Veracity

The door opens to Kerelas snuffing out his cigarette against his boot, letting it fall from his fingers before crunching it beneath his toe. His gaze turned to Basileios, one he truly never thought he'd see again, and he let out a soft sigh. He looks terrible… but not in the way that the old man thinks the lad is in trouble. Just. Different.

And he senses the unease, as the shadow mage finds his magic temporarily put to rest.

"Forgive me if I'm being cautious," Kerelas says in lieu of a greeting, moving his hands into the pockets of his oversized trench coat. His own magic mingles with the shadows, holding it hostage in a gentle way. Kerelas is never interested in a fight, but he knows Basileios all too well. The man lets his emotions get the best of him far too often.

The shadow mage does not speak, but he does move out of the doctor's way as Kerelas welcomes himself into the little rundown cottage. He gives the place a look around, eyeing the dust on every surface and the cobwebs in the corner. There is water splashed beside the sink, but otherwise, it appears the place has not been touched in quite a while.

"This is not your permanent residence, is it?" Kerelas asks, but he does not expect an answer. He pulls out a chair, wipes the dust from the seat with his sleeve, and sits. There is a snap from his match that follows, a bright orange flame dancing at the tip, and he lights the worn candles in the center of the table before pulling out another smoke.

"Please, join me, we have much to discuss." Kerelas looks to him, then, putting the smoke to his lips. "How did you fare the so-called curse?"