Go fish

Kellam stood in the small office, eyeing the tea and biscuits with a flicker of disdain that melted into resigned amusement. Of course, Rosalie would offer something so domestic. It was her way—a small, grounding gesture amidst the chaos. Malakar stirred within him, a low growl of derision that Kellam ignored as he poured the tea with careful precision. The satchel at his side thudded lightly as he set it down, the tomes inside emitting an almost palpable sense of age and power.

When Rosalie entered, clean and composed, Kellam offered a faint, crooked smile. It didn’t reach his eyes, but then again, it rarely did.

You’re as hospitable as ever, Rosalie. A welcome reprieve from the general unpleasantness of the world. His tone was calm, but there was an edge to it, as if he was constantly fighting to keep himself in check. Malakar’s voice whispered venomous commentary in the back of his mind, but Kellam focused on Rosalie. Around her, he could maintain control.

He leaned back slightly in the chair, one hand resting on the satchel as he watched her with a mixture of appreciation and guarded curiosity. As for how everything’s going... well, let’s just say I’ve had better days. But enough about my charming life. I’ve brought you something I think you’ll find... stimulating.

Kellam pulled the largest tome from the satchel, the leather cover worn and cracked with age, its surface marked by intricate Elvhen runes. He set it on the desk with a deliberate motion, fingers lingering briefly on the cover. This one’s a puzzle, even for me. Ancient Elvhen script, but with dialects I’ve never seen. And this section— he flipped open the book to a page filled with dense, spidery text interspersed with ominous diagrams——appears to delve into the Blight. Potentially even its origins.

He leaned back, crossing his arms. Thought of you immediately, of course. You always did enjoy a good challenge. And... I trust this sort of thing is still in your wheelhouse? His voice held a teasing lilt, but his eyes betrayed a deeper trust—a belief that if anyone could unravel the mysteries of the tome, it was her.

The demon within stirred again, a flicker of malice in Kellam’s expression that was gone as quickly as it had appeared. He cleared his throat, forcing a lighter tone. The tea’s decent, by the way. Biscuits could use work. A smirk tugged at his lips, his version of a peace offering.

@Rosalie Rutherford