Brasenose College

Aubrey's brow raises quizzically. "...becoming?" Her demeanor shifts, a slight hint of confusion creeping along its edges as she fidgets in her chair. She thinks back, through studies and lectures her sire had given. Most had tragically slipped out one ear while the other was busy listening, but every once in a while a nugget stuck. "I mean like... Cammy said Crúac was all about being a... conduit? For like chaos and shit. That's what it all is right? Just channeling chaos into the world, yeah?"

Odin’s lips curl in a faint, sardonic smile. His gaze holds Aubrey's, sharp and unyielding. "Crúac is far more than a conduit for 'chaos and shit', as you so delicately put it." He leans forward, voice taking on a murmur that feels reverent, yet dark. "Chaos is merely the surface. Crúac taps into something ancient, primal. To wield it is not simply to create disorder, but to reshape reality itself. You pull from the void. The raw forces that bind life and death, beauty and terror. It is as much a transformation of the self as it is of the world." The professor pauses, letting his words sink in. "Are you truly ready to embody that? To become the vessel, to let those forces change you irrevocably? Because Crúac doesn’t leave those who wield it untouched. If you wish to learn, you must first understand what it will demand of you."

"Nobody gets out unscarred." Crossing one leg over the other, she narrows her eyes at the professor. "There are many things I want to achieve during my requiem, and it's become abundantly clear in just like, a week or so of being here that those things won't happen as I am now. Simple rites to get vague flashes of a vision are cute and all and totes have their place, I'm sure, but there are like, shadow monsters and dark mages and worse whatever-the-fucks running around, yeah?" "So yes," she affirms once more, placing both hands together on her lap,  "I am ready. Assuming, of course, Crúac actually is capable of besting those things." Aubrey cocks her head to one side, eyes searching his for any hint of a tell. "I've answered your questions but you haven't answered mine, 'professor' ." Leaning forward, she digs in deeper. "Francis laughed at the idea of the Circle. I'm to learn from you and yet your great show of strength was to get your hands lopped off instantly. Was there no rite to use? No recourse to take? No defensive measures in place by the Circle for their own territory?" Now she is the one to pause, the line of questioning less an accusation than an incredulous plea for something - anything - to prove this path was right. "I want you to answer me . I want to know that Crúac actually is worth being changed for. I want to know what exactly I'm "becoming". And I want to know now , before the Circle would ask me to invest any more of my very valuable time on its behalf."

Odin's expression hardens, though a glimmer of something else — perhaps pride or respect — flickers briefly in his eyes as Aubrey asserts herself. "You demand much, Aubrey, but that ambition... it may serve you well," he replies, voice low and steady. "Crúac is no shield, nor a sword in the conventional sense. It does not guarantee victory over shadowed foes or grand enemies. It evolves you. It pushes you towards becoming something that the world must reckon with." The professor folds his arms. "Francis de la Fontaine is ancient, ruthless and has wielded his power since long before this institution was founded. Two nights ago, we were unprepared for that confrontation. Francis has only recently returned to Oxford and does not have a history of hostility towards the Circle. What's more, t he Khaibit are challenging to ward off at the best of times. Should they again deem it necessary to take such direct action on Brasenose grounds, they will not find it so easy. Nevertheless, there is no shame in acknowledging reality; Crúac is not some miracle that can protect us from every threat. What it does is shape us, Aubrey. The rites, however simple they may seem, are steps. Small fractures in the mundane that break open pathways to greater power. To wield Crúac is to become an instrument of that power." Bispham leans forward, meeting Aubrey's gaze intensely. "If you choose this path, understand that it will transform you, yes, but you must learn to wield that transformation. Your strength, cunning and resolve are what Crúac will enhance. The Circle of the Crone may provide the tools, but you will be the weapon." Pausing, he lets his words linger in the air. "What you are becoming, Aubrey, is more than you are now, but only if you are ready to accept that Crúac will demand sacrifice. It will amplify the darkest parts of yourself. Can you accept that?"

The professor's answers — and, to the extent that she'd ever asked anything of him, these truly were 'answers' — were music to Aubrey's ears. Genuine acknowledgements. Actual reassurances. Vague but promising hints of the world beyond. "I can only say yes so many times in so many ways, Odin."

Odin's gaze is unwavering, the candlelight casting sharp shadows across his face. The flickering flames highlight the grooves and creases of his ageless skin, emphasizing the severity in his expression. "Then there is work to be done,"  the professor asserts, his voice low but firm, echoing in the quiet room. "On Monday night — shall we say at 2? — I will instruct you in additional techniques for focusing your mind." Bispham pauses, letting his words sink in, his eyes studying Aubrey closely. "This is necessary to channel Crúac's energy without succumbing to it. Patience and control are paramount. Crúac will test your resolve, and its power is neither predictable nor forgiving.  In the meantime, you will identify and groom an offering. A sacrifice, given willingly in pursuit of power." His gaze sharpens, cold and unrelenting. "A human soul."

Aubrey cocks her head to the side and sighs. "Another one? Are mortal souls like, the flour and eggs of kindred baking? Ugh. Don't answer that." "Anyway," She pivots with a nonchalance that would've seemed unfeasible just days before, she nods along. "Is any old soul fine then?" " Also why Monday? I'm here now. I'm ready now. Give me 15 minutes on the quad and I'll have someone ready to go."

"You may be ready, Artemis, but I'm afraid that I have plans for the rest of the night. You're lucky that you caught me at all. It is, after all, the weekend." Odin tells Aubrey with a light-hearted grin. "I know that it's hard to believe, but faculty do indeed continue to exist outside of college.  I'm afraid that you'll find that Crúac, like all worthwhile things, takes time. Think it over. Choose someone with meaning. It will make all the difference."

“Someone with meaning…? In what way? A classmate? A friend?”  The starlet groans, but quickly acquiesces.  “Some other faculty may continue existing outside of school but, and like no offense meant here obvs but like, you look like a library put on glasses. What does ‘Odin’ do on a weekend?”  She shoots him a semi-serious look of concern before a light laugh escapes her lips. “And no, the  Sunday cryptics don’t count.”

Odin’s face softens into a wry smile at Aubrey's banter, although he keeps his composure. The slightest hint of amusement twinkles enigmatically in his eyes. "Oh, you’d be surprised, Artemis,"  the professor replies, adjusting his glasses in a mock scholarly fashion, as if playing into her jest. "Perhaps I’ll let you in on my secret life when you’re a few decades older." The room grows somehow smaller and more intimate, as he considers her with a knowing glance. "Nevertheless, let us not pretend that you’re too naïve to understand. This is a step that marks the difference between those who dabble and those who… commit. As for ‘meaning’ in a choice, that’s for you to decide. Crúac demands more than random violence — it demands intent." Bispham pauses, letting his words settle heavily in the silence. "Use this weekend wisely. Reflect on what matters to you. On what, or who, you’re willing to sacrifice. Let Monday be more than just an exercise. Let it be… personal."

Aubrey’s expression changes rapidly to one of genuine interest as she gestures teasingly. “How naughty, professor. Dangling a salacious secret like that in front of me of all people. Do you know how many gossip rags hound me every day? Tsk .” “Anyway fine, fine, I understand. Some names already spring to mind…”  She strums fingers along the edge of her chin in thought, before a devious look fills her eyes. “…Would you be able to put me in contact with whoever runs the PPE track at Balliol? There’s someone I know there I would love  to reconnect with.”

"Of course," Odin replies, giving Aubrey a curious look. "Try James Forder. He's the the Dean and a PPE tutor."

Aubrey’s eyes light up. “Splendid, thank you. Well…”  she taps her fingers against the arm of her chair, “…unless you have like, any rites you can teach in minutes to deal with a strix, I’ll be off then. I’m guessing in between rounds of golf or alphabetizing your textbook collection you can let Hera know the sitch?” Stopping in the doorway, she pauses. “ For the record we’re going after this thing tonight at Keble I believe. So. You know. Do with that what you will.”

"Tonight?" Odin questions in marked surprise, gestures for Aubrey to wait. He leans back in his chair and steeples his fingers, regarding his student thoughtfully. "There is one relevant rite that I can teach quickly,"  the professor replies evenly, a shadow of concern beneath his calm exterior, "but it is not without its risks. Understand this, Artemis; if you go charging off into the unknown unprepared, rite or no rite, you’re likely to find yourself overwhelmed. The Strix are not creatures to underestimate."

Aubrey nods. “I get that. I don’t totes know what I’m supposed to do really, but Francis said Rae will be bait for it, and suggested my Majesty would be useful as the strix wouldn’t like, expect it maybe?” “But yes I’ll be careful ,” she smiles, though she looks to him more with an eager bit of anticipation than anything else. “So what is this rite though?”

"The Veil of the Warded Flame ," Odin explains. "It creates a barrier of supernatural fire  —  one that the Strix loathe and cannot easily cross. However," he adds, his tone grave, "the flames are not selective. You will need focus and precision to prevent collateral damage. It requires blood, willpower and the ash of burned bone. If you’re interested, we can prepare it now."

Aubrey’s eyes widen. “That sounds absolutely splendid. Wait is that what you did to the quad when Francis came?”  She recalls the way the whole of the area seemed to become engulfed in fire that evening. Regardless, a chance to actually learn something beyond simple divination seemed… tantalizingly exciting to her.  “Either way, I’m ready.”

Odin nods in confirmation, gesturing to Aubrey to sit once more. From one of the tall bookshelves, he retrieves an ancient, leather-bound tome and sets it on the desk, its scent of old parchment and smoke filling the air. Flipping to a page marked by a ribbon of black silk, he reveals an intricate illustration of flickering flames encircling a sigil. The professor explains the rite step by step, his voice calm but firm. "First, you'll need ash from bone — ideally, vampiric bone, though mortal may suffice. It must be mixed with your vitae, forming a paste to inscribe the sigil at the intended warding site." He demonstrates by dipping his finger in a crimson inkpot and tracing a simplified version of the sigil on parchment. "You focus your will here," Bispham explains, tapping the center of the design. "The fire responds to intent. Concentrate on what you wish to protect and whom you wish to repel. This must be done while chanting the invocation. Speak with conviction — Crúac draws power from your resolve." He takes a small dish, fills it with bone ash and adds a single drop of vitae. The mixture turns dark and viscous. "Now, the most important part: lighting the flame. You will imbue the sigil with your vitae and the fire will rise. Be warned — the fire hungers. Too much distraction and it will spiral beyond your control. Too little and it will fizzle out,"  Odin adds,  handing Aubrey the parchment with the sigil. "Draw it now. Feel the connection. When you’re ready, we’ll test it together."

Aubrey’s eyes follow his hands closely as he traces his sigil across the parchment, carefully mimicking the gesture in the air wordlessly. When he signals for her to try, she is ready. Fingers delicately embrace ash, athame drawing forth drops of vitae to fuel the flame. She chants low, but imparts each word with an image of desire. There was only one image in her mind as she, only one that could  come to mind. And it wasn’t the strix. Odin said the rite was one of warding; protection. She would make it one of power. “Fire birthed from marrow, consume the vile in blood and flame…” With Francis’ visage all she could envision, the last drop of vitae touches ash… and ignites across the parchment.  Her eyes widen, their glassy lens reflecting the brilliant green that sucks the oxygen from the air around them, its every tress and curl like a mane of untamed hair atop a dancer’s head, twisting in shadow and light for a soul to steal with its charm. Mesmerized, she can scarcely look up to the professor to question it. “It’s… beautiful. But, yours was blue, wasn’t it?”

Odin observes the green flames dancing on the parchment with a curious intensity, casting long shadows across the dimly lit office. "Green," he murmurs, leaning slightly forward to inspect the manifestation. "How interesting. Crúac responds to the practioner's will, their emotions, their intent. Each flame is unique, shaped by the essence of the one who calls it forth." The professor straightens, his voice calm but tinged with a note of warning. "Green is often the colour of ambition... or envy. A reflection of your desires, perhaps? The fire reveals much about its conjurer. Remember, Artemis: power is a double-edged blade. Wield it without care, and it will turn on you." A faint smile graces his lips as he gestures toward the flame. "Nevertheless, I must admit... it is beautiful. Far more vibrant than mine ever was. The blue that you saw before was born from my will — focused, disciplined, unyielding. This green... it's alive, untamed. There is potential here, Artemis. Great potential." He steps back, motioning towards the flame. "Now, focus. Hold it steady, shape it. Show me that you can control what you’ve summoned. The fire may be beautiful, but beauty without discipline is dangerous."

Eyes never leaving the fire she’d birthed, Artemis  listens at otherwise rapt attention. ”Ambition is accurate. I know who I am. I know what I want. ” She focuses in, harnessing the very essence of her blood into the dancing flame, Stretching forth across the thin air to exert her will over it. Its own will was evident. Lashes of fire spin themselves about, like snapping dogs gnashing the air in hunger for the flesh just out of reach. Teeth clench, brow furrows, and for a moment she fears she’d fail. The fire quivers, shrinking to a narrow point at the parchment’s center… and along with it so do all the candles in the room, simultaneously smothered to the point of suffocation. Then, altogether, the various flames roar back to life, all awash in vivid greens that flutter and expand. The candles glow brightly, their wax rapidly melting beneath them as in the center, the dancing fire once more envelopes the parchment, quickly consuming it.  It’s wild, overflowing with life… yet, managed. Controlled.  “I didn’t do that… but… I have it now.”

Odin watches intently, his expression one of measured approval as the fire transforms under Aubrey's determination. The room's air hangs thick with the scent of charred wax, and the flickering green illumination casts ethereal shadows across their faces. "You didn't do that, no," he agrees, his voice steady but edged with meaning. "That was Crúac responding to your will... and your blood. You see now what I meant by its power being alive. It adapts, evolves and, yet, it is yours to command." The professor leans closer, gesturing toward the emerald flames that still dance fiercely. "Mark this well, Artemis: control is not absolute. It is a dialogue, not a conquest. Crúac will test you, push you, demand more than you think you can give. For now, you've managed to assert dominance — but never assume that it will obey without question." Pausing, his expression softens just slightly. "That said, you've done well. Far better than I expected for your first attempt. This rite... your rite... will serve you well tonight against the Strix. However, it will also watch you closely, as will I. Now, extinguish it and let us see if your mastery extends to its end as well as its birth."

Scoffing, at least internally, at his overly cautious warnings, Aubrey continues to manipulate the flame, drawn in by its warmth and mesmerized by its movement, its grace, its power. She was being asked to kill that which she’d created and… in the moment, for just a moment, she falters. She wills it to end, but its own will is greater. Its hunger screams back, the flames across the room flaring up in protest, and for a brief second a vision of fire and ash fills her mind; burnt husks and hunger sated. Eyes widen, then sharpen, her expression hardened by these weeks of turmoil. Aubrey raises a hand, fingers curling sharply inward with a twist of the wrist as her will exerts itself again, stronger this time. At once the room is cast into darkness and smoke, as every flame is snuffed in one fell swoop. “There,”  she leans back in her seat, gaze finally lifting from her creation to her mentor. “I… didn’t want to, to be honest. It was so beautiful. So… like, raw. Actual power.”   Her voice is different as she grasps at explaining the intangible. Her usual assuredness and bravado is replaced with something stranger: frank vulnerability. “I haven’t felt like I had any like that… not since Cammy first taught me Majesty. And that didn’t last long since I then learned how, like, it just provokes other kindred real fast. This was legit. And it was just a taste but… bloody exhilarating.”

Darkness fills the room, swiftly followed by an audible crack .   Where Aubrey's emerald flame had moments ago flickered and danced, a jagged fissure now mars the surface of Odin's desk. The professor observes his student quietly for a moment, lingering wisps of smoke casting faint traces in the air. His hands return to their steepled position in front of him and the faintest flicker of satisfaction breaks through his usually stoic demeanour. “Good,” Bispham says finally, his voice calm, but laced with approval. “Power without control is destruction, Artemis. I had wondered if you’d grasp that truth — if you’d see that the flame is only as beautiful as your ability to contain it. It seems that you’ve passed your first test.” He leans forward slightly, his eyes meeting hers with renewed intensity. “Remember this: Crúac demands . It is not merely a tool; it is a pact. It gives you power, yes, but it also takes from you — whether you realise it or not. What you felt. That exhilaration? That hunger? It will grow stronger the more you wield it. You must learn to temper that hunger, or it will consume you.” Aubrey’s vulnerability does not go unnoticed and Odin softens his tone slightly, though his words remain measured. “You’ve glimpsed what you can become and that is no small thing. The path ahead is long. This is just the beginning.  Tonight, you’ve learned to create and to destroy," he continues, gesturing to the ashes on the desk. "Both are essential and will serve you well in the nights to come. We’ll speak again after you’ve secured your offering. Until then…” the professor leans back, his tone becoming almost casual again,  “…rest. You’ll need it.”

For once, as Odin once more stresses his lesson’s point, the acolyte listens attentively. Aubrey feels the same pang of wonder imagining her potential with crúac as she first had the night Cammy sat her down and explained just what it meant to be kindred. Limitless possibility, tempered only by the dangers those possibilities invited. It was a swirl of emotion that built from her stomach and rose into her chest, which felt awash in a warmth it would never again truly know. ”Right right right, well I have some shit to take care of ー especially, like, regarding finding my ‘plus one’ for out next sesh, but I’ll try. No promises, of course,”  she winks. “By the way… unless you know a kindred in need of killing, you wouldn’t mind sharing some of those ashes would you? Just this one time, for your favorite pupil, right?”  With practiced precision and an obvious bit of self-awareness, she bats her eyelashes at him.

Odin leans back in his chair with a grin. "At risk of repeating myself, Artemis, Crúac demands sacrifice. You will find the rite all the more potent for it. Good luck  ー with both the ash and the Strix."

Aubrey scowls, then rises from her chair for the door.  “Yeah well, maybe sometimes Crúac can like, demand a student be given a break, hmm?”  She feigns frustration, but shrugs. “Guess I’ll be off then, got a lot to do to prepare all these “sacrifices” and plus one’s.”  Opening the door, she stops halfway through the threshold and looks back with a congenial smile. “Thank you for the sudden lesson, professor.” And with that, she leaves. Making her way back towards the quad, ideas for said sacrifices already begin to swim with possibility through her mind. Two names in particular jump straight to the top of that list. The first of those necessitated an already overdue message: Heyyy I’m super sorry I’ve been totes MIA the last couple days some craaazy stuff came up but I’m back in my dorm now and I want to see you! Wanna hear what like, you’ve been up to and catch upppp <333 Her ghoul had been the furthest thing from her mind for most of the last 72 hours, truth be told, but it became incredibly apparent to her now that little Nora and her mortal problems may be exactly what she needed to solve her more important kindred ones. “Crúac demanded a price”, after all. Speaking of which, she knew who else she’d seen had reached out: Hey heyy saw you messaged me and I’m sorry, kinda had a wiiiillld…ly bad couple nights and could really use a frappe and chill kinda hang again soon. If you don’t have any like, big quidditch games coming up tonight or tomorrow lmao She sits back, staring at Khalid’s name at the top of their personal chat. The mage was one of the few people at Oxford she had come to, at least to some degree, generally enjoy being around over these short couple weeks. That made the text one of the only ones her words held any genuine meaning to. Was that bad? No , she assured herself. None of them meant anything beyond what they did for her anyway, after all. btw dunno if I mentioned it, might’ve and the blur of this week made me forget but like, met up w Rae-rae! She has the personality of a textbook but we still got a lot done I think, thanks for hooking me up :) As she finished sending the messages off, she couldn’t help but wonder if a mage would suffice as a sacrifice for crúac, or if their own magics would make things too messy.  Something to think about,  she shrugged. Humming to herself, she turned at last to her second-most promising lead. Pulling up Oxford’s site, she began searching contact info for Dean Forder of Balliol, and began typing out an e-mail. Dear Dear Forder, Hope you’re enjoying your weekend. My name is Aubrey Knight, I’m a student of Professor Bispham’s in Brasenose. I was directed to you by him with regards to an inquiry I had that I’d greatly appreciate the chance to discuss in person, if possible? I apologise for the vagueness, but would appreciate your help with this matter, ideally as soon as you are able. Anyway, thank you for your assistance, Kindly, Aubrey Knight 15 minutes of agonizing over actually trying to type a formal message later, she was do- Liam texted again. A sudden show? And you want me to show up again hmm? First one was free luv but second and on I charge by the song ;)