[center][h2][b][color=#d31c0a]Deo’Irah[/color][/b][/h2][/center]

Deo’Irah, quite emphatically, trusted Lhirin more than anyone else in the room. She would believe his assertions over practically anything that anyone else said–even to the contrary of the obvious or the easily missed. Deception was at least [i]possible[/i] in anyone else, but Lhirin? He would not lie to her, he would not betray her–[i]never[/i]. She knew it in her bones, and she would never betray him either. The others… Well, that was far more up in the air–and dealing with a Fallen Thalk? Deception on some level was practically guaranteed, but whether that was half-truths or outright lies she did not know. To her mind it relied quite heavily on the contents of that book, and… well, Lhirin was the only being she trusted in her immediate vicinity who could read Melenian. Irah set about examining his soul magically as soon as her thoughts slowed down enough for her to focus again–eager to observe the effects of the piaan and add them to her mental list of notes… which she’d have Lhirin transcribe himself later. He always enjoyed the particular insights into his soul that her improved senses offered–that was one of the many bonding experiences they’d had that had cemented the unbreakable trust in their relationship. Lhirin, predictably, went right for the book–and Irah raised her own eyebrow, quite impressed with the display of fortitude he’d displayed at not devouring it immediately–that certainly was his ordinary reaction to any sort of writing that might advance his understanding of… well, anything.

She had cause for concern as her examination of his soul revealed something quite peculiar–it was, for a fragment of a second, as though he’d briefly slipped into the Ether… as though he’d entered a slumber deep enough to actively refill his magical energy. It was peculiar because that was quite patently [i]not[/i] how any of the piaan he’d imbibed previously had ever worked. She could not rule out that perhaps this batch was different, but much to her envy and chagrin the Melenians truly were peerless alchemists–she doubted very much that the product itself would cause such an anomalous side effect… and if it did, it’d affect the entire batch. Given that he then found himself drawn back to her, and even surreptitiously communicated with her using their sign language… Hm. Something was not as it seemed.

Without hesitation Irah extended her magical senses out to brush against Caleb, deliberately avoiding Freagon (with a sense of forbearance and restraint that Lhirin would likely not notice but find comparably incredible to her own) and attempting to work out what precisely had happened here–and she was intrigued by the information she received: his capacity was [i]dismally[/i] low, about half of what she’d expect for a mundane completely untrained in magic. It was increasing steadily, indicating Caleb did indeed still have a connection to the Neverrealm and was syphoning energy from there… or another source, she supposed, though that seemed to add up in her mind. What could Lhirin mean that didn’t add up, then, if not the initial premise they’d accepted without concrete evidence: that Caleb’s full summoning did, indeed, arise from Feevesha’s sacrifice?

Well. That was inconvenient. Caleb’s eyes had met hers the second she’d began examining his soul, and she had to imagine that his eyes had followed hers as she’d looked down at Lhirin’s signs–their secrecy would not work with a divine, she knew that much. Any attempt to communicate was sufficient for them to understand. The situation was precarious, now: sufficient doubt had been introduced to the story, and if Irah said as much she could not be sure that Freagon would not simply slay Caleb where he stood. She did not want him to do that, not unless Caleb’s guilt was undeniable within her mind, and from Caleb’s soul she could sense his confusion at parsing what had been communicated to her. Wordlessly she reached out to Caleb again, hoping that some warning would convince him of at least her earnestness (if she had not already):

[color=#d31c0a][b][i]“It has never been my intention to deceive you–but there are things I must ask in the open. Please do not think me hostile, Caleb.”[/i][/b][/color] she thought, a glimmer of something in her eyes that she could not quite explain.

[color=#d31c0a][b]“... I am no stranger to deception, though I hope you believe me when I say that I do not relish it. There is little point in us not being open and forthcoming at this point: I have reason to… not be certain that events happened as we have thus far surmised they had. We have operated under the assumption that it was indeed Feevesha’s sacrifice that permitted your full summoning–is that true, to the best of your knowledge, Caleb? I know that mundanes have deceived and imprisoned you in the past, and that an understandable amount of doubt must linger in your mind about the intentions of all of us… but I swear to you that I have been nothing but open and honest, and that I attribute to you the same level of personhood as I do anyone else in this room. You might be inclined to believe that all of us are rotten, but you would be wrong–kindness and compassion can blossom within all of us, and I would show you that through both deed and word. What happened, Lhirin? It was like you fell asleep–deeply asleep enough to enter the Ether for a brief moment. We cannot resort to subterfuge if we are to display our earnestness to a Fallen Angel of Deceit. Your energy is terribly low, too, Caleb–barely enough energy to fill half of a mundane’s soul untrained in magic.”[/b][/color] she said, well aware that her lengthy monologue would give Caleb plenty of time to respond–and her tone was one of carefully chosen words, curious but not accusatory. She broke eye contact with him as she began speaking, looking over at Freagon and then towards Roct, though her expression was one of genuine worry. It was this that Freagon had apparently missed–why would an Angel, by their own account imprisoned, lonely and forgotten and abused by mundanes, whose friend had ostensibly perished for offering to help, ever believe that someone threatening them so readily was any different? Perhaps he truly had no sense of empathy, or simply did not believe divines to be equivalent to people? Perhaps he was just a misanthrope. 

Deo’Irah pitied him, in many ways, to have seen such tremendous suffering as to no longer be able to believe in the potential goodness within people. She knew full well that plenty of people who espoused virtue had not a shred of it within their souls–her mind drifted immediately to the Ascended Deigan and the War of the Feathers–and also that much of the time evil was simply banal, the result of circumstances often beyond an individual’s control. The world was so much more complex than that–and the kind of cynicism that had wormed its way into Caleb and Freagon’s heart was dangerous in the most perilous way of all–dangerous to their very souls… but convincing them to abandon their vigilance close to paranoia was extremely unlikely in a single encounter. To wit, she figured that simply getting Lhirin to share the information he’d received would be the best course of action–keeping Caleb out of the loop could only end poorly. Deceit was a part of his nature, yes, but nature could be overcome–one could [i]always[/i] choose to be different; to be better. 

If asked, Irah would respond with a truthful account of the situation as she understood it.