In Flagrante Delicto

[Imogen]

Frost 83, 124

When the next morning arrived, Imogen made her way down from the mountain and out through the outlying districts of Drathera, towards the shield road. She'd given no specific direction, and this was intentional- she took her time moving down the road, surveying the countryside. There was no concern that Karmordi might miss anything, for the road went in only one direction for many miles. So long as he walked out this way, he would eventually find her.

The witch was looking for something very specific in the vale, seeking for flat, firm ground with sparse greenery. There was no question of setting a fire, but she didn't want it to spread; at least, not past the point where her Elementalism could quench it. She also wanted to avoid wet ground, for fear of steam. Wildlife was also a no-no, not because of any danger from it, but simply because she didn't want any toasted lemurs on her conscience.

(It turned out that there were a lot of stupid environmental things you had to account for when you wanted to stage a big test. Who knew?)

Imogen was some miles out from the gates of Drathera when she found, at last, a field which seemed appropriate for her purposes. It was still well within view of the city--she knew from experience that you had to travel more than a day out before the city disappeared, and for several days to lose sight of the mountain--but there seemed to be little enough traffic for her purposes. That was to be expected, really. Travel between Drathera and the villages of the western jungle was sparse at the best of times, and relied largely on the river. Since the fall of Kythera, this road had been a ghost highway.

...well, not literally. Not until you got way further south.

Once the orkhan woman was satisfied with the location, she stripped out of her traveling clothes and donned the white robe and pants she'd bought, tying them securely with a silk rope. With that out of the way, she called forth her pact staff, a great length of ash capped in bronze, bearing the design of a monkey grasping a red jewel on one end. With that, and a quantity of low-purity sorcerer's sand, she set about purifying the ambient aether. First, Imogen called up a nimbus of silver fire about her staff, then directed it into the jewel, which refracted it in a dazzling field of purifying light, barely visible beneath the morning sun.

And with that out of the way, Imogen made her way to the center of the field, several hundred meters off the road (but still quite visible from it), and sat down to mediate, ensuring that body and soul were in harmony to the fullest extent. Thus, she waited for Karmordi's arrival as a single butterfly took flight, fluttering gently away from her across the field.



"Rwowawowaow!"

The perfect harmony of the moment was broken by a sudden yowling as Kitty burst out of her shadow, pouncing on the butterfly. Her familiar ate the little bug in a single bite, then spent the next five minutes making hacking noises as the bits stuck in his throat.

[Finn]

The Sentinels in his entourage had scouted out the city and its environs since his work in Drathera began over a season ago. That made it easy for one of them to open a portal close to where Innogen had indicated. As much as he had wanted to stretch his legs, the truncated walk was probably for the best. It was much more tolerable in the winter, but it was still humid and thunderstorms were wont to roll through.

Karmordi was nervous, and so Finn had brought his lute. He played it, something light and calm to soothe the berserker's nerves. He might even have cheated a little and soothed them with a deft caress of Mesmer. Finn didn't like to make people feel anything, nor rob them of their feelings, but he could soothe the nerves so Karmordi might do better in his test. Finn didn't know if going berserk would help him in this.

So the sight of Innogen trying to meditate while her eldritch puss hacked up whatever hadn't gone down right was met by foreign man and local ork walking side by side. A ways back were a black-clad Sentinel and his thrall, the prince Arkænyn. Finn figured the elf would do better watching from afar and socializing with a Sentinel; he hadn't been the most diplomatic of regents in his time, after all. In any case, they wouldn't interrupt him unless someone attacked him or he beckoned them near. Even Arkænyn was disciplined here.

The music of his lute softened and disappeared as Finn held a finger to his lips and pointed to Innogen so Karmordi knew to be quiet. They weren't sneaking, but they weren't trying to be Kitty either.

Finn stopped at a respectful distance; Karmordi took a few more steps, realized he had stopped, and came back. Finn smiled. Best let her meditate until she was ready.

Karmordi motioned to her and then to himself, trying to mouth words in Ecitharese that didn't quite translate to Finn, who was still learning, but he understood the intent. He shrugged dubiously and then made what he hoped was a universal gesture for go ahead and meditate until she acknowledges you; maybe that's part of the test.

[Imogen]

Karmordi sat, and Imogen continued to ignore him. This continued on for several increasingly-awkward minutes as the young Ork's mind filled with uncertainty, until, at last, the Great Witch spoke:

"Snrk.... shoo..."

Well, not speaking, per se. More of a snore. At that, Kitty lost his patience and bounded over to his master, thwapping her lightly on the head with his paw until she scrunched up her face and finally opened her eyes, blearily. Imogen's gaze focused rapidly as she realized that Karmordi was sitting in front of her, and she rose quickly to her feet.

This was the sort of thing which could be embarrassing if she acknowledged it at all. But this wasn't the witch's first time to this particular sort of rodeo; she'd found herself waking up to important meetings many times in the past, and she'd figured out exactly how to deal with it. The trick was simply to move on so quickly that nobody had any time to linger on the fact that you'd fallen asleep at an odd hour.

"So... you've come." the witch intoned gravely, carefully peeling Kitty off of herself with one arm, "The test will proceed thus- first, I will give you a blessing, to ensure you are of sound mind and body. Then, I will give you a warning. Finally, you will walk to the road and I will recreate the presence of a Primal here, by dint of magic. If you can return to this spot and raise your axe to me, you will pass the trial and I will instruct you on how to slay a Primal. If you cannot make it, then there is nothing more I can do for you."

Her strategy seemed to work on the other Ork, at least, who nodded, wide-eyed.

Imogen raised a hand above her head and materialized her Pact staff once again. At once, the weapon erupted with a nimbus of silver fire- but this she rapidly siphoned inward, the nova-fire flowing up to the dragonshard which capped the staff off. The silver light grew brighter and brighter. The witch intoned:

"In the first days, the clay of Ecith was stained red by the wine of suffering. The people squabbled like animals, and were ruled by a thousand petty gods, each seeking to impose his own will upon the Orkhan. Men and women were weapons, and children were born to short, brutish lives before Skar's altar."

"Then, one day, a new god came upon the people of the vale of Dratir. That god was Raxen, and he spoke thus: heed this commandment, be as thou art. Of every fetter, I release thee. Of every curse, I absolve thee. Of every ailment, I relieve thee."

Imogen brought her staff down to touch Karmordi's chest, but gently. The silver fire roared off of it in translucent waves, quickly surrounding the young Ork, but it did not harm him. It burned like an illusion, touching nothing of the substance. After a full ten seconds, Imogen pulled her staff away, and the silver fire was snuffed out.

"Now you are yourself, bound by no fell spirit or curse; and so, you bear all the guilt of your choices. I give you this warning, before we begin. You wish to slay a Primal, to claim its power, to find the glory of it, that you may be celebrated as you celebrate with your people. But desires are never satisfied, nor hungers ever quenched. Ecith is a land which holds long grudges, Karmordi. If you would obtain its power, you will bear its hate."

It was not at all clear from Karmordi's face whether he grasped the nuance of what Imogen was saying to him, but he was too proud a warrior to turn back from his chosen course without even trying. It was just as well. Frankly, it would have been kind of irritating to have woken up early and come all the way out here just for the kid to chicken out.

"I understand." said Karmordi. It wasn't a lie- it just wasn't true. As such, the witch nodded, then pointed to the road.

"Return to the road, and I will summon the aura of a Primal. You need only endure it long enough to bare your axe to me." As the young Orkhan berserker nodded and turned to return to the road, a thought struck her, "One more thing- if you're wearing anything you wish to return to Drathera with, strip it off and leave it by the road."

[Finn]

Finn, a consummate showman, knew that Imogen had been taking a nap in the sun much as her feline companion might when he grew bored. But she was trying to impart some wisdom on his young friend, and so he didn't comment upon it. Instead, he stood apart, listening, observing, but not interrupting.

It occurred to him then that an opportunity might arise whereby he could subdue a Primal. He saw no reason to kill a creature that was created by the Aedrin to keep nature in balance, but Ecith was already out of balance. Perhaps he could claim some local repute, at least, if not leadership of a village. At least this event would give him some experience to gauge whether that was a possible route to take. It wasn't even a fully calculated move; he would protect people from danger if at all possible anyway. He had grown strong so he could protect the weak, so he would not be one of the weak, one of the victims, ever again.

He also considered the nature of bravery for a berserker. Karmordi had skill at arms, to be sure, but only became a real terror when he lost his mind to it all. Now, in his right mind, he had to decide whether he was brave enough—or foolish enough—to proceed. His fear could be fed to his blind rage. Whether that made him brave or not brave, Finn wasn't certain.

But he liked Karmordi and so, he stepped in to act as a second. It might have scandalized a Solunarian, but he took those things Karmordi didn't want to lose and held them for him.

"May your rage be a match for a Primal," he said, his smile encouraging.

Karmordi paused, smiled back—all teeth and tusks.

"Witness me, Finn." Then, to the Witch, "Witness me, Innogen."

Then, stripped down to a loincloth—probably only there to protect the innocent eyes of the Solunarians there present—and his axes, he returned to the road.

[Imogen]

Once Karmordi was on the road and stripping, Imogen began her spell.

Like most spells, this was really just a question of leverage and power. She could remember vividly how she had felt the first time she confronted a Primal, when she had realized it had noticed her. The ordeal had been so terrifying that she'd blacked out, coming to only to find herself fleeing the beast's lair. The nightmares had lasted for months.

It had been a combination of things, really. The size was a given- but as she'd discovered later, not a requirement. The Silent Fisher, after all, was only a few hands taller than some of the orkhan she'd known. No, it was the presence and the meaning of those things, the instinctive terror which they instilled. Even a clever witch or a fearless warrior could not avoid the holy fear which came when a titan looked directly at them.

And so, she'd decided, she wasn't going to try to replicate the size of a Primal, even though she could have had a pretty good go of it. No, that would merely waste energy, distract from the more important things about the experience. When she was sure that nobody was looking too closely at her, the Sunsinger rolled a bright yellow crystal out of her sleeve, popping it directly into her mouth, where she swallowed it without chewing. The smooth stone irritated her throat on the way down, but she'd picked out a size she was sure would go down smoothly.

Imogen lowered her staff, holding it at the level of her waist, then flexed her left arm. It bulged and rippled as opal scales formed across her skin, her soft hands hardening into something more angular and draconian. Within moments, her entire arm had changed, muscles bulging beneath a protective layer of keratin, ending in an oversized claw for a hand. The witch held that claw up into the air, making as if to grasp something, and intoned:

"A singular weakness it bears by design;
A heart that is humble before the divine.
The hand that can leave any cleft in its hide,
Has no expectation of leaving alive."

Metallabzieher faded into being in the grip of her claw, much like any other pact weapon. The golden dagger was large, with a foot-long blade, and bore a very simple design, save for the rich red gemstone inset in the pommel. To the naked eye, nothing other than the gem seemed remarkable or unusual, though a metallurgist would have been perplexed by the decision to make the blade out of gold.

But the naked eye was only one source of information. As soon as the dagger materialized, Karmordi and his watchers were hit with a palpable sense of utter wrongness. The grasses at Imogen's feet began to wilt, then dissolve, crumbling into dust as though they had aged a hundred years in an instant. A circle of black spread out from the witch, and it quickly became apparent why she had transformed her arm; even her own scales were losing their luster.

"In cradle of earth is all metal first made;
And such is the cradle, then such is the grave.
All powers too proud to be rendered to flame,
Must find in resistance they soften and lame."

And then the dagger began to heat up. The weapon started to glow as its temperature rose, higher and higher. First it was cherry red, then it began to turn white from the heat, and the dead grasses at Imogen's feet burst into flame. A wind kicked up, not the result of any Elementalism, but simply the movement of air being superheated by Metallabzieher's surface. From the road, it became increasingly difficult to actually see the witch, as the heat caused distortions in the air.

...then the earth began to crack, ruddy red lava slowly seeping out all around Imogen. Droplets of molten rock coalesced across the field, starting even more fires, even on the grass which had not yet been killed by the strange dissolving effect. Within seconds, the beautiful meadow had acquired a grim, hellish aspect. Waves of heat and strange, threatening wrongness radiated outward, and even from this distance it was enough to induce revulsion in the onlookers.

To Finn's mystical ear, however, there was even more. Imogen's spell, whatever its nature was, had stirred the Symphony of something primordial, within the earth of Ecith itself, and it had turned its ponderous attention to the meadow. Spiritual... annoyance, perhaps, flooded the space, a battering stream of elemental disdain which Imogen had somehow conjured up directly between Karmordi and herself.

"Come on, then!" the witch called out, "Be quick about it, Karmordi!"

[Finn]

Once Karmordi was on his way, Finn quietly held his things and observed.

Not wishing to interrupt, he merely watched attentively and listened to every word she uttered. With an eidetic memory, he laid the lines of her song-spell in his mind where he could pore over them in future. Incantations, he had been taught, were largely used to focus the mind of the magus. There were instances were words mattered, such as in contracts with spirits, but even if all of it was mere theatrics, he did appreciate a good show.

Unsure whether this was all glamour or real, he prudently put more and more distance between himself and the epicenter of the violence, which was not the berserker or the summoned hellscape, but rather the witch herself. He had done a little digging, and it turned out that some people believed Innogen was, in fact, from Zaichaer originally. The Zaichaeri were the people he knew who most commonly used the term 'witch,' though it had been whispered about his grandmother in his small village that fell with in the territories claimed by Kalzasi and its wing lords.

Curious. He didn't know how much time he would have to get to know her if she was soon to leave, but she was strange and he was a lover of strange things.

He should have brought an aura glass to see what was happening in the world invisible about him, but alas, he had not thought to do so. He glanced back to where his guards were waiting. They were still as any statue, alert, Sentinels on the rise that overlooked this lower field. If they sensed an immediate threat to him, they would be pelting toward him, no doubt. He had tried to complement his own skills with the skills of his entourage when choosing them for this diplomatic mission. They could see.

But he could hear.

The music of the meadow and perhaps something else was discordant and wrong. He didn't know how to articulate it in the moment, but perhaps he would later.

She taunted Karmordi into action, and all Finn could do was whisper a prayer to Aværys to bless the man's Ambitions.

[Imogen]

The young Orkish berserker hadn't expected all of this, but nor had he really expected anything in particular. It was the way of life, to throw surprises and challenges at you without prior advertisement.

The heat pouring out of Imogen's summoned weapon was intense--even at a distance, it hurt to look directly at the dagger, and the temperature of the surroundings had risen precipitously--but this was of relatively minor concern to Karmordi. Much as Imogen had, his physique grew scalier and harsher as he strode quickly forward, scales forming across his body to absorb and reflect the intense energy of the spell.

It was relatively well-known by historians and wizards that the Orkhan race had been fashioned by Malgar from the corpse of a dragon, but the markers of that heritage were faint. The average Ork displayed only a fraction of the superior strength and stamina enjoyed by half-dragons, and their skin was marred only with small patches of scale. If an Orkhan wanted to breathe fire, they would need to seek the power of a Cardinal rune, just as any of the descendants of the Hytori might.

But Finn had been in Drathera long enough to know that Orkhan could perform minor feats of dracomorophosis when pressed. Though the average citizen of Drathera could hardly perform at will, warriors in the Shield and Spear armies were trained to harness this power under the stress of any battle, and thereby obtain an edge in combat. It was hardly enough to make Karmordi fireproof, but it would doubtless protect him somewhat.

Unfortunately for Karmordi, dragon's blood did absolutely nothing to protect him from the other component of the witch's spell.

As he advanced, he discovered that each step was minutely more difficult than the last. Though his scales and thickening skin warded off the the ambient temperature, Metallabzieher's primary power came from its abmetal construction, and its maker's communion with the great deadly stone hidden away in an ocean cavern. Invisible force radiated from it, sapping the metallic aether out of everything around it- and while this was most dramatically visible in the way it slowly blackened and pitted Karmordi's axe, it was all the more dangerous to things not made of metal. After all, every rock, every plant, and every creature on Aedrin's earth drew strength and form from minute quantities of metal. As Imogen's spell stole it away from them, they collapsed and withered, incapable of staying upright.

The young Ork pushed his way through it, his stride slowing only minutely at first. He had honed his strength religiously (literally!) from childhood, and followed the strict diets and practices which Achaka imposed upon all his soldiers. The boy's strength might have been his primary asset, but he had strength to spare. And Imogen intended to make him prove that.

By the time Karmodi was halfway to the witch, his steps were noticeably slower, his breathing more labored- but he'd been able to focus entirely on walking. As the boy approached, Imogen dropped Metallabzieher. The blazing dagger tumbled gracefully out of her hand, plunging point-first into the ground, where it sunk smoothly through the burnt soil and kept going, vanishing from sight. At once, the feeling of unease throughout the meadow intensified- as did the heat.

The ground around the witch cracked and split, and finger-sized tendrils of molten rock tore their way out of the flesh of the earth. These began to lengthen and move, as sinuous as an octopoid's appendages, each converging on the approaching ork, whose eyes grew wider as he realized that a new threat had appeared. He jolted to the side, but not quickly enough to avoid being ensnared by a few of the thin tentacles of lava, which began to rapidly cool. Karmordi grunted at the pain, but quickly tore his way through the still-brittle rock and redoubled his speed, charging at Imogen.

But her assault did not waver. More and more of the stone tendrils assailed Karmordi, forcing him to dodge and weave and tear his way away from their grasp, even as the otherworldly aura Imogen had summoned continued to hollow him out from the inside. By the time he was within ten feet of the witch, he was gasping with every step, his progress arrested to a crawl as the burning lashes of lava continued to ensnare him. He was barely a few steps from Imogen when he came to a halt.

More tendrils wrapped slowly around Karmordi as he huffed, his eyes bulging as he stared at the ground. He whispered words of prayer, but even Imogen couldn't hear them.

The witch crossed her arms, her expression unreadable. "In the first days, the Orkhan strode the land and tamed it. Every beast, and every army fell before them, and they thought themselves the equal of Aedrin himself. They trampled the earth as if they alone held its dominion, and were careless with it."

Karmordi clenched his fists and eyes, gasping, and managed another step.

"To the God of Nature, this arrogance meant nothing. The cyclone does not move one jot to punish hubris. But there is a god who reprimands the proud, no matter how supreme they think themselves, and his name is Suffering."

The manifold cords of lava around Karmordi's wrists and ankles were nearly wrist-thick by now, but with an anguished scream he broke through them, sending bits of igneous rock flying. He advanced two more steps, almost in arm's reach of Imogen, then tripped, falling to his knees. He struggled to find his feet again as his limbs began to give out.

"So the Primals were born, living reminders to all of Ecith: be not too proud. No matter how cunning, or strong, or wise in the ways of magic you are, you will never be as great as Nature itself."

The ork tried to push himself up, but his arms seemed heavier than lead- his legs burned with the weight of the rock above and below him. The sky had darkened, the sun above them blotted out by the ash which Imogen's spell had expelled into the sky, and there was nothing but ruin in every direction.

From his safe perch near the road, Finn could hear the symphony within Karmordi--the energetic pride, the effortless enthusiasm and easy good humor, the constant determination--dwindle to a low ebb, threatening to splutter out entirely. The spell the witch had cast had crushed the young warrior's body and spirit both, a single step from the moment of his accomplishment. If the Ork faltered now, how could he live with himself?

"You see now the folly of this course." the witch said quietly, though her voice carried easily, "Submit to Malgar's lesson. Forswear your ambition, and the pain will end. Be as thou art, and seek nothing more."

[Finn]

Finn was beginning to think he needed to ask his mother-in-law to initiate him in Semblance. He was Phædryn-Sol'Aværys by marriage, and it was their keystone Rune. As a Sentinel, he had relied upon other Sentinels; their teams were always complementary. As a Sentinel performing diplomatic duties, however, it seemed important that he be able to sense how the aether was flowing. As it was, he heard the song of iron dying. He felt how Innogen's spell was affecting the slipspace. He could intuit a few things from that, but it was not the same as sensing aether—all aether—directly.

He would have to put that in his next report.

Mindful first of his own safety as he had duties to fulfill in Ecith, he was also as mindful as possible about what else was going on around him.

Malgar's suffering; he had thoughts about that philosophically, and normally he wouldn't intrude upon what felt like an almost religious experience for Karmordi, but he was here almost as the ork's second. The least he could do was provide moral support, and Finn could provide magical moral support.

His melody thrummed through the aether between him and Karmordi. Finn did not often use the Rune in the sense that Solunarians did; he did not often Command. He suggested. He let Karmordi know that Finn was here. Finn was watching. He was not alone in this.

When he sang to accompany the magic, it started soft and even by the end, it wasn't terribly loud. It was entirely possible neither ork heard him over the splitting of stone and blistering of lava.

"Do you hear the people sing,
Singing the song of angry men?
It is the music of a people
Who will not be slaves again.

When the beating of your heart
Echoes the beating of the drums,
There is a life about to start
When tomorrow comes."

Finn didn't know if Innogen would kill or allow Karmordi to push himself to death's door with this trial. The Orkhan were proud, and did not shy away from death or violence.

The decision was Karmordi's to make. Her spell was pulling him apart and perhaps there was no amount of willpower that could allow him to win and to survive. Finn just tried to keep him clear-headed through the pain, the better able to maintain his agency and make his decisions, even if that decision was to die in the attempt to prove himself to the Ancient Witch.

[Imogen]

As Finn's quiet music reached Karmordi's soul, a truly extraordinary change in the berserker's Symphony occurred. From a spluttering ebb, the fire within Karmordi grew brighter and brighter, gathering and redounding within itself. Within seconds, the ember had become a blaze anew.

For a few moments, though, nothing more seemed to happen; it seemed as though Finn's fear that the Great Witch's enervating spell had overpowered the man completely was true. It was all well and good to speak of spirit and fire and music, but none of that could change a thing if the muscles wouldn't twitch, if the heart wouldn't beat.

Then Karmordi twitched, drawing upwards a fraction of an inch.

Then another.

And another.

Bit by bit, the Orkish boy fought for the space between him and the witch, who watched him impassively. He strained against the cooling bonds of rock she'd wrapped him with- and one by one, they snapped. He rose to his feet, slowly, ponderously. And then he took a step forward. And another.

With trembling, exhausted hands, he brought his axe in an upward arc. It was a shadow of its former self, even more than Karmordi, the handle burnt and brittle, the steel pitted and rotten. But the edge, somehow, remained. And Karmordi brought that edge up and rested the tip, gently, against Imogen's head.

At once, the heat dissipated. The remaining tendrils of molten rock grew lifeless and crumbled, pouring to the ground as ash and dust. Around the edges of the meadow, the slow-burning fires winked out of existence, and the entire tableau seemed to grow lighter as the fresh breezes carried away the ash.

Karmordi rocked back and forth, unable to keep his feet, and Imogen caught him before he could fall. The witch ran her hands over his (mostly nude) form, closing her eyes as she cast some final spell. By now, the young warrior had well and truly fallen unconscious, but some of the pallor seemed to return to his skin as she worked her spell. The sleeping ork coughed, and suddenly expelled a thin wisp of varicolored mist, which Imogen grabbed with her scaly claw. When she reopened it, it was gone.

After checking Karmordi over for wounds, Imogen leaned into him and slung him over her left shoulder, her right hand still clasping her Pact stave. She made her way back toward the road, carefully picking through the blasted landscape she'd created to avoid tripping. Once she was in earshot of Finn, she spoke:

"He's going to need about three days of bed rest to recover; it will be a week before it is safe for him to train again. Then again, he's bigger than me, so maybe he'll recover faster than I did. Or more slowly?" the witch shook her head, irritably, "Hells, I'm not a doctor. Tell him he needs to stay abed, though. My spell poisoned the vital essence of his flesh and bones; I've infused him with the missing sort of aether, but it will take a few days before his body incorporates it properly. Could break a bone pretty easily right now."

Imogen laid Karmordi gently on a rock next to the road--apparently she expected Finn to take him from there--then stood, stretching. Her left arm had begun to diminish, the scales slowly sinking away and her muscles settling. Within minutes, it would be as though the dracomorphosis never happened at all. She gave Finn a flat look.

"Not a very kind thing, to spur him on like that. Now he'll never be rid of that dream." then her features shifted, as a thought crossed her mind, "Good choice of imagery, though. How's it go?"

The Sunsinger hummed to herself for a moment, then recited:

"For the wretched of the earth,
There is a flame that never dies,
Even the darkest night will end,
And the sun will rise."

She nodded, looking upwards at the clearing ash. "Yes, that's the right sort of song for it."

[Finn]

It was, perhaps, foolish—both of Karmordi to attempt and of Finn to support—but it was inspiring. No doubt Karmordi would be asking Finn for his song of glory when he could manage words.

The bard let Innogen handle the fallen ork, but remained attentive. It became clear that he would be responsible for getting his friend medical attention, and that would be easy enough for the Farstrider. It only remained to be seen whether he ought to do so now, or wait until Innogen had said her piece.

While her admonition gave him pause, he then smiled, delighted.

"You know it. A song that perhaps ought not to be sung in the realm of the Lady of Chains," he admitted.

As for what he had done for Karmordi, he glanced at his unconscious sparring partner.

"I have faced down powers greater than myself," he said quietly. "They can make you feel alone, but I do not believe that we are alone." Looking up at her, "I did not Command, I merely reminded him that he was not alone. It helps when we have someone to fight for."

Finn paused, considering her. While his mesmeric 'ear' was usually open to whatever thoughts and feelings people were projecting into common space, he was less likely to delve into the intricacies of someone's symphony without cause and need. Also, given that Innogen was known as the Great and Ancient Witch, that might be considered rude. Still and all, he had his intuition.

Head canted slightly to the side, he pursed his lips slightly for a moment.

Then, "You have someone you fight for, I think. Not just yourself. Not just the shadowy panther, although he is adorable."

But he didn't press her to answer. He also didn't know if Karmordi had someone special; it just hadn't come up when they were screaming at each other, attempting to kill each other, or having a drink afterward. Perhaps if he didn't, though, this experience might make him start thinking about the 'who for' and the 'why' along his path to glorious triumph.