Moebius did not know by what magic he was made to suffer, but he knew that Capella had unleashed it against him. One moment, he was staring at her from across the clearing. And in the next, her black eyes had expanded and reached for him and dragged him into an ancient, black lake and his next breath caused him to draw in cold water. He was drowning, with the last thing in his mind being sharp teeth and a cruel smile.
Within the blink of an eye, he was back in the clearing, dry as a bone and still holding his book. The only evidence that Moebius had been drowning came when he took in air and hacked up old, brackish water from behind his face mask. This woman, whoever she was, was powerful. More powerful than he himself was, but perhaps also more limited. All of her victims had died by drowning, yet if she had information that Moebius could use, then she had knowledge of other magics and spells and forms of torture. She was not, then, a mortal witch or an immortal one. She was a force of nature. Such things could not be killed or destroyed, not easily and not without repercussions. They could, however, be re-directed, controlled, mastered. If the mage had patience and knowledge.
If she tried that trick again, Moebius had a stone knife, blood, and could hold his breath for the few moments he needed. For the moment, however, he planned to tread carefully. He shuffled to a rock that he had passed a few times, a small boulder that would function well as a perch for his hunched form. He pondered Capella's offer...
The magic pact was a sort he could not escape from, not now and perhaps not ever. And he did not know if he could trust himself with the truth. What if Capella asked about his weaknesses? His errors? Embarrassing childhood secrets that had belonged to Samuel, and which would taint the name of Moebius if they were to ever be connected to him?!
Then again, Moebius knew of no weaknesses that he had, aside from those stemming from mortality. Weaknesses that would, eventually, be fixed. Yes, yes, perhaps it would be worth his time. Worth his few, meager secrets.
"Fine then. I shall pay your price and play your game. All my questions shall be answered truthfully, and all of yours shall be in turn... I shall go first."
He took a moment to ponder his first question, then he turned his red eyes back towards Lady Capella. A test question, one that she had avoided before. If she did not answer, or got out of answering it, he would know not to trust any of her words, nor to offer truth in turn. If she did answer... then he had a dozen questions regarding artifacts of power and names of demons and dead magicians.
"What are you, truly?"