#earthrunes

He nods. "What if you tried again, focusing on that facet?" Not quite asking her to do so, but curious if that works.

She wavers her hand. "No guarantees. But yes, I can try. More glamour can help push it..."

He finishes the last of his tea in a swallow, and then stirs the leaves with a finger, putting a little glamour into the cup before offering it to her.

Softly. "Thank you."

After she sips. "Watching over trolls can be exhausting, nu? So..."

He nods, rolling his eyes a touch.

"They are stubborn. Feh." As if she isn't! Zara doesn't bother to raise the light level as she retrieves her tarot cards... sorting through and selecting specific ones.

She carefully floats three cards on the water - the Ace of Swords, depicting a hand bearing a single blade which spears a crown; the Magician (Emmitt?); and the Wheel of Fortune.

"The Tapestry winds and weaves, and ties aught together in fate. Show me the hand which moved the pawn and laid out the false bait...."

The cards glow, infused with both Zara and Symon's glamour.

Hands... blue hand eattinng a wrathful berry, a fine slim hand sharpening a blade with a crown on it's hilt, but who is pulling the puppets that hand is...

Spiked. Red. Prickling! Ancient! And Zara and Symon feel themselves, their minds, being pulled into the cards unnless they can resist

(WillPower rolls for both)

Zara pulls her gaze away, imagges of war never ending... but she pulls back

For Symon? It is not so lucky. His eyes pinprick with red marks and he passes out innto a coma, but not an empty one- A nightmare he can't escape.

One moment gazing intently into the scrying glass... the next, slumped over.

Alarmed. "Symon?"

Zara can see his very mind being drawn into the Dreaming... perhaps forever?

She brings her hand down into the water, rippling the surface and breaking the cantrip.

A soft hiss as she then reaches out to take his face in her clammy hands. "Symon!"

His eyes flicker behind lids, REM...

Symon's eyes open as the water splashes, he latches his hands around the throat of Zara and starts to squeeze, slaughter, kill or be killed, kill and take, kill annd take, that is the red dream, the red way and... thenn he realizes what he is DOING and returns to himself

Zara's brain races, trying to think of a tactic, something...

He flings himself backwards, arms wide and away from Zara, wheezing.

Perhaps knocking over tea/table....

a soft 'gak' of surprise when her throat is grasped, and then an exhale when she is released.

Cough. "Symon?" she croaks.

His head shakes, and he's muttering something in Korean under his breath.

A sign that Symon was not himself... sluagh know other sluagh can squirm

There was just so much hate

Ignoring the toppled table, she moves over to her kithmate and extends her hand.

He covers his mouth as though to block a scent or prevent himself from retching - something that turned a sluagh's sensibility?

"Mm.." She turns away, politely allowing Symon a moment of privacy.

The tarot cards are marred... symbols of warning not to pry! and in each tea cup, the copper scent of spilled blood

"Oh, as if I shall not pry, after this. Feh!"

His ragged breathing stabilizes, and he looks askance at the tipped table, reaching to help right it. Gaze down, cheeks flushes mottled grey, clearly mortified.

"Art thou... alright?" She ventures.

"I was not myself..." He sets the table right, then bows his head. "I'm sorry. I... that wasn't me. Or... I didn't know it was you..." Clearly, his weak attempt at justification pales before even himself and he knows it is no excuse. He laid hands on a lady. Not just any, but this honored kith sibling. Wretched, foul creature!

"Aye. The magic escaped my grasp, and you were overwhelmed... what we have seen is dangerous and powerful, indeed."

"Did you see more, when you were in its grasp?"

He gives Zara a look, his expression grave. "Symbolism, tailored towards my own heritage. Comfort women dragged from their homes by the Imperial army. Gas attacked... my lungs burned in a trench. Farther back, soldiers... huns? Burning huts with families inside." He looks for something to drink - water, perhaps.

The tea is.. unfit

"War and hatred. The thallain are not, I think, mere mercenaries." She crouches to collect the broken shards of the plate.

Footsteps, very soft, approaching. Ivanka

He tries to clear his throat, meaning to continue, but he stops, eyes on the door.

"Ivanka. She is kin to us, and discreet."

"A moment, Miss Ivanka." She waits for Symon's response.

A pause ouside the door

"War, and slaughter. A blood red banner. Family killing each-other... Nightmares, and... " His voice falls to scarcely audible even for Zara. "Sluagh, traitors?"

A soft hiss.