"Moi? You are a strange one, aren't you Monsieur Fasken? Djela... Deadspeakers... What other phantasms have you studied? Next you will say that Monsieur Divnum fell from the sky!" She laughed fetchingly at the idea, holding out her hand towards him coyly, "You missed my introduction, as you were quite busy falling at the time. Mezolene Myndar. I'm a scarlet companion from Damacian, though I am quite better known as a negotiator. Admittedly, some of my clients are no longer with us, but I tend to keep the lion's share of my dealings with the living. They pay better, you see. When you try to collect from the dead, the living usually assume you are a grave robber. It is a tremendous worry in my line of work, oui?"<br/><br/>Practitioners were exceedingly rare, but given Fasken's studious nature, it was hardly a shock for him to be aware of their existence. Never particularly shy, she didn't seem to mind being outed. The castle was more interesting by far. The thought that their eyes were the first to gaze upon it in an eon made her throat dry and her nipples hard. Through the eyes of the dead she had seen empires burn and witnessed miracles. This was something entirely unseen by her or any of the dead who had not faded away into oblivion.<br/><br/>Many of the angles of the castle were impossible and made her eyes hurt when she stared at them too long. A dull ache that penetrated right into the brain. She'd had cause to experience it twice before, so she knew full well what it was. It was her mortal mind trying to fathom something that should not rightly exist in this reality. The initial shock was already growing tame however, as she turned to Fasken with a thin smile, "If you are so very well versed in the cultures of the worlds, then you will not be offended if I greet you as is fitting in my homeland."<br/><br/>She leaned in to greet Fasken like a Damacian, her lips brushing across his left cheek, then his right so gently it might have been the tickle of gossamer wings. Her breath was warm and scented of anisette as she whispered softly, "Nothing to fear from dust? I could kill you with a fistful of ash and a whispered word. I could even make you like it. Believe it." Her teeth chattered playfully next to his ear a moment before she stepped back.<br/><br/>Mezolene snapped open her parasol with the flick of her wrist, ever concerned with the harsh rays of the sun as she stepped out of the cover of the cavern, "I am well acquainted with the legend, Monsieur Faskin." Traveling she had noticed it tended to change substantially. Usually the hero closest to the continent was the one who was cast as the key player in the drama. In her country, Damacia herself was said to have played an intricate part in it. But then none of the legends explained the why and how of the Djela's destruction. This hardly mattered to her though.<br/><br/>Shadowed beneath her parasol, her eyes seemed to shimmer, icy blue standing out starkly from the shadows as she murmured with the gentle reverence that was born of fear, "The legend was told to me first hand by a soldier who stood at the gates of Vechtland against the Djela army. The castle is not a place where mortals should tamper. This is a grave stone on a civilization that is better left in another time. Woe to the one who would disturb this land, for it is a dire and horrible legacy that could doom the world!" Her demeanor changed with a playful shrug as she giggle almost girlishly, her smile vibrant and feral beneath the parasol, "At least that's what I heard! Despite that I very much want to see it! Oh, this IS exciting, isn't it? I hope it lasts!"