Seeking of the Butcher

[Mariana Xiechai]

Another murder, lying there in the snow, the whiteness sorely sullied by the tainted scarlet hue of the man's blood. People had gathered 'round to get a glimpse of the stiffening corpse, rigor mortis making the muscles clench and become permanently tetanic in death. Such a strange, eternally strange thing to see, really. When one expected the body to merely vanish into oblivion, into the Dark Lady's Realm, to be restored to wholeness. But the serrated dagger thrust deep into the merchant's neck, laden with a thick viscous liquid, assured that he would never again walk beneath the dome.

Beside it stooped one individual, carefully and meticulously looking for clues or hints as to the reason for the death. Certainly things would not have been so severe if this had been murder of a simpler sort, one that would result in the victim's resurfacing from the Death Realm at some undisclosed time. This act of malice was entirely different, and the air was now impregnated with the realization of what it meant. Hushed voices whispering amongst one another, frantic tones with impassioned queries. "Will I be next? Who could have done this? What motivation could they possibly possess? "

Running fingers around the dirt surrounding the body and ignoring the growing tension, the klyros swirled the snow in her claws, feeling for something, clues of what had happened. A hood shadowed her face, nestled deeply in the fabric so that her features could not be glimpsed. Her voice was disembodied as a result, as she cleared her throat and spoke in controlled, even tones:

“Did anyone see what happened here?”

Dead silence was the response, infecting the growing audience. The murmuring stopped, and nobody offered a single clue as to what events might have occurred to lead to the Ylian's demise. With a sigh, the klyros woman removed a strip of gossamer fabric from her travel-sack and carefully wrapped it around the hilt of the weapon. She drew it out in one quick motion, encasing it entirely in the silk, bloody blade and all. Replacing this makeshift package amongst her other belongings, she rose to her feet, careful to keep the hood from falling back from her face, and turned to go.

Twelve.

A death-toll that did not sit well in her gut, especially because she knew it had all been done by the same individual. At least, as she surmised. Every time it was the same blow, and the same methodology. She could not find a specific target. The races terminated didn't follow a specific pattern, and thus far none seemed to have been left out at all. The goal or purpose of this killer was nearly impossible to deduce. Mania was surely a player, but even a madman usually had a goal that rang with logic within his own mind...

Screaming halted the thread of thought. There was no reason to turn around and see what the crowd was gawking at, for she knew the results of this particular poison. Withdrawn from the mortal wound, it had still entered the circulatory system, and its passage through the body would allow the unfurling of the stuff that held it together: tendons, ligaments, the millions of fibers and proteins that made up the man's skin and muscles and organs. From a microscopic point outward, this venom would literally shred the victim apart, until it collapsed in upon itself. A sort of burning without fire, an acidic solution that unraveled flesh and blood and bone at its very core. First the smaller things would collapse, the extremities, the fingers and toes and the finer details of the face reduced to so much powdery dust. Then the legs and arms, traveling rapidly upward to collapse the chest cavity, devouring the head and blackened eyes at last. The scent that followed was a potent one, more chemical than anything else, unnatural, cloying. Coughing and whimpering could be heard as the people fell witness to this horror, and the murmurings rose anew:

"Who could use such a thing? Can you believe what just happened? Did you see how it killed him? He's gone, there's nothing but some dirt here now!"

She made quick work of traversing the road, the clacking of her boots the only audible thing. Her robes covered her entirely, and she could feel even her wings wrapped tightly against her body, granting her even the anonymity that disguised her rather distinguishable species.

Stopping before one specific door, the klyros looked about her in a way that bespoke of obvious paranoia, searching for followers that might have taken it upon themselves to seek after her. Satisfied, she put key to lock and triggered the deadbolt, quickly slipping inside and shutting the door behind her. A series of intricate fasteners and chains lined the edge of the door, and she activated each and every one of them in practiced succession, finally sliding the wooden bar firmly into place across the door's width and stepping back with a satisfied nod at the security of the arrangement.

Her next step was to of course make sure that the entire house was truly secure. With only one floor to speak of and sparse space, it didn't take long to search every nook and cranny. Beneath the table, the counters and the bed. Inside the closets and wardrobe. Poking her head into the pantry, where the smell of freshly baked products as well as some fouler alchemical scents assailed her with their familiarity, she was finally satisfied with that she was truly alone.

The cloak came off to reveal her slight frame and simple homespun clothing. Simple, but carefully pressed and cleaned. Everything about herself and her possessions was clean. Her scales were neatly polished and her leather boots were recently shined. The floor beneath her feet had been waxed to perfection, not a speck of dust visible. Every bit of wood was properly finished and shone from the care given. Pots and pans were arranged in neat, orderly stacks, starting with the smaller varieties and ending with the larger. Lines and lines of bookshelves that covered the entirety of the southernmost wall were arranged in alphabetical order, their bindings facing outward for easy access.

Flexing her wings, the klyros folded the dark cloak in half, vertically then horizontally, so that the edges lined up precisely and crisply. She crossed to the wardrobe and her eyes wandered down it until she came to the desired drawer, which she opened to reveal similar articles of organized clothing, one space precisely the right size present where she neatly inserted the cloak. She shut the drawer and turned about, unclasping the pouch from around her waist and gently setting it down on the table beside a supple pair of white gloves.

Donning these, the woman withdrew the knife once more and unwrapped it so that it lay unassumingly amidst the layers of fabric she'd placed it in. Her nimble fingers picked it up and turned it this way and that, noting the different scratch marks upon its surface, namely the hilt that the accost-er had at one point held in their hands. Murky white eyes studied the subtle signs with an eerie, pupil-less attention. Her thoughts rambled in a mostly incoherent pattern.

Deep depressions. The grip was firm, but more than that, pommel grasped with naked palm. Depicts anxiety. No, eagerness more akin the the truth, they're used to stealing life by now. Eager to plunge it into flesh, yes, most likely that is the reason for tensing of muscles. These scratches, they tell something, don't they? Klyran or Enkidukai. No, enki without a doubt, not wide enough to compensate for klyros claws.

To test that theory, she delicately placed the tip of one of her own claws carefully over the slightly scratch marks, smiling with self-satisfaction as she realized this was in fact truth. Bringing the weapon closer to eye level, she studied carefully the end of the hilt, the place where the knuckles of thumb and index finger would have held fast. There in the tight junction where the metal had been welded together, the smallest clump of fur had been caught. Her hand snaked into her pack and pulled out a pair of steel-tipped pliers, which she used to carefully pluck the patch of fur free. She placed it on her palm and gently coaxed the strands to separate, revealing a combination of orange and black furs. A satisfied 'hm,' another smile of revelation.

Enkidukai. Akkaio. Gender yet unspecified.

Placing the knife so that it rested in a perfectly straight line, she shuffled to her feet and disappeared briefly into her pantry. One half set aside for food, the other for an assortment of alternative ingredients. Mixing them up would be quite a problem, and could end in more than some unpleasant indigestion.

Selecting a few packages of sorted, finely ground powders and some vials of labeled solution, she strode back to the table and laid them all out in a pristine fashion across the wooden surface. Using a small, flattened wooden tool, she scooped up what she could of the poison, intermingled with the blood from the diseased, and turned to open the first package. A sprinkling over the solution caused a bubbling and hissing, and the blood was dissolved, to leave a more purified compound that could be more easily tested. This process was repeated, on down the line, one solution after another, separating out each individual part of the poison so that they could be more easily defined. Chemicals reacting with only specific counterparts, a rigorous process of elimination. Ending with a clear, translucent liquid that rested in an unsteady meniscus at the very bottom of the final vial, the klyros looked back at the trail of sorted components. Her gaze flicked over each, and with each, she made a deduction:

Reacted with more acidic properties. Increased propensity for higher polarity. Specifically, yarrow root. Dissolves in like, potentially a hint of dark mushroom with similar properties. This, dissolves more basic, less acidity, more likely some sort of plant. Organic property. Non-toxic, scent aromatic, most likely starphire or daintywhisp. Last compound...

Fingers holding the top of the vial lightly, using only the tips of her claws, she swirled the substance around before dipping the end of the stick into a thick, yellowish liquid and allowing a single drop to misc with the isolated solution. Pressing her thumb firmly over the opening, she mixed the two together and waited, a smile growing wide to show her finely pointed teeth, as they evenly withdrew from one another, as water with oil.

Immiscible in n'ra root extract. Binding agent of dark mushroom and daintywhisp or starphire. Main chemical ingredient in delivering ultimate lethal contaminant. Likely fungus type, relative of the dark mushroom, with slightly altered properties, palana mushroom most likely.

Setting these findings aside on the table and for the moment, painfully ignoring the mess, she scurried over towards her bookshelf while carefully sliding the stained gloves from her hands. She perused the ordered lines of tomes and finally came upon the one she sought, assorted flora of the dome level, and drew it out. Flipping to a specific number of pages, she affirmed her understanding that every piece of the killing poultice could be found upon that level, most commonly, where the radioactive rays of the crystal were most prominent. That could mean that the killer originated from that level, or, more likely, that his provider was stationed on that level, generating the illegal substance and selling it for a hefty sum. Either way, it was her only real lead, and she would follow it as a hound upon a trail. Such an exchange was typically not done by an unwitting salesman or traveler, for the retribution for such distribution was death of the permanent variety, and the cost outweighed far the benefit.

No, such an exchange occurred from the hands of the maker to the hands of the buyer only.

After a cleaning that included a rigorous attention to detail, the klyros quickly packed the belongings she thought most she would need. Countless numbers of tiny vials and packages all situated in their proper places, lining her pouch that was tied tightly around her waist. On went a simple blue tunic, and on a black pair of trousers, concealing the items at least for the time being until she could find her way out of the city. No disguise of the physical was necessary, for she'd found over the years that a change in character threw off most shady followers far better than any mask. Turning to the mirror, she watched as her expression molded into one of anxiety. Shifting eyes, glassy gaze, wringing fingers.

“S'not anything to concern yourself with, you see. I don't matter, not at all. I'm just a writer, and I dabble with alchemy. S'not of import, nothing, nothing, nothing at all.” Her chin twitched in time, glance lowering to the ground, the ultimate image of submissive and shy character. Personality now buried deeply behind this facade, she picked up another, larger set of bags and tossed it over her shoulder. Her fingers skipped lightly over the locks, her ears picked up the clicking sounds of their release, and she slid the door open to greet the dim light of night. A deep breath of air to fill her frail and fragile chest, and she hurried towards the Pterosaur across down.

Towards the killer.

Towards the dome.

[Mariana Xiechai]

Ah, yes. A good old-fashioned serial killer mystery. This'll be my first attempt at molding an RP, hopefully it goes over well, but bear with me on RPing this specific character (most likely you haven't met her yet.) She's a bit complex and I'm still hashing out the details.

This is why I should not have been allowed to watch Sherlock Holmes, kids.

[Phantomboy86]

Hehehe, somehow I feel I know where this is going.

[Mariana Xiechai]

The dripping from those blasted cracks in the walls was becoming a form of torture. The condensation became a steady, trickling collection of moisture, constantly replenishing, filling these accursed tunnels with the drip, drip, drip. His subconscious was already counting those subtle patters, following their rhythm, throwing off his train of thought every time he got it back onto the right track. It was utterly infuriating. He decided then that he should add water to his long list of hates. Holier than thou's, dirt and grime, liars, water...

No, no, that wasn't the right place to put it on the list. Liars. Liars was the thing he hated most, the thing he loathed. So many liars and pretenders, little garden snakes with slitted eyes and forked tongues. Beautiful masks upon stress-strained faces. Ready to flick those silver tongues and weave a web of security around their own person. Don't let anyone crack them open and expose them to the sun, you see. The wreak of urine and feces would surely accompany such an exposure, brought about by the rotting ridiculous certainty of their own piety and self-importance. Lost in their own world, stumbling through a vision of charmflowers and crystal shine and all the pretty things that illicit oohs and ahhs from the observer. Because the world was a lovely place, was it not? Yliakum, this insignificant little hollowed rock, was such a pretty pretty place.

But no. That wasn't true either, was it? Delusion was their ally and folly their lover. They couldn't even see the grime that covered them. Couldn't even realize that there was darkness within, an infection, a plague, bubonic in origin. It brought about the wreaking necropsy of mind and soul. And they could not fight it, of course they couldn't, because they'd veiled themselves in this foolhardy notion that they were good, ever so good and righteous and wonderful and special little...

Time to break them of that fool notion. Time to render them incoherent in the face of their own failure. Time to make them stare into their own blackened despicable spirits and send them screaming in horror. Because only in this way could he save them. Surely there was nothing quite so holy as exposing a larvae to its own sickening waste and debris. Only then can it be inspired to dig itself out of its own muck, isn't that right? Send it and inspire it to drive to the leaf, to make a cacoon and chrysalis and emerge a new and truly refined life form. Realize how fallen you are, then reach for the stars. That was how the method would work, that was how he would show the world the truth.

The ylian's hand shook with eagerness. No one suspected him in this town, perhaps the neglect of the octarchy included the reluctance to spread word of his doings. That was good; that meant he could continue his quest in peace. Play the part of the comical jester, the smooth-tongued diplomat. Trust was so easily garnered, anyone who said otherwise thought too highly of their own sense of judgment. No, the trusting was easy. It was the luring that was considerably difficult, but that part was simplistic. A simple plan for the simple minded, and he already had his targets pruned from the lot and selected for their character.

Of course nothing was nearly as fun without the hint of a chase. A good game of enki and mouse, so to speak, though the enki's role in this case was nearly at an end. A worthy opponent he could never find, but the woman came close at least. Had followed him from the lower levels submerged in water all the way to the barn, and now she would follow him here, dutifully chasing after the clues he'd left for her.

Some specially imported ingredients were all it had taken. He figured from the mindless and relatively brutal state of his victims, she had assumed him as little more than a volatile thug. Imagine her surprise when she realized the intricate nature of his schemes! That he was, in fact, a savior rather than a monster! All he wanted to do was bring revelation to these poor hapless creatures. To help them to see the Truth of what they were, of their own depravity. It was a costly thing to be sure...and so very difficult to set up, but in the end he would show them all the Truth. It was all building, growing up, becoming what he needed it to become. Just a few more pieces set in place, a few more bodies, a few more minute pieces to generate the whole and glorious puzzle. Perspiration leaked into his eyes and stung them, and he wiped his quaking hand across his brow. His tongue slid eagerly around his lips and he slowly brought his gaze upwards, towards his newest victim, who had provided him with the vital bait that would bring the klyros hot upon his heels.

The Azure Way glyphs in his pouch shimmered and jumped, coaxed by his prodding to work. Of course, he wasn't obvious about their usage, and he kept them hidden carefully from sight. Only the foolish boasted their prowess in the open, and thus were shipped instantly to the Crystal. He was intelligent. An eagle looking down on a colony of ants, poised to crush just enough to get their attention, and then deliver a final, historic blow. And it surely would be remembered for all time, for once their weeping had ceased, they would revel in the revelation!

Stooping down with a knife held in black-gloved fingers, he smiled at the tightly bound akkaio menki. Caught in the throes of his carefully generated illusion, this newest victim frothed at the mouth, blind folded, mumbling and babbling incoherent words. Now and then it was punctuated with a scream, and he thrashed about, flailing at an unseen assailant—or perhaps being the assailant himself.

“Die!”

The shriek came not from himself but from the enkidukai before him, and he chuckled deeply as his unsheathed claws thrashed against his bonds. Spittle flew from his muzzle and onto the Ylian's face, which caused a scowl and a near back-hand across the furry cheek. But he refrained. It was almost time now, the game had been played out to completion, had been won already. He'd taken the bait and followed the scent of cheese like a good little rodent, only to find the mouse trap at the end crushing down upon his brain stem and severing the synapse signals to the rest of his body. Yes, soon he would be twitching on the floor. Very, very soon.

Expertly twirling the poisoned dagger in his hands, the Ylian carefully gripped the dripping blade between his fingertips and began to speak, the hum of his manipulative magic growing louder to a high-pitched whirr. Eagerness nearly making his voice waver, he spoke to the menki, through him, and into his mind.

“Look at what you have done,” he said, plunging deep into the illusion himself to become a phantasmal voice, his tone ringing out with condemnation. He suppressed laughter at what he saw: the blurry image of the enki, spinning around in circles, paws bloodied with the murders of his own imaginary family. Such a good man he'd been, but so easy brought to his knees. Children and wife slain at his feet. By his own hand, and only at the urging of the prickle in the back of his head, telling him that if he did not carry through, his own life would be forfeit.

Because even the most magnificently meritorious men were so easily swayed to killing!

“You've killed them. They're gone, forever, and look at what you are. A worthless creature. A bloodthirsty hound on the trail of the rabbit. Look at yourself!”

A clanging echoed throughout the vision, as mirrors rose all around the menki. His eyes widened in horror as he was forced to stare at himself, unable to look away, locked amidst these garish images of his own sadistic soul. He looked down at the cherished, beloved people at his feet, and for a moment the shock was too great to register. When it did, he sank to his knees and gripped his ears with scarlet-furred paws and began to wail a low, piteous sound. For this was no illusion to him. Oh no, this was reality, so perfectly fabricated by the Ylian's skill that it was nearly impossible to tear through to reach any stable ground on the other side. His despair sent ripples through the artificial walls founded upon thought, and they filled their builder with indescribable pleasure.

“You're worthless!”

“Worthless!” The menki repeated, voice barely rasping from his parched throat.

“A killer!”

“A killer! A wrathful, violent killer!”

“Tell me what you are!”

Trembling was the only response for a time. Eyes fixed upon the nearest pane of reflective glass, the menki was staring into his own haunted orbs, into his very soul. Ah, this was the part he always cherished the most, this was what it was all about. To see their expression when they were brought to this place, brought to fully understand their own terrible Truth. He could see it now, and surely he understood.

“I am evil,” he said, as if speaking to himself. “I am evil.”

The mirror shattered, sending shards flying out towards him. One landed upon his limp and outstretched paws, sharp as a harsh winter's breath, lethal as any weapon. Looking down at it, so close to himself, it took only a matter of moments to grab it in a harsh grip and thrust it deeply into his own chest.

Simultaneously, his real paw reached out and grabbed the dagger, and repeated the process as he slid it out of the eager, expectant fingers that offered it to him.

Rising once more, he wiped his gloved hands thoroughly as he watched his victim twitch and turn about, the effects of the poison fast-acting. The degeneration would occur later of course, he needed to give the lovely Evirea time to catch up, after all. Time to track down his newest prize and connect it to him. With that reassurance, she would be fully tangled in his web, free to be his pawn to control. And what a wonderful pawn she would be. Perhaps even a bishop, or a queen, if she proved to be worth her merit.

“Evirea,” he murmured, detaching the body from the pole and beginning to drag it along in the sewers. Time to plant it out in the open for all to see. Of course he wouldn't be able to observe there reactions, but it was fun to imagine what they might think when they witnessed what he had done.

He rolled the name over in his mouth again, tasted every syllable. “E—vir—ea...”

Time for you to join in my little game.

[Mariana Xiechai]

I certainly hope not, Batman

[Phantomboy86]

By using my alias, that makes it all the more likely that I'm on the case and or have solved it. XD

[Dannae]

Said before and am compelled over and over again... I love the stories and the way you write, Mariana 

[Mariana Xiechai]

Why thank you Dannae. This one is actually an ongoing roleplay I hope to involve more people in. Your words are very encouraging 

[Sserp Detaicossa]

[Tentative, pending approval from interested parties]
 
Iss. #1 - FREE!

THE AMDENEIR GAZETTE               
"For the Good of Society"

brought to you in part by:
- Ad Libertatum -
               

Contents:

P.1 TRUE DEATH KILLER TERRORIZES HYDLAA - An Investigative Report

P.2 RELIGIOUS CONFLICT BREWING?

P.3 NEW RESEARCH IN HEALING MAGIC

P.4 FIREBREATHING SKELETON ATTACKS TRAVELERS

P.5 AD LIBERTATUM DECRIES OCTARCHAL DECREES

====================================================================

P.1

TRUE DEATH KILLER TERRORIZES HYDLAA
An Investigative Report, by Sserp Detaicossa

     Whispers of dark dealings in and around the city of Hydlaa have been spreading across the Dome like wildfire, including to my home-city of Amdeneir. There have been stories of gruesome murders resulting in True Death with bodies tied to the plaza fountain, beatings in which starphire flowers were left on the victims, and other crimes ranging from burglery to kidnapping. Setting out to uncover the realities behind the rumors, this reporter had no idea how deeply buried the truth would be. And even as this goes to print, new theories and evidence continue to come to light.

     The story that reached Amdeneir was that the bloodied body of a fenki minstrel was found chained to the ballastrades of the fountain in Hydlaa Plaza. A knife was found stuck inside the body, and upon removal of the blade, the body crumbled into dust and ashes, which blew away in the wind. The knife was taken by members of Dakkru's Devout, and then changed hands a number of times afterword. Analysis of the blade found it to be coated in a poison that causes True Death, denying the victim corporeal entry into the Death Realm. Since that first murder, other bodies have been found at the fountain in similar conditions. Sometimes there have been notes left with the victims. And most recently, the killer has left threatening notes addressed to the citizenry of Hydlaa as a collective whole.
     
     What follows is an account of my investigation into these matters thus far:

     Upon arriving in Hydlaa, this reporter went straight to the city government for an official statement. Vigesimi Stronghand's people stated her unavailability until sometime next century, and the guards have been mostly tight-lipped as well. And as this reporter figured, the Octarch was even less available.

     Jefecra Harcrit, Lieutenant of the Guard, declined to comment, stating, "I can neither confim nor deny anything; an official investigation is still underway."

      A guard near the Winch Gate (who wishes to remain anonymous) was more forthcoming with his information. At about 2:00am he had seen a robed figure carrying an unconscious Ylian male over its shoulder, heading in the general direction of the Iron Temple of Laanx. The night was dark, but the guard could hear the clink of chainmail from the unconscous Ylian. The guard stated that he supposed the figure was Laanx priest helping a drunk find shelter for the night.
     
     The civilian citizenry of Hydlaa has been much more helpful to this investigation than either the government or the guards. Harnquist, the local blacksmith, reported seeing the same two individuals pass by his smithy earlier that night. He said that at the time, the ylian in chainmail appeared to have trouble walking, and that the robed figure was helping him stand.

     Teshia Dastrid, a member of the Adani Council, had the following to say when this reporter asked if she had seen or heared anything unusual that night:

     "Just something unusual? I dare say if it wasn't beyond unusual, it wasn't the killer you are writing about. As to my knowledge, no more than one person has seen him and lived to tell the tale. The killer wears a red robe. It's entirely possible the killer took the man. But if he did, i fear there's little hope for him, unless someone intervened. I've met the killer, quite intimately. He does not usually take a long time to end his victims. [However,] it's possible that the killer took him off to try his experiement again. You'll forgive me if I' not very comfortable discussing that."

     The Gazette interviewed Dannae Reinor, Nolthrir proprietor of the Red Crystal Den, a local hotspot for Hydlaa's social scene. She commented on both the True Death Murders, and the Starphire Beatings:

     "I have quite a lot to say about those events to be sure. I have heard of quite a number of these (Starphire) assaults, all ending with a badly beaten and at least one dead victim. And the strange thing about each, is that a flower was left behind on each victim. As far as I know, I was actually the first of these, and although I wasn't beaten except for a club to the back of my head, and a charmflower was left on me. All the others I've heard about, a starphire was left.
     "I doubt I know anything to add about the true death killings... although it's thought that I may have seen the killer at Kada El's once. Yeah, I just remember something about him that I didn't like. He was staring a lot, for one thing. I didn't know until the next day when that klyros... Vire... she thought it must've been him when I mentioned a ylian with burn marks on his forearms. Vire... or Evirea is her whole name I've come to find out, but she goes by Vire. And the killer seems to be playing some kind of sick game with her. He left a poem on the victim I found claiming she [Vire] will be dead in the end."

     Another Nolthrir, named Onilise, stated:
   
     "Oh yes!! I found one of the [Starphire beating] victims. Tragic. It was at the bottom of those stairs outside [of Kada El's Tavern]. I saw a fenki laying on the ground and her head was gashed open and she was unconscious; there was a starphire flower in her mouth. I took the flower from her mouth and tried to clean her up, then my high priestess, Dannae, and menki Hipie came and we took her to the infirmary. We stitched her up and bandaged her and gave her medicine there. That's all I know. I don't anything about the True Death murders. I saw one fenki a long time ago hanging by the plaza fountain. She turned to ashes and blew away."

     Herihi Kerihi, servant leader of the recently publicized guild Ad Libertatum (and one of this publication's sponsors), shared her own theories:

     "I got an inside scoop on the [Starphire] attacks as well. In fact I know a few of the victims personally. Dannae was a victim of them and just recently discovered the culprit. He is well known those those of us who have been around here for awhile. To be honest I think I suspect who might be behind this. Seems he [the culprit in the Starphire Beatings] is saying he was charmed or influenced by another to do the attacks. Did you hear about previous incidents with people claiming to be controlled by objects that were cursed? I know of a dagger that a dwarf named Ardoin picked up that twisted him into a violent psychopath. From what I heard seems the [Starphire] suspect claims he is under the influence of some kind of spell. That some kind of priest made him do it.
     "I heard about one true death murder but didn't know there was more. Something to do with a poisoned or cursed dagger I think. I may have a couple suspects you could look into. Ever heard of Marsuveus or Rigwyn? I got irrefutable proof that Marsuveus is very much alive. I had to give it back to the one who discovered it but it talked in length about him returning some how. Seems he made a deal with Dakkru. Odd how the Dakkru followers are involved in so much of this, right? If I were you I would view him as one of the prime suspects for all of this mess. I tried to convince people months ago something dark was coming. But they couldn't be bothered to actually take it seriously. And of course they thought Stillwater was the real threat. But I can promise you that Marsuveus is back, though I am not sure of his purpose.
     "And Rigwyn, well at one time he was a slaver, a thief, a thug, and a murderer. So I would not be suprised if he's not behind it.
     "I wouldn't be shocked if this 'priest,' the suspect who people think attacked people is really Marsuveus himself. Or at the very least an acolyte of his. I wouldn't be surprised if they all lead back to Marsuveus. I think that is all I know about what is going on for now."

     The Gazette got a brief statement from Evirea, the Klyran alchemist who has been at the forefront of the True Death case:

     "You want to know about the killer, do you? Have you ever seen a body, Sserp? One that fails to move again? One that doesn't vanish mercifully into the Realm and into the embrace of the illustrious Dakkru? It's a terrible thing, Mr. Sserp. You see, to you life is an infinate thing. Oh certainly you are aware of your own mortality, but even in that knowledge you do not truly KNOW of it. At this very moment your life could be stolen from you, but the notion does not strike your fancy, and you do not truly believe it possible." She leans forward, a certain sadness, coupled with a steeled apathy, alive in her eyes. "But to breathe your last at the hands of a killer, because you have been lead to believe you do not deserve to draw breath at all? Now that, that is a truly terrible thing to know. A terrible thing to behold. [The killer] somehow convinces his victims to become suicidal, makes them believe they have killed loved ones, and then gives them the chance to kill themselves. Emotional, then physical, devistation."

     When this reporter asked Evirea if she feels she is close to catching this person, her response:

     "That is difficult to answer; I do not have a clear answer for you."

     Lastly, on an anonymous tip, this reporter made contact with Timil Deeps, the Ylian who eariler in our story was the victim of the kidnapping, and who survived an attempted True Death murder. The following is his statement to the Gazette:

     "I was a fool. When I put the clues together and tracked the murderer out of Kada El's that night, I should have asked my guild for backup or something. The killer got the better of me with Azure Way magic. He's quite skilled in it. He hid me in the ruins near Gugrontid. I managed to summon my groffel to get my guild, the Adani Order, for help. They rescued me, but were unable to capture the murderer. He was instead sent to the Death Realm in that encounter, but it obviously was not the True Death that he deserves. What I would say to anyone going after the murderer is this: Don't. He may be insane, but he is also extremely clever, and knows what he is doing. Leave this to the professionals. And be wary when travelling alone at night, or even by daylight, for that matter."

     The Gazette will bring you updates to this story as they come to light. Until then, stay safe, citizens of Hydlaa.

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P.2             

RELIGIOUS CONFLICT BREWING?
"LIFE vs AFTERLIFE .. Game ON!" - Anonymous

     The Daughters of Xiosia may be under threat from followers of Dakkru. An eyewitness, who wishes to remain anonymous, recently informed the Amdeneir Gazette:

     "You might consider a somewhat religious conflict developing here. As a personal eyewitness I am speaking firsthand, and as an intended victim, I am speaking as anonymous. I am just wanting you to know that the source is quite real. The timeless jealousy and conflict between Xiosia and Dakkru is about to flare again, and in fact, has already begun. I have actually once renounced Dakkru, and was won over by Xiosia.
     "Quite recently, two devout followers of Dakkru came to Hydlaa from afar. They questioned folks about the High Priestess of the Daughters of Xiosia, and they quickly learned of her identity. That is what caught my attention. I allowed my self to become involved, them knowing that I am a Matri of the DOX. Not only did they ask many questions about our High Priestess, they tried to sacrifice me. The ones who tried to sacrifice me left a threatening poem on our door the next day, along with a charmflower.
     "And lastly and up to date, they actually did meet the High priestess of DOX and are planning a huge feast with her as host, and I suspect as sacrifice. The last part is deduction. But clearly, they were delighted just to go for my blood and I am only a Matri. We are not sure if we should allow their feast to expose their plans."

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P.3               

NEW RESEARCH IN HEALING MAGIC

     A local Diaboli woman has been practicing the art of magical healing, and is pioneering some advanced techniques. Sserp Detaicossa of the Amdeneir Gazette recently spoke with Herihi Kerihi about her discoveries.

     Herihi: "I have been doing some extensive research into magical healing. There are many around Yliakum who think that there are many things you cannot heal with magic, and I've been doing some research about it and have discovered how effective magic an be for healing. Now the research is still in it's beginning stages. I have learned how to focus healing magics to better heal terrible wounds. But also i have learned how to heal the person as a whole. I also developed a spell that gives the caster specific knowledge about the ailments of the target, and the injuries and illnesses that afflict them, to a very detailed degree."

     SD: "Wow. Such a diagnotic spell would be invaluable."

     Herihi: "Indeed. And the combination of ways you use is actually very interesting. Everyone thinks that dark way can only be used to hurt or for evil purposes. One of the glyphs used for this spell is ilness which is a dark glyph."

     SD: "When you mentioned an 'interesting combination of ways, I wondered if Dark way was involved."

     Herihi: "Yes it is."

     SD: "Very clever."

     Herihi: "I've come across some difficulty in my research now however. Part of the way to use magic to heal is visualizing what the injured body needs to look like to be repaired. So broken bones are not an issue because it's rather easy to picture them solid again, external injuries are the same. But the problem comes in with internal injuries."

     SD: "I see, one would need detailed knowledge of anatomy, and for each species."

     Herihi: "With every species a little different it takes extensive knowledge of anatomy to be able to picture how things work. What I need are living volunteers so I can see how things work internally while someone is alive. I can keep them alive with magic and heal everything afterwards. But as you can imagine I doubt I would get many who'd be willing to do it, even though I can cast spells so they won't be awake or feel anything. I was thinking of offering a hefty sum for volunteers though. Their choice to allow me to test on them [would be] voluntary."

     SD: "It sounds like fascinating research, with great potential, albeit risky."

     Herihi: "It has already helped out a few I've healed with the magic. Much better then spending weeks or even months having your body heal itself, but yes, the research is risky indeed."

     SD: "Some think that magic is too artificial, and that slow, natural healing gives better results."

     Herihi: "Indeed. I find the unwillingness to be healed by magic a little odd. Other then the fact that someone who tries without any knowledge can do more harm then good, of course. I found that out the hard way when I healed someone's injured ribs without putting them in the correct place or visualizing where they needed to go. Wound up making it worse. But the potential for a knowedgable healer is amazing. If someone doesn't want to be healed [with magic] that is their right. But I would much prefer getting healed in a few minutes rather then weeks. And plus without magic certain injuries are permanent. I am not doing this research to force people to see things my way. I am doing it to further our knowledge and make the people's lives better.

     SD: "Well, good luck with your continued research! Do you have any final comments?"

     Herihi: "I would be ecstatic if anyone would be willing to help me with my research. I'll pay them handsomely for it. I think the hunt for knowledge should be celebrated even when sacrifices might be needed."

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P.4             

FIREBREATHING SKELETON ATTACKS TRAVELERS

     A terrifying monster has been reported stalking the road leading to the Eagle Bronze Doors fortress. Sserp Detaicossa spoke with Mariana of The Adani Order:
     
     Mariana: "I was attacked by a skeleton."

     SD: "A.... skeleton? As in, something already dead?"

     Mariana says: "Looked quite dead to me, yup. Breathed fire too."

     SD: "I've heard of unded monsters, such as grendols and wrathrats, but not breathing fire."
     
     Mariana: "It was a skeleton. You know, flesh peeled off the bones, picked clean by presumably a bunch of birds, some unfortunate permanantly dead individual -- that kind of thing. I tried to burn the damn thing but that just seemed to make it all that much stronger. It was... interesting."

     SD: "How did you finally defeat it? Or escape?"

     Mariana: "I lobbed off its head. Then it basically fell into a pile of dust. It had jumped Chessire and tried to pummel her with its fists, bit me in the paw, and stabbed her. With its arm. You have to understand its a bit hazy. I got knocked out... when I came to the thing was attacking Ketta and Sanrai. I tried to melt it... that's when the fire happened. After that, I just... well, I'll admit it, I went batcrazy on it. I didn't know what it was and clearly, I didn't like it. Yes, someone knocked its arm off, and it in turn used it as a weapon... we found the creature on the Bronze Doors road. This thing was not easy to defeat....there were four of us."

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P.5           

AD LIBERTATUM DECRIES OCTARCHAL DECREES

     As a guild that upholds the ideals of freedom from tyranny and oppression, Ad Libertatum wishes to include this public service announcement:
     Who of you, citizens, has read the Octarchal Decrees? They are available for you to read in the Octarchal residence outside of Kada El's, or in Jayose's library.
     Study them closely, and you will see that they give the Octarchy and Vigesimis free reign to take away your property and goods, as well as forcing you into military service as they see fit! The Octarchy reserves for itself ultimate ownership of all resources: Your land, water, farms, and homes, even the very ore you dig from the ground with your own hands!
     We don't need to put our lives in the hands of the few who hold on to a legacy of power and corruption. The guards they tout as our protection do nothing of the kind! Look at how they let murderers run free!
     Ad Libertatum believes there is a better way for the people to govern themselves. Someday there will come a new social order in which everyone is truely free to live in peace, to act according to their own consciences, and to have fair representation of their interests. In the meantime:

     Read the Octarchal Decrees;
     Recognize what power they hold over you;
     Realize that there is a better way.

     The future of Yliakum is in your hands.

[End]

[SAristo]

I like this idea. In fact, I'm gonna post about it again, from a different angle:

http://www.hydlaaplaza.com/smf/index.php?topic=40723.msg457093#msg457093

Suggestions for here: Snappier headlines, and consider a tabloid style. Work those quotes - cut wordiness and make them count.

[Mariana Xiechai]

  I love it Sserp. Mind if I post it to the ongoing role play thread as well?

[Sserp Detaicossa]

But of course! feel free to cross-post it over there. What's funny is, when I later went back to read my post, I ended up in that other (ongoing), and didn't see my post, and thought "What gives? was it removed? and where'd all this other stuff come from?"   

[Shaz Zamari]

Hey Sserp
Great job on the Gazette 
Am glad I finally got to read it. Would be even better if you could reproduce it ingame and either give it or sell it to the citizens of Hydlaa.

And Mariana. I have to agree with Dannae. I couldn't stop reading. In fact I wanted more Fantastic writing! I'm sure I speak for all who have read your work - more- more-more 

Shaz curls her tail around  herself in anticipation, and looks forward to it with glee

[Mariana Xiechai]

He'd always found it entirely shocking, the delusion of some people, regarding those in his unique profession. It seemed that the masses thought that working from the shadows and maintaining a certain level of secrecy was the norm, and that these necessary evils were things meant to stay away from the light of common knowledge. Little did they grasp the workings of their own body, then, if they presumed that such doings were better off left lingering in ignorance. The foolish allowed their master works to remain in the pit, but not him. He understood precisely how the system would respond to panic: to fight or flee, to take up arms or seek refuge elsewhere. The thought processes flipped like a switch from cerebrum to cerebellum and the resulting actions of the target became ever so deliciously savage. For someone who fought with blade and armor, yes, this would be an issue, making the would-be accosted more fit to stand their ground by filling their muscles with bursts of adrenaline. But, for a man of thought, a studier of literature and text, for someone whose power came from the sharpness of his mind, this reaction gave him a foothold leagues above his prey. It was in this fog of natural chemical reaction that he most relished in springing the trap. And what better way to begin the game than by inciting this fantastic response throughout the entire populous? It would grow, and grow, and grow further, fueled from person to person, blossoming into a ravishingly beautiful hysteria that would begin unraveling them long before he delivered a final blow.

The unfortunate part about this methodology was that his first target was usually selected at random. Well, random in his consideration of the term. He didn't necessarily need them for their own personal morals or stigmas. No, he selected the primary victim based upon their fame or, in some cases, even their infamy. Anybody could take out some half-baked simpleton who roamed the streets on a daily basis and had about as much popularity as a rotting log. It was when the known was hindered, or disrupted, that people grew the most frantic. Routine to most is a constant comfort. Being without it is akin to being flung into a void, empty space and left adrift for an undisclosed period of time. Taking out a much-loved or at least well-known object, much less a person, was a devastating blow. What made the entire thing even more perfect was the simplicity of it, the ease of finding this one individual whose demise would spur a healthy panic response. Common gossip, uttered freely from oblivious lips and animated by eager hands, gave away fairly clearly a lengthy list of prospective targets. And from there, based upon varying levels of resistance and mental stability, observed through the facial tics and casual interactions between target and other civilians, Barsidious easily enough made his decision.

Teshia Dastrid. A woman of slightly questionable moral, or so the rumors ran, and a history of infrequent or frequent violence, dependent upon the person speaking. Of course, wasn't that always how the bias worked? One man's Saint is another man's Sinner. Regardless, she would do nicely for the Ylians first homicide, all he had to to was get her alone or near to it, and knock her unconscious. This initial step could tell him many things about how smoothly the next few days would move. If he could simply cast a heavy sleep spell with the use of Azure Way, then the prey would be open to such manipulation without too much trouble. If, however, he had to resort to drugging, well...

He also had other potent options in his arson.

It was after watching some pointless meeting or other, the details of which held no relevance and so he spared no thought towards, that he made his move. Teshia and, if whispers were accurate, her clamod, enki husband sat alone in a rather secluded spot, playing some cute little game of water tag or other, mindless to his presence. First he had to take out the menki of course. The last thing he needed was a draining battle, and judging by the bracers and master staff, a fight with Caraick would have been more taxing and time consuming than he could afford. So, a quick dart to the neck, concealed easily by a convenient sprinkling of water from their boisterous back and forth, and suddenly he was off to la la land. Simple, easy, quick and painless. Perfect.

It was also decidedly perfect that Mrs. Dastrid didn't even notice his presence until he was directly behind her. As such, the force of his sleep spell literally knocked her flat on her face, and for the most comical of moments it appeared as though husband and wife were snuggling with one another. A nice way to remember her, he thought, looking down at the pair for only a moment before bending to collect Teshia gently into his arms. He carried her this way to disperse any suspicion, of course, while be transported her through the alleyways and out towards the desired gateway. Her face hidden in his darkened robes, as much anonymous as he was, this part of the process was just as rapid, and with the general lack of population, it was rendered even more so. He wouldn't don the mask until it was time...it was an interesting trinket to be sure, but the horizontal slits that served to let him see also limited slightly his peripheral vision, and at this point he needed his sight to be clear.

Stepping through the gate and mounting the awaiting drifter, Barsidious held the incoherent woman around her waist and guided the creature towards its predetermined destination. Everything was falling beautifully into place, and soon, very soon, his lessons to the dome level would begin.

[Mariana Xiechai]

[Teshia and Mariana co-authored:]

Barsidious moves towards the corner of the small, run down shack. He nods to the dark rogue, who returns the gesture and steps into the doorway, facing outward, crossing his arms. Opening the door to a small barred cell there, Barsidious moves to lay Teshia down inside, and steps back.

Teshia falls limp into the cell, only the barest trace of breathing showing that she is in fact alive still. The Azure spell seems to have put her heavily to sleep, and she gives no resistance at all.

Barsidious moves back outside of the cell and locks it behind him. He strides towards a table: covered in an assortment of strong smelling alchemical ingredients, an overbearing odor permeating from the collection. He reaches up and snaps his fingers once, smiling almost cordially. "Time to wake up, Mrs. Dastrid," he says, and punctuates the statement with a burst of convincing Azure Way.

Teshia blinks, eyes slowly opening to adjust to the dim lighting within the run-down shack. She pushes herself up from the floor of the cell, sitting as upright as the bars allow her. Resting a hand on the cold metal of the cell, she takes a few moments to gather her wits, making a slow inventory of the room, and it's two other occupants.

Barsidious chuckles softly, almost warmly, giving his disposition an eerie air. He begins to mix something together, combining a crushed, powdered substance with a viscous liquid. "Blue and Crystal Way, glyphs I'm assuming you're still in possession of," he muses. "You could try to make an escape now...freeze the bars....but I doubt you'd manage to do any real damage before I put you back under again." He turns his head, breath whistling through his mask. "What do you say, want to give it a go?"

Teshia narrows her eyes, running a fingertip along the bars. She tilts her head slightly, looking between the rogue and the robed, and seems to decide that the robes is by far the more dangerous of the two. After all, anyone can handle a common thug, but a madman, oh that takes skill and patience. One of which she has a little of, the other none at all. She takes stock of her clothing and glyphs, finding nothing amiss, aside from presumably the lack of her dagger. She tips her head down, looking up at Barsidious with a decidedly calculating glare. As she does so, the fingertips on her left hand, the hand not touching the bars begin to glow slightly, only the barest hint of Blue Way magics. She tries discretely to keep them hidden in the folds of her skirt for the time being, choosing to use words at her first weapon "Why have you brought me here?"

Barsidious turns himself slowly, to face Teshia fully. His eyes gleam behind the mask, and something beneath his cloak, around his neck, glows with a faint red light. He lets his arms hang loosely at his sides, and his gaze follows Teshia's every movement, every twitch. A chuckle again, deep, and without menace, resonates in his chest. Strangely, it seems to echo as much in the air as it does in the mind, his presence overbearing. "That is...a complex question, my dear. But rest assured, it will not take long, and you will learn a thing or two from the entire experience. You see...I'm only here to teach you, teach you about yourself. I think by the end you'll be grateful."

Teshia flips her hair, glaring fiercely at Barsidious "What is with you old farts..." of course, she's just guessing and being all-around rude here. "... thinking you have any right to teach me anything?" She glares, and her eyes slowly lighten in color, the very air around her seeming to grow colder. She flicks her left hand up, a dagger made of pure ice held between her fingertips, and she send it towards Barsidious. Most women would at this time be crying, begging, or probably reasoning, but not Tesh. She simply tries to fight back, with whatever faculties are left her.

Barsidious smiles widely beneath his mask, but of course the expression is lost beneath the craggy maw of the wooden facade. He jerks himself to the side, chuckling again, as the blade slices across his arm and leaves a nasty cut across his bicep. The barest hint of red fabric is exposed, and he tsks his tongue softly. "Now, I'm going to have to find myself a tailor." He muses for a moment, "Another method for you...perhaps?" His fingers move in a circle, blue sparks of light glimmering, and he speaks in a deep monotone, eyes boring into Teshia's face. "You're paralyzed," he intones. "You cannot move. An incredible weight is upon you, it weighs upon your hands and feet and makes you feel so very tired. Your muscles are tetanic, immobile."

Teshia's hand drops, and she gives a soft groan, eyelids drooping slightly. Of all the magics she's dabbled in, azure is not one of them, and she has surprisingly little resistance, if any to the spells. Of course, her mind is not completely asleep, and she continually thinks, content for the time being, or perhaps deciding that since there's nothing she can do, fatalistic, she merely sits there, immobilized.

Barsidious moves back to the door, keeping his spell heavy in the air. "Now, I wanted to be a gentleman about this...do forgive the awkwardness, I shall make this as painless as possible." He sinks down to a knee inside the cell, and begins to run his hands lightly over Teshia's body, searching for glyph pouches and hidden weaponry.

Teshia makes a hissing sound, the only way she can express her displeasure. Of course, her glyphs are almost all contained within the small pouch lurking under her skirts, tightly bound to one thigh. There are no weapons, visible or hidden anywhere along her person. She just seems to have been caught well off guard. The intrusion of his touch, enough to infuriate her mind has the effect of partially reviving her senses, and she merely glares under the weight of the spell.

Barsidious quickly slips his hand under Teshia's skirts to undo the strap that binds her glyph pouch. His touch is feather-light and shockingly respectful as he draws back out again, quickly, and rises to his feet, the pouch held tightly in his gloved fist. "There now, not so bad?" He laughs. "Your aura is absolutely seething, Mrs. Dastrid. That's good, very good." He turns around and exits the cell once more, closing the door behind him and turning key to lock. He flips the latter in the air and catches it, moving towards his table and letting the pouch drop carelessly to the table. "Tell me, Mrs. Dastrid," he says, whirling his hand to relieve the spell and the ylian from its effects. "How do you feel?"

Teshia snarls softly, throwing herself against the bars and reaching as far as she can through them, trying to grab hold of the edge of his robe "come closer and I'll show you."

Barsidious looks at the grasping hand, at the slightly curled fingers. "My," he says. "Feistier than I imagined, truth be told." He turns back and continues his mixing of potions, adding more ingredients, allowing them to misc. "I'm not sure I even need this part, truth be told. You're strong physically, but your mind...paper thin. Fragile, like a piece of glass. So easily..." He turns, holding the powdery substance in his palm, and blows it through the bars at Teshia's outraged face. "Shattered."

Teshia stumbles back, falling against the other side of the cage, blinking rapidly and rubbing her eyes fiercely to try and get the powder out of them. Of course, she wouldn't be able to do much more than force it further into them, but she tries none the less. She growls in her frustration "what would you know, you irritating pig? you kidnap me from my love and drag me out here. Goddess help you if you don't kill me, for I swear by Him that I will gut you, and stitch your wounds back together with your own entrails you sack of ulber feces!"

Barsidious laughs, his head jerking back from the force of it. He grips his stomach. "Oh, you poor, poor, pathetic little creature," he says. His voice almost sounds truly remorseful, though not for what he has done. Perhaps for what he thinks of Teshia. "Tell me now, what do you think of yourself, hm? Do you think yourself so much better than I?" He begins to walk around the cage, flicking his fingers upon the bars briefly. "Do you think yourself so much better, hm? Because I assure you by the evening...I'll have broken you of this illusion. As I said, you're here to learn, the cards are set, and we're almost ready to begin."

Teshia laughs suddenly, eyes watering, tears streaming down her cheeks in her body's attempt to free the hallucinogen from her eyes and such. She blinks rapidly, staring at Barsidious. It takes her a moment to reply, as she's having trouble focusing on her thoughts, beyond the double vision she sees of him. Her lips part, and she licks them faintly, watching him, seeing hazes and auras around him. "You consider yourself so smart, so very wise and learned. But you've wasted your time if you think to break my mind, to lower my confidence. One cannot break what doesn't exist, one cannot lower what is already base."

Barsidious seems to grow intrigued by the statement. He turns back again, a thinking 'hm' issuing from his throat. Running his fingers along the bars to generate a metallic chiming, he watches Teshia through his mask, waiting perhaps for something, but he remains silent for a time. Then, just as it reaches an unbearable point, he attempts to drive himself, knifelike, directly into her mind, a burst of potent and searing magic following through.

Teshia screams, a high-pitched sound of fear and loathing. She trembles, body wracked with an almost epileptic jerking. She moans, whimpering softly, her mind laid bare to Barsidious. Within it's depths, he would see many things, predominantly an almost overwhelming presence of Caraick, her thoughts and emotions seem to dwell on him far too often; other thoughts seem to slide in and out of her mind, like fish through a stream. Her children, her guild, Travosh. They all seem to flit back and forth, and at the very heart of her consciousness, an overwhelmingly black pit, full of despair and self-loathing.

Barsidious prunes through the torrent of images with harsh and plucking fingers, shifting through Teshia's mind without care to privacy or cordiality. The mental realm is his, it seems, and what little respect he had before appears to be gone. Wrapping it in a vice-like fist, Barsidious claims it wholly, wrenching it downward into an illusion that he has pre-depicted and woven. If successful, he brings Teshia's thoughts to a whirring and abrupt halt, surrounds her with the realm of a dark and almost otherwordly forest. Crickets chirrup, and a breeze travels through the foliage, letting the shack and the man inside of it melt away to make this perfect little world. Plucking at pictures and feelings like strings, he makes a rustling sound come from one of the bushes, nearly invisible in the dark, and plants a glinting dagger in Teshia's hand. The feelings of hysteria and panic descend like a tangible force.

Teshia falls prey completely to the illusion, her mind's self crouched down. She deepens her defensive stance, shifting the daggers back and forth between her hands. Right hand... or left... one's faster, one's stronger... Each time she moves the dagger, she wipes the other hand down along her tunic. Of course, in the forest she'd not be gowned. A plain tunic, supple leathers, boots that let her walk silently to avoid.... notice. Her eyes widen as the rustling grows nearer. her gaze darts about wildly, and she flips the dagger back, blade resting along her forearm, hilt held tightly in her left hand. Slashing, thrust with the hilt, backhanded stabbing. She creeps to the side, eyes always locked on the bushes, pupils dilated to enormous size, nothing but the sounds... the forest... nothing but the fear.

Barsidious suppresses his giddy joy at seeing how easily Teshia is manipulated, how deliciously malleable her mind appears to be. Continuing to make fear and anguish emanate, he begins to move his phantom menace around in a circular pattern, unseen, rustling the bushes and the undergrowth to the right and left of her over and over. Whatever it is, it seems to feed upon her fear, and soon the scent of wreak and decay can be detected heavy on the air, potent enough to leave a revolting taste upon the tongue. The sound of heavy, ragged breathing, akin to that of a large wild beast, rings out. "Teshiaaaa," it rasps, calling out the name in a broken, rusty tone. It creaks out of the unseen throat, and the sound of breathing draws closer, closer still. The very manifestation of horror. "Teshiaaaaa."

Teshia drops to her knee, rolling quickly to the side, diving, darting, turning constantly, always looking, always searching for the source of the sound. She hefts the dagger higher, keeping it in front of her, lashing out at shadows. As the stench grows stronger, she gags, choking on it as the putrid fumes fill her nostrils with the aura of despair. She spits, trying to get the taste out of her mouth, and inhales shallowly through her mouth. Trying her best not to scent it, she ends up almost hyperventilating with the fear and odor, finally shrieking aloud "What do you waaant!"

Barsidious's body begins to tremble with eagerness as he continues to weave the illusion, faster and faster, making it all the more believable and consuming. Just at the moment when he feels Teshia's fear the strongest, the most potently, he makes the image dart out in the darkness: a blur of black that is nearly indecipherable in the pitch black wood. Sticks crack beneath its claws and it stretches its arms out towards the prone Ylian, fingers groping towards her throat, still panting as the fear reaches a heady crescendo. "TESHIA!" It shrieks, closing the gap between them with incredible speed. Three paces away, two paces, one...

Teshia waits until the last moment, her mind paralyzed with fear, but her body, even the mental body, trained and honed in combat. She darts out with a slashing moment, drawing the side of her arm, and the dagger blade along the blur, aiming for just below the head, where a neck should be. Her heart practically stops beating with the shock and fear of the claws and snarling and shrieking. She screams as she slashes again and again, not pausing to truly look, simply trying to destroy the source of her fear, ever ounce of her mind and body reeling against being hunted.

Barsidious is nearly rendered to a state of euphoria at his success. A light dawns upon the illusion, brightening the forest, leaking through the canopy and flowing down between the leaves with an almost audible twinkle. The creature stops moving, its cloaked and hooded body dangling limply off of Teshia's daggers, one plunged deeply into its neck and the other into his chest, where his heart beats its last. The hood falls back, and Caraick's dying eyes stare into Teshia's golden ones, the blue electric tint losing its ferocity. "Teshia?" He rasps, blood pouring out of his muzzle and dribbling past his fangs. Eyes rolling back in his head, he stares blankly up at the sky above them, body crumpling to the ground, bleeding from the wounds delivered by his wife's sullied daggers.

Teshia stares at the body, dagger falling limply from her hand. Caraick's blood trickles down her hands, the warm, red fluid caressing her fingertips and staining the sleeves of her tunic. A splatter of red has sprayed across her face face, and she raises her empty hands, staring at the blood. She grabs at her cheeks, nails serving as claws to rip down the soft flesh. She shrieks, again and again, calling steadily his name "Cariack! Caraick!" the scream grows louder and louder, never ending in it's intensity, a wail of utter anguish. Without warning, she drivers her fingertips into her eyes, seeking to pluck out the offending organs, that she may never again have to look upon that last visage.

Barsidious smiles, and his voice reverberates throughout the trees, sinking into Teshia's head as though to dig into her stream of convoluted thinking. "Look at what you have done, Teshia," he whispers into her mind. "Look upon him, now. Look into his eyes, they will never again see the light of the crystal. Look upon his face, see what fate has come to him. A price for loving you, your wretched self. For loving the worm that you are. LOOK AT HIM!" The last is a shriek, a demand, willing the ylian to open her eyes and face her own homicide.

Teshia whimpers, falling to the ground atop the lifeless body. She clings for a moment to the corpse, before digging her fingertips further into her own eyes "Never... never! I'll never see again!" The weak orbs would give way, blood and viscous fluid pouring down her face, caught in a cry of utter hopelessness. Blinded of her own hand, she feels about for the dagger...

Barsidious turns towards the table and reaches for a knife there, suppressing again the need to hum with a giddy celebration. He uncorks a vial of black fluid and coats the blade fully in it, turning again, slipping it through the bars...towards Teshia's grasping fingers. "You know what you have to do," he whispers to her, his voice almost seductive. "You know what you are, what you need to..." The voice stops, and a crash is heard, a shout. The smell of burning flesh, acidic and chemical in nature, fills the air, and a thump against the ground shakes the floor. There seems to be a scuffle; blurred images as Barsidious' illusion falls away, the walls becoming transparent and then melting like paint upon a canvas. A vehement curse is heard, and running feet slamming into the wood floor, towards the direction of the door. Another figure stands before Teshia, eyes flashing to the knife as it tries desperately to pry open the door of the cage. "Mrs. Dastrid, NO!" It shouts, sprinkling something upon the bars and then slamming a fist into the corroded, weakened metal.

Teshia gasps, a whimpering sob, as her fingers slip around the daggers handle. Her eyes are wide, yet the depth of the illusion was so stunning, that she cannot even reason that she is once again able to see. The overwhelming guilt and shame of the illusion, the lingering effect of the hallucinogen, and the weakened belief that she is in fact destined to be the death of her beloved cause her to try and slice the blade across her wrist, determined to join him.

Evirea lets out a guttural hiss as the blade draws an angry red line. She darts forward and grapples with Teshia, managing to get the knife out of her quaking, weakened grasp, and tosses it aside, out of the cage. Moving to shove Teshia down to the ground, she begins to speak, though she keeps her tone low and croaking, almost masculine. "You don't get to die on me Dastrid," she growls, tearing at some hidden compartment in her clothing. A vial of gooey green fluid tumbles out, and she moves to pour it out over the small injury, massaging it into her skin deeply. "He doesn't get another!"

Teshia trembles, falling limply to the ground, tears streaming from her no longer destroyed eyes. Her gaze behind them is vacant though, and she merely murmurs "let me die with him..."

Evirea finishes, studying the wound coldly, impassive to Teshia's words, only intent upon saving her life. She watches as the poison is sucked forcefully out, and to aid in the process she squeezes tightly, making the foamy residue seep out faster. She wipes this aside and finally looks at Teshia's face. Not one for kindness or shows of compassion, she simply reaches up and tries to slap her, HARD. "Snap out of it," she grates.

Teshia's head flies back with the force of the blow, but there's nothing behind them aside from despair at what she believes she's done. Her body may heal, the poison may be removed, but she's a shell of herself, not speaking or meeting the klyran's gaze.

Evirea hisses from between her teeth. "Fine, damn you. Damn you. I'll carry you." This would be a rather comic statement, compounded by the figure's slight frame, but she moves beside Teshia and grabs hold of her, gripping her shoulders and dragging her towards the dead body of the dark rogue, a dart sticking out if his neck. She pulls her outside and whistles shrilly, grinning beneath her mask as a Rivnak comes galloping towards her. With a grunt, she moves to heft the comatose Ylian onto the creature.

Teshia is dragged along, giving neither resistance nor aid to the klyros.