#[hope it's okay that i kinda glossed over the whole confrontation/fight part! 😖]

[ramazithsfinest]

Rolan had to remind himself not to draw on the Weave just yet. More than that, he also reminded himself that whatever Lorroakan had seen in him wasn't everything. And if the bastard would really stoop so low as to claim the Nightsong was an inanimate relic instead of a person, his 'master' would discover how much more there was.

Karlach's unexpectedly gentle pat to his back helped ease just enough of his tension for his focus to fully clarify.

Lorroakan, meanwhile, drew up as tall as he could when Karlach approached. His head tipped back - as if still striving to look down his nose at her - while his upper lip began to curl. Learned reflex had Rolan bracing himself at that look, his shoulders angled forward, tail curled in, and back slightly bowed. Dark-set eyes flicked to Lorroakan's staff leaning against the throne of books, then back. He knew what so often came next.

Admittedly, some part of Rolan had still doubted Karlach's claim. Or maybe he just hadn't expected the Nightsong to be not only a person, but an aasimar now descending toward them amid shattered glass. Clenched hands startled open, Rolan then found it a bit easier to stand fully upright as the Nightsong confronted Lorroakan. The way she carried herself, the apprehension in his 'master's' expression... they really would stand a chance.

When Lorroakan then had the gall to demand Rolan ready caging runes, anger overwhelmed over his fear. No doubt the Nightsong could take care of herself, but he couldn't just allow the chance of someone else being trapped like he was. Rolan's refusal came quick and acidic; not even a threat to his future apprenticeship prospects could make him back down. That someone this cruel and small-minded, this selfish and grasping, could claim Ramazith's Tower was an affront to the profession. Having the Nightsong's support, and that of Karlach's entire party, made him certain they had more than a chance. They would win.

Though Lorroakan did indeed summon Myrmidons, he barely had the chance to do so before Rolan sent a crackling, thunderous shockwave crashing into his 'master'. The latter skidded a short distance across the study floor, knocked breathless and stunned.

The Nightsong didn't leave him much room to get his wind back.

——

It was over, at last. Every Myrmidon defeated, and the snap of Lorroakan's spine over Dame Aylin's knee still resounded in the backs of Rolan's ears.

Yet now, here he stood, staring down at glassy eyes and bemused at the absence of coldness in them. Only now. It had taken death for Rolan to meet those eyes and not find disdain. He had things to do, glass to sweep up and books to shelve, a letter to write for letting his siblings into the city. Shouldn't he mind the shop? He couldn't make himself move. People were talking around him, though his ears refused to hear them clearly, as if he were underwater. Could he breathe? Those eyes... why was he so bothered by those eyes? He should look away, why couldn't he look away?

A warm hand on his shoulder, and a deep breath finally came. He could finally move, feeling a creak in his upper spine as his head lifted. The gaze he then met was golden and very much alive. "What...?" Rolan murmured, still somewhat dazed and unsure if Karlach had been speaking to him before. Gods, pull yourself together. He cleared his throat a little and added, subdued but closer to his usual tone, "My apologies, I was... This... It's been quite a day."

An understatement? He supposed it was possible for the Nightsong - if indeed what Lorroakan sought was a person and not a relic - to be more than an average person. And really, when had Karlach ever lied, at least to him? Surely she'd seen more than he ever had regarding such beings, just in Moonrise alone. She wouldn't have the wool pulled over her eyes so easily. But still, a person, or a demigod or whatever...

And more than that, Karlach was promising freedom, an end to this horrid cycle. Rolan's brief wondering of 'how' was soon answered by her warning that it 'wasn't looking good' for Lorroakan. To kill him, then. And to not try so alone, but with experienced adventurers at his side... he might, they might, actually stand a chance. His fear of defeat still simmered low and cold in his stomach. Rolan knew if they failed, his siblings would never get inside the city gates, that he himself might just be killed in return for daring to go against Lorroakan. But damn it all, he had to try.

Rolan's jaw tensed at Karlach's question about his condition, but he didn't snap back. He ached down to his bones all over, but his mind was rested enough to be of use and he hadn't cast a single spell since entering Ramazith's Tower. "More than." He shelved the scroll he'd held to cover the intensity of their conversation. "He'll summon Myrmidons; he's boasted before about letting them do the dirty work. Focus on them first."

Stepping back from the shelves toward the staircase, Rolan said more clearly, "So, you've information about the Nightsong. Come with me, then." He led the way up the stairs to the tower's portal, trying to ignore the twist of terror in his gut. Gods, he was really doing this.

Rolan's hands clenched, almost to the point of drawing blood, when he saw Lorroakan terrorizing poor Miklaur. Still, Rolan did his best - after Miklaur was dismissed - to try for a neutral expression. "Master Lorroakan," how acrid the title tasted, "they claim to have found the Nightsong."

"Then you'd better hope they aren't wasting my time." As Lorroakan draped himself on that profane throne of spellbooks, Rolan had to consciously focus on taking a long, deep, silent breath through his nose.