of most of the Brothers and Sisters in this Monastery, and I assure you, there is no one named Clerice Le'Leu serving the Great Truth here."

Izcadella almost opened her mouth to argue, but instead laughed. "Thank you, Brother." And with that, she turned back to her studies: It is said the first Demons were created by the God of Fire, who desired his own claim on the realm of Dustanova...

And as Izcadella read, she occasionally heard a distinct, tinkling laugh, but when she looked up, the sound conveniently vanished.[/size][/color]

[Meleth Darkshine]

The discovery of Meleth's profound love of reading and books had nearly been tragic, really, as the wild elf had naturally lacked easy access to such things in her youth or most of her present adulthood. She could read, of course, and did so whenever she could scavenge anything legible from ruins, homes, or even the Mercaellian itself – of course that was before she knew the place for what it was – but her ability understandably suffered through lack of practice and guidance. In spite of this, the bald Brothers and Sisters were peacably overjoyed by her finding, and even moreso by her regular visits to their libraries shortly after. Excited to learn and they more than happy to teach, the relationship flourished and so like so many days before this day, it was there Meleth sat.

It was truly no wonder that the Archdruid had been missed amidst the very few people in that selection of Demon based texts, hidden behind a small wall of books and scrolls that she'd collected for herself and was now traversing. She had been quite focused in her studies, learning and knowledge having become far more of a necessity rather than recreational action over the past few years, but not enough that the quiet and brief exchange between Izcadella and the monastery brother would go unnoticed.

Meleth's eyes lifted from the current page of focus to blink at the tickling sensation of familiarity that came with the woman's voice. Leaning backwards just slightly in her seat so that she might see around her small tower of tomes, she peeked in a fashion quite reminiscent of her days acting solely as woodland life and peered out to examine Wither curiously. Her green hair might have been glimpsed, though it was braided now rather than let loose as Izcadella might have remembered from the last time the pair had met..

.. But that day in Breyon had been so long ago, so perhaps she would not remember at all.

There had been other times where Meleth had been granted the same sensation as far as this woman was concerned, of course, but the days of Glendenvale's party invitations seemed just as long ago now. Still, now to see her and smell her and allow all of her other senses to be used as opposed to just that of feeling Wither's deadly aura, Meleth felt something she usually regarded as hidden stir irritably within her soul, if only because this woman's memory was so curiously linked with those recollections of the days before.

Clearing her throat and neatly folding the scroll she had been going over as she stood, the shapeshifter allowed herself to be seen as much different, at least in an outward physical sense, than when they had met once so long ago. The single braid draped over one shoulder, quietly regarded as convenient because it prevented her hair from being pulled, was only the first of many differences, topped onto a long list that included her style of garb – now her dress fit, and was detailed and finely tailored, even if it was simple in it's craft – and overall cleanliness. A light but glittering necklace, thin chained and silvery, draped around her neck with the trinket in shape of the Darkshine raven as a gift from someone lost but close, and a ring sat upon one of her slender fingers that was telling of her marital status.

"So it would appear," Meleth began lightly, a small smile touching over the corners of her lips and a thin, dark brow raising slightly as she allowed her eyes to fall only briefly to the text Izcadella held. "That we have the same taste in reading material."

It was the way her golden eyes glittered as she spoke that so viciously remained the same, scrutinizing for keys and clues and seeming to bore down into the core of whatever object of her attentions. The wild glint and fire within her still was hinted in all of those little things that were too easily disregarded or ignored, from the minimal side-cant of her head to the careful posture and stance in which she stood. The wolf that was such a prominent part of her spirit was true to her to this day, but a lesser mind might have simply seen it as the actings of a woman of now higher positions acting the part.

[Izcadella Noxxa]

After learning about the origin of the Demons, Izcadella had been quite content with studying her texts on how the Demonic clans had first gained control of the spontaneous element of Fire. Izcadella had her theories, as did every other Dustanovan, but she had ventured a guess that the texts at the Mercaellian would be more descriptive, and hopefully, more correct. Not to be disappointed, Izcadella soon realized that the Clans Demonic had gradually adaptedto the heat of their native Cimmerii Valley, and had soon learned to manipulate the heat around them, which had manifested itself in the form of a blaze. Taking note of this, Izcadella was just about to lift a particulary heavy text off the small pile she had gathered when she heard a voice, a voice as wild as the forest itself, yet... Izcadella couldn't quite put her finger on the change in the voice, but it sounded changed. Subdued.

Using her newfound magical skill, Izcadella searched through her subconscious, hardly registering what exactly the mysteriously familiar voice had actually said in the first place. Finally, after rejecting many of the barbaric humans and feral Elves she had met on her many journeys through the walk of life, Izcadella gasped as realization hit her like a bullet. "Breyon..." she whispered, then stole a quick look at the only woman who sat near enough to speak to her: an Elfess with jade hair. As the pieces fell into place inside Izcadella's mind, she quickly recovered, and answered the Elf who had once been wild, but now had the appearance that looked somewhat... maternal? Izcadella had no idea where the notion came from, but once she thought it, she realized it fit perfectly, from the braided, un-pullable hair, to the sensible outer garments. Resentment flared up inside the former assasin, but she bit back the urge to snap at the woman.

"Yes, you are correct," the Lady Decay said, "I too am searching for information about the Demonic Clans of the Ardentian Empire. 'Know thine enemy,' after all. Perhaps, if it is of no inconvenience, we could compare information? For the benefit of us all, i suppose."

After glimpsing at the Elfess face-to-face, the Councilor was quite sure that this was indeed Meleth Firefeather, and if reports were to be trusted, more commonly called Meleth Darkshine. Izcadella's eyes widened, as they always did, when she considered the Archdruid's talent with changing her form, a gift from the Earth-Mother herself. Rumor had it, Izcadella remembered, that Meleth had learned a new form, but Izcadella did not have enough information to know what it was. And even if she did, she would most likely not care. As long as the Princess didn't try to usurp the throne of Glendenvale away from her liege, Izcadella was content to the let the shapeshiftess have as many forms as she so desired.[/color]

[Meleth Darkshine]

Silently musing over the way Izcadella titled her search – as if there were any demons who would claim themselves on the side of Silvanus or Glendenvale? – the shapeshifter gave a slight incline of her head and gestured to a seat across from herself with an outward wave of her hand. She tried to ignore the slightly widened appearance of the other woman's eyes, not sure what might have startled her so but positive it had something to do with her, and did well to disregard the slightest hint of indignation behind those inky black pools that told too well the soul of 'Lady Decay'.

"I suppose making comparisons may be difficult if only because I very rarely take physical notes. But.. If you're interested in Clan histories and not just their primordial origins," Meleth continued, eyes pointedly falling to glimpse upon the book Wither held in her insidious hands as if to gesture with a glance. "Then I've the texts of interest right here and you're welcome to them."

They had all been studied time and time again, of course, and the shapeshifter severely doubted that either of them would find anything that she, Harliven, or any of the frighteningly knowledgeable and studious elves would find surprising. All of these texts and those that not even the Mercaellian would allow free access to had been sucked dry of their worthwhile information from before the war started as the world knew it, at any rate. Still, as Meleth rested in a point of waiting for their enemies to strike and for their own counter-reactions to unfold, it made her feel as if she were doing more than just lingering idly to be rereading the more-than-likely out of date texts, perhaps seeking some mortal reason for this madness when she knew it for what it was in the very core of her soul in the first place.

Fire was so dangerous a thing.

A chill ran down her spine, as one always did whenever thinking on Xanthe Ezriska, a woman she'd never met and yet had more than her fair share of nightmares about. She turned to look back down at the page she'd been skimming over and frowned, acting as if she were pulled back into her book but really just masking the brief expression of distaste before uttering out absently, "I am surprised you remember me."

[Izcadella Noxxa]

Izcadella attempted a smile, but the expression that appeared on her lips looked more like a grimace, like the Councilor had been sucking on a particularly sour lemon. However, this did not stop her from accepting Meleth's offer, and taking a seat next to her. "I understand your dilemma. I usually find that any notes I take tend to end up..." Izcadella paused, wary about giving away information, but the Elfess most likely remembered her anyway... "ruined, if you understand my meaning. However, yes, I am interested in all things concerning the horned followers of Thorown. Although he is dead, the Demons still worship him, despite the appearance of their "Phoenix Queen." And the ruler of the Vampires..." Izcadella shuddered. Although it had been some time since she last met Xanthe Ezriska, the Lady Decay still had dreams about the current ruler of Noctivagus.

As the pair read, Izcadella noticed something about the books: the information seemed very... repetitive, as though someone had wanted to fill the scroll with the same facts. Why someone would want to do this was, at least to Wither, illogical. However, the more Iz thought about it, the more logical it seemed. The information was well-known, to say the least, and very basic. Could it be that the Brothers Mercaellian didn't want people to look up further information on the Demons? Or perhaps, were they themselves afraid of what they might find in more descriptive texts?

Izcadella was so immersed in her texts, and of course, her conspiracy theories, that she almost missed the Elfess' words. Looking up, Izcadella gave a laugh that was laced with just the right amount of condescension. "Oh Meleth" she said, invoking the woman's name for the first time since there meeting had begun, "the time of the Druids had long since disappeared when I first encountered you on the island of Breyon. Did you not at least consider that such a meeting, with one as legendary as a druid, escape unnoticed in my memories? Even less so now, Mrs. Darkshine, with the people you have been married to and your position midst the Tower of Calemistar? No Archdruid, your current happenings are very, very known to me, and therefore my liege.

After her speech, Izcadella considered the words that had just escaped the Druid's lips. Could she really have the notion that her, Izcadella Noxxa, wouldn't remember her? Even midst the fighting of the last 18 years, the meeting between her, the Archdruid, and the host of otherworldly spirits had left quite an indentation in the assassin's memories.

"Meanwhile," Izcadella said, switching her tone to a serious one, "while we are on the subject of Demons, what do you know about Xanthe Ezriska?"

[Meleth Darkshine]

Izcadella recalled their meeting and how she could have so well remembered the shapeshifter, and she could have left it at that – but she didn't. As the human went on to tell of her knowledge as to the wild elf's happenings over the past eighteen years, there was a quiet bout of unrest that stirred viciously within Meleth's soul, her essence screaming against how well kept track of she was in her current lifestyle. To be known only through fleeting memories and dismissed as quickly as a dream was a luxury she had willingly given up for those she now could not live without, but still it made her uneasy – albeit unnoticeably so under a cool and impassive demeanor that she had learned all too well to rouse on command – to have such facts thrown at her without provocation and without warning. Even if they were pleasantly spoken and meant in no obvious, harmful way.

The tips of slender fingers ran absently across the edge of the closed book that now sat in her lap, and she allowed an amiable smile to cross over her lips as her golden eyes fixed themselves upon the woman who had been so aptly named Lady Decay. That dangerously bold side of her that was all too happy to show how she was feeling – that wild side that created the core of her – was stilled from it's wishes to mock at how well known the Archdruid was to the humans when it was just now that they would seek such basic information on the demons that had been tormenting their lands for years. Had she not been who she was now, and had the eighteen past years happened in any other way, the chances of such an extraordinary event would have surely slimmed dramatically.

But it was not the case.

Instead, she said nothing on it save for that smile; that wild and predatory smile that would cross between packmates or allies for a day. That grin that would remain untamed until the day the elf returned to the earth, and that silently, and perhaps accidentally when compared to the thoughts of the Princess' conscious mind, bid for her present studying companion to watch the toes she stepped on and how carefully she tread.

"Little, I'm afraid," came the pleasant reply, Meleth's golden eyes briefly falling from Izcadella again to scan over the hundreds of books that lined the walls as if she would gesture to her own disappointment that the written records of the new Empress were few and far between, and never very revealing. She had her dreams, of course, but those were hardly of enough consequence to mention here. "The things written on her are so obviously censored, or myth rather than fact, and she's been wise enough thus far to not show up for conversation over afternoon tea. Those few who have defected from the Ardentian are rarely high up enough to know much on her either. I suppose the claim that she's as mad as an elk during mating season isn't exactly classified, considering the state of things."