Steven
```diff
- "As I've said..."```

He spoke, with a slight roll of his eyes. His left hand shifted uneasily as she continued pressing on the matter, tapping its digits against his forearm twice, leaving a rather extensive pause in his words.

```diff
- "Power... For someone like you... Does not come so easily."
- "You are... Mmm. Unfit. As I did say."
- "For, with no oath, how could I expect you to be a vessel fit for... 𝘮𝘳𝘳𝘨𝘩𝘩𝘩..."```

The persistently-present presence of *Malevolence* That enshrouded the man grew considerably, his left hand churning easelessly, clasping tight against his right hand's wrist. The rusted chain that bound his left gloves tight to his palms and fingers dangled with a slight clatter, and he seemed to, in the moment that his words were interrupted, withhold a minor fit of pain. *Something* Within his spirit shifted; he seemed deeply disturbed, if only for a moment, and would take yet another prolonged moment in pause.
_ _

```diff
- "That is... All to say..."
- "The method I offer... Yes. You would need... Oath. Mmm, right. There is no other way."```

Breaking his longstanding habit of folding his arms and hiding away each of his hands, the man finally stood from his rested position within the window, allowing each of his two arms to hang, plain and open at either of his sides. As though readying himself for further action, the stranger took a single step forwards, staring with intent at Tabby, his gaze and presence now with a sharp sense of scrutiny over her nature. His eyes, dim and of an ambiguous color, peered deep, and he quieted his rather harsh breath of a rough and irritated nature. Leaning in toward the tabaxi. There was an almost tangible atmosphere of unease within the air about the two, as the man brandished his left hand — without losing his skeptical sense of nature — in a subtly inviting manner.

As he encroached, even if only in a single step, so too did the uncomfortable presence of the *Malevolent* Follow. 

```diff
- "You would oblige, correct."
- "With this little oath of mine, if you do seek power in haste."```
Jonathan
"All I need for this oath is to know the terms and conditions." She replies, simply — her Guardian lowering her to the ground and assisting her in "Kneeling" In acceptance.

Obviously she would find herself unable to put weight on her own foot, so her automatons make a compromise with eachother, wrapping her arms around the both of them and taking the kneel *For* Her. Due to their lowness to the ground, Tabby's kneepads gingerly graze across the flooring as she grits her teeth, feeling the movement of her foot. Certainly better than standing or kneeling on her lonesome.

A strange voice echoes in the back of her head, prompting her to speak up to the person who moved towards her "My deity wishes to know the terms of the agreement, as well." 

Should things magically go awry and damage be dealt to the amulet *Itself*, or terms not discussed, the Shield Guardian would waste no time in protecting the jewelry, and Defender the wielder herself. They remain on guard despite the cat's willingness; truly vigilant at all times.

"We are in accordance about what to do with the fate of Vaazva of the Exiles' Watch, and agree that I am of no surplus of strength to deal with it in my current shape & energy, nor do I have resources at my disposal beyond that which I carry nearby.." The Defender's chest cavity opens up and it pulls out the *Watch* From before as if it somehow mattered in this deal.

"To that end, *We are fully willing to accept aid*, provided that we make an informed decision upon the terms presented in this oath." Tabby finishes speaking, her robots watching with great care for the following moments.
Steven
```diff
- "Terms and conditions, you say."```

He spoke with impassivity in his voice, raising his right hand to the forefront of his attention, squinting harshly at the back of the gloved hand. Attention diverted entirely from Tabby, the stranger slowly, with his left hand, reached to his side — for a **Dagger,** Ever-so-forebodingly enchanted. With a slow, prolonged tug at the handle of the misshapen weapon — whose wicked form made its possession only aptly fit for one worthy of a stigmatic title such as *Deceiver*, its blade twisted and gnarled, with a red tint that gave it an appearance as though it were a *Living thing.*

With a deathly stare in his eyes, devoid of any emotion besides some form of discreet and distant, inscrutable instinct akin to a madman's sadistic amusement, the man lowered his right hand, and lifted the unsheathed dagger overhead, its blade widthwise to his face. He gawked at the distasteful form of the dagger as though he were one who appraised, a deep, yet unseen gratification brought to himself as he finally released the macabre item to the open air. In this strange admiration of the wicked blade, he paused, and paused for moments on end, leaving the kneeling artificer before him within a most laborious moment of anticipation. The blade, in its dark enchantment, sang to him. It whispered with the same sonority as the malevolent aura which clung to his figure, its cacophonous, unheard howls that would bring most to unbearable distress like an orchestral composition in his ears.

How long had it been since he had the pleasure of *Setting himself free?*
Ohhh, to think...
That his former nature would bind this away...
_ _

The stranger, still within his moment of revelation, slowly lowered the dagger, and with his free fingers, pulled the glove on his right hand taut, before tugging it off the extremity, entirely. Revealed beneath the form of the glove was, of course, his hand — yet *Upon that hand,* Was a most intricate series of interwoven runes, dozens-upon-dozens of indecipherable arcane texts tattooed deep and precisely into his flesh. Their intricacy and depth extended to such subtle points that the finest of lines within the elaborate runework were thinner than single strands of hair, twirling and travelling alongside his hand's already existent wrinkles and lines — it was as if a most potent sorcery had been created for *His very hand.* Each and every rune and text upon the surface of his palm and digits were foreign to the artificer, and yet she had earlier been made aware, by virtue of her ability to Detect Magic, that the written enchantments upon his right hand were those of Abjuration.

And yet, at the very back of his hand, the runework had been disrupted by a series of self-inflicted wounds, carving deep into his flesh, and rending apart the focal point of the self-persisting enchantment... He pressed the wicked blade against the back of his hand, and so its edge matched the exact shape and size of the few wounds that marked its surface. 

```diff
- "Terms and conditions, you say."```

He echoed, with a chuckle.

```diff
- "Mmm, how about this..." -
- "I will grant you my blood to imbibe, and so speak a series of... Mmm... Select words."
- "And in response, you will say——"

- "𝑵𝒕𝒆𝒏-𝒎𝒊."

- "Mmm? And then you will receive greater power. A sort of... Conditional, life, that does not fade. Vitality, incarnate. Something you do want much."

- "Remain kneeling, and cup your hands. Do not raise your head to look at me."```
_ _

The stranger spoke, without so much as staring down at Tabby to confirm whether or not she would remain compliant with his demands. Instead, he seemed thoroughly fascinated, now, with his *Left hand,* Gloved thrice-over and bound with *Chain.* His eyes hone in on the rusted chain, and, beneath the mask that hid his lower face, frowned. With a grit of his teeth, he clasped tight the dagger, and...

*`Slice.`*

...Cut open the back of his right hand. Blood began to ooze and drool from the grisly, open wound, and he allowed that blood to trickle off his fingertips, ahead of himself — and into the palms of Tabby, were she indeed to cup her hands. 

Simultaneous with the slice against the back of his hand, the chain that bound his left began to rattle, its surface humming with the resonance of a *Spell.* Something had been imbued into its form; something that had been interrupted by the act of, once again, interrupting the runework on his right hand. The chain hissed and hum, before in a single moment, **Shattering.**


And so, he slowly removed the first of the three gloves on his left hand. And then the second, and then the third— yet, on the third, he would waver, clenching tight his teeth, as he slowly peeled away the cloth that clung close to his flesh. It was as if it was *Stuck.* Like some sort of substance beneath caused it to cling and clutch, as though it were bound by an oozing glue.
_ _

*`cglhk...`*

The glove peels off, and so with it, an outer layer of *Skin.* His skin. As if he had *Peeled the outer layer of his hand off.*

And revealed beneath, was a wicked left hand, withered, and with raw, red flesh. On the back of his left hand, there remained a most disquieting tattoo — a *Malformed spider,* Barely distinguishable from the rest of his raw flesh, for it had been inked in a deep red. 


**The malevolent aura around the man grows to a most concerning level.** Now, with his left hand released, it was as though there were a pair of eyes behind him—no... Not just a *Pair* Of eyes, but *Eight.* There is a nature of displeasure that comes with even staring up at his left hand and the eyes that peered from behind him, and if she were to do so, she would feel the tingling, phantom sensation of *Bugs, crawling along her body.*

```diff
- "Prepared?"```

He spoke, before, shortly after, following up with an *Incantation.* A harrowing *Chant,* Of a language foreign not only to Tabby herself, but to the universe in which she resided. It was a language from a land that did not exist, and from a cosmos unseen.
_ _

*```diff
- "ℕ𝕋𝔼ℚ𝕀ℂℍ𝕐𝕀𝕋𝕄 𝕋𝕄𝔸ℂℍ𝕐𝔼𝕄 𝕋𝕄𝔸ℕ𝔸𝕋𝕀-ℕ𝕋𝔼ℕ"
- "𝕄𝕀-𝕋𝕄𝕀𝕋𝕌 𝕋𝔼𝕄𝕆𝕋ℂℍ𝕐𝕀𝕄 𝕋𝔼𝕋𝕄"

- "𝑯𝒂𝒂.. 𝒉𝒂𝒂.."

- "ℕ𝔼𝕋𝕄𝕀 𝔸𝕋𝕆 𝔸𝕋𝕄𝔼𝕋𝕋𝕀 ℕ𝕆𝕋𝕋𝔸ℕ."```*

***So he concluded.***

The air resonates with a lingering sense of unease, and the festering, phantom sensation of insects crawling about cannot be shaken. The sheer breadth of the malevolence that echoed off the man's corporeal figure grew to an almost unbearable degree, as he stared down at the tabaxi, his eyes reddened by the tax of even speaking such *Accursed words.* He stared and stared, waiting, as if pressuring her to ***Say the phrase which he imparted to her.***
Jonathan
The clock, previously stagnant in the Defender's hand, begins to tick — starting off arrhythmically & infrequently as Tabby seems to have some inner dialogue. Out of the corner of the very friendly nice man's eyes, a splotch of dark liquid forms from the centerpiece of the watch. And from that black spot, an eyeball. The man's seemingly razor-sharp senses seem to imply that this magic is coming from within Tabby, suppressed deep, deep down in her Hollowed body, unbeknownst even to her. This is *Not* Brought over from the *Forgotten Realms*. This is not Tabby's unique style of magic.

A deep, rattling voice emanates from the time-keeping device, spoken by a chorus of thousands of individuals, discordant and unintelligible — creating a wave of pure thunderous chanting; a maddening ensemble of frightful sounds and noises, disturbing to even those with the steeliest of soul. The pool expands down onto the ground like that of a waterfall, strengthening the intensity of the voices as they frantically shout out inaudible phrases and screeches. As the indescribable liquid drips down onto the floor, threatening to cover the entire surface, body parts like *Mouths* And even the odd *Nose* Join the ranks of the first eyeball. Whether illusory or not, one would be unable to tell. The strength of a potential *Spell* At play is entirely foreign to the cat who wouldn't even have the *Potential* To harness such powerful arcane incantations.
Jesse
The liquid swirls and spirals upwards in a staircase-like motion, the eyes following and settling into place as something beyond words takes form in front of the man's very eyes. Tabby loses focus, and the automatons that are sworn to her remain motionless, letting this being take the lead for them as the feline seems to be catatonic.
Alvin
A mouth slides to the top of this figure, along with two mis-matched eyes and a nose. As her figure forms from the pure unfiltered magic, a bunch more eyes rush to cover her body, shrinking down to that of a black-and-white night sky, with no cosmic coloring between. A most unusual form, to be sure. Yet, no armor or distinct feature forms with her — due to the restriction of only facial cavities and what-have-you. The voices switch from mindless chanting to full on screeching in fear and terror, bouncing around the reverberating church they found themselves in, raw power seeming to emanate from the unholy abomination, from every single eyeball, mouth, and nose now present in the room.

**"I'm sorry. I think we've had a severe miscommunication."** She speaks, quieting the chorus and channeling it into her own speech. **"Let us try this again. What are the _Terms and Conditions_ of this?"** The ooze seeps at the mans boots, harmlessly even though it seems to stick to whatever touched it. A direct line has been called from the deepest part of Tabby's subconscious — the part that reacted violently to Vaazva only a short while before. This is the *"Deity"* That Tabby spoke so highly of. *Ursa*. 

Despite this display, the deity is thoroughly unable to act, instead relying on harmless magic to *Scare the wits out of the man*. If only there were a more... Dominant way to do this.

*What a fucking amateur.* The entity thinks, looking down at the form of the artificer. *Get a grip.* Ursa turns back to the man, staring him dead in the eyes with her... Well, normal eyes, and mini eyes. A mouth slides up to her left kneecap un-invited as she does this.