PlaneShift
Fan Area => Roleplaying (Communitive Storywriting) => Topic started by: daehaz on February 04, 2008, 05:26:12 am
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1.
No one will ever understand the urge, the agony. It builds up until it overflows and one can only give in.
It was lifetime ago, but I can still remember the pull. I am not the same man. I have been free from it for years. “Healed”, I was told. “Recovered”, “restored”, “reborn”. No longer do the voices crawl within my head. The teachings make no sense anymore and what once was so clear and urgent can only mean madness and despair if uttered today. Healed, indeed. Yet I feel like my vision has been clouded, my understanding mutilated.
I was a victim. I was damaged. My past eludes me but I was imbued. That’s my only memory. I recall the power, crushing me like a stampede when I first glanced into its mystery. It was too fast, too strong, too much to bare yet mine alone. Then the voices appeared. Yes, I was damaged but I had a purpose. Never before had I felt such a sense of enlightenment. I could see through the webs of what was holy and accursed and it all made sense. And then, I fell into Oblivion.
To be safe, they put me in a cage. To help me, they tortured me. To heal me, they broke me into pieces. And they ripped me apart, poured me into their mold of sanity and smiled at me. They changed me.
Yet… I am still here.
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2.
The news traveled fast: “Gauran Dyaz dead”. Arangmas brought from the Stone Labyrinths had broken free and attacked the old man. As feared, his death was most gruesome.
They disposed of the body in a grand funeral. Hundreds of people came to present their respect. Scholars, politicians, high rank soldiers, and prominent merchants, all came along. Big was their surprise when his heir greeted them. They had not seen him before but then Lord Gauran Dyaz was a reserved man and shared little of his personal life. “A nephew?” they whispered and their surprise was even louder when they learned he was to inherit the entire fortune of the Dyaz family. Lord Gauran was thought to be the last of the Dyaz and his closest friends thought his fortune would be split among the causes His Lordship most cherished: universities, charities, and hospitals. Nevertheless, it all went to his nephew.
Many faces turned sour when they heard the news for they already had grand plans for what they thought was going to be theirs. A few others showed honest relief that the old man was not all alone in his final days, as he had once feared. And, of course, there were those who would not hold back suspicions or refrain from making petty comments, becoming of vultures that missed their chance to feed on the dead.
But Gauran’s untimely death had a profound effect on his nephew. He carried himself with poise yet conveyed a deep loss, like a hole pierced in his heart, in his very soul. No one doubted the love he must have felt for his uncle.
When Gauran’s will was executed, the new Lord Dyaz made a generous donation to the universities and charities his uncle intended to help before naming him his only beneficiary. Such unexpected gesture gained him the favor of those who had unjustly resented him.
The new Lord Dyaz also decided to sell the family’s largest property, a vast estate in the country. A wealthy merchant who had built a fortune in the trade of wild bought it. The man had no family and spent most of his time traveling. His Lordship asked the servants to stay to take care of the estate the way his uncle would have. They were all happy to keep their jobs and promised they would stay until the end of their days.
However, not long after that, a mysterious fire consumed the whole mansion and turned it asunder. Not one soul was found alive. The bodies were burned beyond recognition and not one of them had entered the death realm, not even the younger and stronger souls.
It was later found that the company that was transporting the arangmas that attacked Lord Dyaz coincidentally belonged to the new owner of the Dyaz country estate, who also, as if by design, found his death in the fire. People called it divine justice. It was sad to hear about the servants, of course, but Laanx’s wrath knows no mercy and he who deserved punishment was granted it many fold.
The cause and nature of the fire could never be determined.
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3.
What purpose could it possibly serve to just survive? Is there meaning in mere existence or can it only be grasped when predator meets prey and each fulfill their role as was set? I refuse to believe there is no purpose. I once felt it, I once knew! “Madness” they called it and maybe it was, but it was an afterthought that followed enlightenment. Now it’s like a dream, hazy and incoherent. I remember the notion of a collective will. I remember the connection to an infinite entity. I remember the order, the parameters, and the endless flow of energy. I can still feel it inside me, but I cannot make sense of it.
It resonates but I cannot hear it.
It sparks but only to blind me.
I remember the web growing in multiple directions, in the dark, bringing light and knowledge. Words cannot explain it. It was truth, pure and absolute. How can that be madness? Madness is in not knowing. Madness is in not pursuing. I am deaf and blind but I shall find purpose. I shall understand again.
I have learned about the surface. I have learned about the game they call “life”, the distractions that keep us from our purpose. They can’t see it. They just sit at the table and move their pieces across the board like there’s nothing more outside its boundaries, but I know there is.
I have learned to play their game. I have learned to move my pieces to take theirs. My purpose shall allow me to win both inside and outside this board that imprisons us. They shall not call it madness again.
I can play their game but unlike them, I am not trapped in it. It is only a matter of time before I can hear again, before I can find what was torn from my core.
Yes. I am still here.
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4.
A drunken man sits on the street by the tavern of Kada-El’s. Homeless, filthy and defeated he sits in silence, in the darkest corner he could find. He wishes not be seen. He wishes not be talked to, although he has a tale to share. It’s better to forget, however. It’s better to drown one’s memories.
Allelia sometimes lets him have some ale. Others, he can actually afford it after begging for a few days. He ignores it but he is the missing link in a chain that binds past and present. His secrets will die with him unless someone takes notice or until he is ready to speak.
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5.
The darkness. It’s comforting. No more disguises. No more pleasantries with peasants. They are all beneath me. What if my purpose is to be the predator? I would be giving meaning to their lives as well as mine… But what’s the purpose of the hunt if there is no hunger? I do not feel the pull to feed. I can barely recall what it was like, although the things I did I can recount with accuracy. Those are clear in my mind. What eludes me is the reason. This so called “healing” I was tortured into makes it impossible for me to grasp it but there was a reason. At least I felt I had a purpose.
I remember the first time I hunted. It was easy to fool those new to this land. So trusting, so naïve, so ready to lend a hand... I still remember their names: Maland, Idoru, Rorur,
Myrthe, Irisey, Weredal, Myrdinn, Miadon, Spetyco, Irannis, Alihos. The ones that came after them were incidental. They crossed my path and had to pay for it. But those that I chose, those that I asked for help and who answered my plea, I love. They too found a purpose for their blood was not spilled in vain. That I know. If only now I could see. It was raw and primal and it feels so wrong now, so desperate. Maybe it was madness after all. It was madness to give in to the primal instinct of the predator. I did not play their game and that was my downfall. I have learned since then. And all I need to do now is remember why I did what I did.
Maybe I fulfilled my mission and I am ready for death. Maybe there are still preys for me to hunt and only time shall restore my hunger. But I grow restless pretending I am content in this petty life they are all so happy to have, pretending I do not know about the other side.
Yet... I can still remember.
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6.
Gauran Dyaz was a brilliant man. He started his career at a young age as a Vigesimi’s assistant, a rare opportunity for those without a family such as his and a position difficult to keep should one lack the skills required.
After a few years, he became a popular advisor in the External Circle. Many Vigesimi turned to him when they had to rule over delicate matters, not only because he knew the law thoroughly but because he had the ability to find fair and wise interpretation of it.
His very integrity and love for the law kept him from ever pursuing a political career of his own, for he felt he should not harbor personal political interests that might cloud his vision when he was to advice justice. Thus, he remained a scholar, teaching in many universities and offering advice in the most controversial and difficult cases.
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7.
Love crushes everything. What’s a man’s experience and wisdom when struck by love? A mature Gauran fell for one of his students, a young girl from a very modest family. She was delicate and shy and he felt compelled to protect her. He was almost 15 years older than her and had never felt so drawn to someone. The women he had courted had been trained to survive in the merciless world of high society. They angled for status, wealth and a better station and he hated all that. Instead, this young girl knew nothing. She worked as a maid at the university when he took notice of her. Brief conversations about classroom maintenance and the quality of the floors gave excuse for initial exchanges of smiles. Soon they were talking about what he had taught that day, about what she’d read in the library and other things. She said the reason she worked at the university instead of he parent’s farm was because that way she could learn something, whatever was left behind in the classrooms or could be heard in the hallways. Such interest in learning moved him. He took her under his wing and taught her of science and magic, philosophy and religion. He courted her with extreme politeness and after a year of kind gestures, silent complicity, and innocent looks, they got married. However, little did he know that his teachings would be a curse and that her awakened curiosity would yield before nothing.
As it is common in a man of his position, he had come across many rare glyphs. His interest in them made her want to learn all about them and one day surprise him with a fantastic new theory to solve one of the grandest mysteries. He’d warned her of the dangers of researching glyphs without proper training but her fantasy was too appealing and she could not help it. She had to try. She took a glyph and focused on it. She just grabbed it like it was fruit she could taste, without any regard for the many books and scrolls written about it and that sat nearby.
Her screams could be heard in furthest part of the house. When they found her, she was covering her ears, trying to contain the blood that poured from them. She fell to the floor, in a violent seizure. They tried to hold her but she would not be contained. She bit her tongue and streams of blood started to come out of her mouth. Several minutes passed with the servants trying to hold her limbs and Gauran holding her head while she shook before she finally fainted.
He tried all his best to heal her wounds. Magic could heal her body but the damage was more than physical. He called doctors, alchemists, and wizards but nothing would work. She could not move from her bed. Her gaze was blank as if she’d left her body. For moments she’d come back only to cry about visions and torture. She had to be strapped to her bed so she wouldn’t jump off the window as she once tried. Her hair turned grey and she could get no sleep. Her eyes were always open as if staring into a void, unable to blink. She muttered unintelligible words and tears would not stop falling from her eyes. Her once bright brown pupils faded into a pale grey, as if they reflected the emptiness she was trapped in.
Her mind was shattered. For years he tried to find a cure for her illness but with no success. He abandoned his career as a legal advisor and dedicated all his time to gather all the knowledge about medicine and magic that could help him save his wife.
But the gods have hard lessons for us all and she died. Gauran never married again. He retired from public life more focused than ever to finish his research. Not a soul would ever have to endure what his wife had to if he could prevent it. Come what may, he was going to find a cure.
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8.
I am back in Hydlaa. It’s amusing how many new faces there are here. This will be easy. Most have never heard of me and those who knew me and recognize me cannot prove I am who they say I am. I laugh at them while they point their finger at me. Peasants! Your word is worth nothing against mine. I am Lord Dono Dyaz. You should be quiet and leave still that which you do not wish to awaken. This is a game I will not lose. Not this time. I know the rules and they bind all. They can come looking for trouble and all I have to do is smile at them and wish them well while I focus on more important matters. I will use my wealth and name to toy with them while I search for enlightenment. I shall find true healing.
Yes, I am here.
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9.
Going to the Dyaz estate was always difficult. It was located far away from any town, in a vast but desolated plain. Tall walls protected the property and sturdy gates kept unwanted visitors at bay.
Danira was in her late teens and had been born in the estate. Her family had served the Dyaz for generations and she lived with her parents and sister, and many others in the servants’ quarters.
He met her one day in Hydlaa. Lord Gauran needed to go there for his research and was not sure about the length of his stay, so he decided to bring along two of his servants: Kalaldor, his trusted and elderly valet, and Danira, the cook’s daughter. She was young and kind and His Lordship thought she would benefit from the experience.
She was sent to the market and was walking across the plaza when a group of urchins snatched her tria purse and pushed her into the fountain. The young Enkidukai was just coming out of the water when someone gallantly offered her purse back. She was caught by surprise and almost fell back into the fountain but he was quick to grab her arm and pulled her back to her feet.
“Hi, I am Eoran”, the Ylian said. “This is yours, aye?”. Danira took the purse. Tongue-tied, she blushed. “What’s your name?”, the young man asked. “D… Danira, Sir”. “Danira”, he repeated. And their eyes locked and love stuck them down.
As it happens with young lovers, the infatuation took over. She’d always pretend to forget to buy things so she would have an excuse to go back to the market the next day so she could see Eoran. He would come to the manor Lord Gauran had rented and climb one of the walls to leave her notes and small presents. Sometimes it would be sweets, others a piece of pie or a flower.
But there came one day when Lord Gauran decided it was time to leave Hydlaa. It was very sudden, and the lovers barely had time to say their goodbyes. He promised he would go see her and she promised she would wait for him.
A month later, back at the Dyaz Estate a young man knocked on the sturdy doors asking for Danira. The keeper looked at him with suspicion and called her father and the two of them scared the poor man away with whip and shovel. He yelled her name but the mansion was too far away and she could not hear him. It was another maid who told her about the young man’s visit. She wanted to run to the gates but had to wait until dark to sneak past the old keeper as he snoozed in his post. The azure crystal had dimmed into the night and the Novari winds slashed across the field with unyielding cold but she did not care.
She walked a few steps wishing Eoran had not left and even dared to whisper his name as if hearing it would give her hope. And it worked. She heard something. She moved her lantern to see Eoran crawling out of the bushes. He was waiting for someone to open the gates to try to sneak in.
“Silly”, she told him. “Nobody ever leaves. There’s nothing outside and the nearest town is half a day’s walk from here”.
“I know. I had to walk that much”, he said smiling. “But you came out. I knew you’d come out”.
And they kissed.
He came back every week and for three years he courted her in secret. Every time she would sneak past the old keeper to find Eoran outside. They walked through the plains until the estate was barely visible and they said the things young lover say to each other. He worked for a merchant in Hydlaa and was trying to save enough money to open his own shop in the city or maybe buy a small farm.
“I’m going to talk to your father”, he said. “I will save money and then I want you to be my wife”.
She looked at him in silence, not sure what to say. She had thought about marrying him but his sudden words carried a frightening conviction that caught her off guard.
“Do you not love me, Danira?”, he asked.
“Y… Yes! Of course I do… It’s just… my father”, she said.
“I’ll talk to him. I promise”, he quickly replied.
“He would never approve!”, she said.
“Then run away with me! You won’t need anything because I will have enough trias for the both of us”.
She froze. She could not decide. She had never really thought about a life away from her family, away from the Dyaz estate. But he looked at her as if she held his life in her hands. She knew then.
“Alright”, she finally said. “Once we have saved enough we’ll run away. I promise”.
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10.
Amidison had been of great assistance. She authorized him access to the cases where madness seemed to be the only reason behind the crimes. There were plenty of horrid stories but one of them stood out. The case was about a Klyros who had been sent to the lower level prisons and was serving time for multiple murders. It was the testimonies of his victims that caught Gauran’s attention, speaking of strange rituals, recounting his ramblings about seeing the truth and his disconnection with reality. He would need to investigate much more in order to determine the nature of this murderer’s madness. That same day he decided to leave Hydlaa, return to his estate and arrange a visit to the prisons.
There was no time to waste.
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11.
The whole prison level was flooded when a rain drainage pipe broke. All the inmates were moved to another level except for one. They called him ‘The killer of the Sewers’ and he was guilty of killing a guard among many other citizens. The warden thought he would feel right at home in the flooded cell. They fed him like he was some kind animal. Most of the times it was stale bread and the guards made sure to soak it in the stagnant water before throwing it at him. “Here’s your meal, sewer rat”, they’d say.
One day he heard many steps splashing through the inches of flooded water. “Four people”, he counted. “A visitor?”
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12.
Lord Gauran had been away for months. Sometimes travelers would stop by his estate just to see its magnificent gardens and incredible architecture but it was rare that any of them would actually meet or see His Lordship.
His work in the lower levels had his friends at the university and other respectable circles deeply concerned. They said he was visiting prisoners and even pulling favors to help them. Some said he had made friends with the most dangerous ones and others claimed that he had finally lost his own mind.
“He was never the same after his wife passed away”, they would explain. Those who knew him better and would not lose any respect for him over shady rumors knew that only he could find the compassion to help those who had been forsaken by the gods. “He must have found evidence of something”, they said. “He must know what he is doing”. “How can we presume to know better than him. He is Lord Gauran Dyaz for Laanx’s sake!”
And so the rumors continued for three more years. He never cared to dismiss them neither did he ever offer an explanation to anyone. Not even his servants knew what he was doing or why he never took any of them along. They said he had rented a small house in one of the lower levels and was living there alone. There were also ill rumors about prostitutes, gamblers, alcohol and even lower vices.
He came back one day. As usual, he only stayed for a few days before leaving again. He no longer cared for his expensive shirts and ornate robes but chose instead to dress like a common peasant. The simple cotton robes were comfortable and drew little attention and that served his purposes well.
He arrived with a group of men he had hired to build an underground laboratory. The mansion had a very large library as well as different spaces for proper scientific research and the practice of magic. This new laboratory project made little sense, much like His Lordship’s latest decisions. The servants inquired the workers about it, but they would not give any details. Whatever they built, they were paid to keep secret.
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13.
Lord Dono Dyaz woke up early the day after the funeral. Unlike his uncle, he did not need the bed to rest given that Klyros find hanging upside down a much more comfortable position to sleep. The portrait of the late Lord Dyaz and his wife hanged above the chimney. He had long white hair that fell over his shoulder but was completely bald on the top of his head. His hazel eyes were gentle and his spectacles fairly hinted his wisdom and vast knowledge.
He wasn’t a large man but he was not in great shape. Age and a loose diet had earned him a few more pounds above what his frame was meant to carry and genetics had made an unfair distribution of the mass throughout his body. His pale skinny legs contrasted against a much larger belly that stood out in his narrow torso. A scrawny neck, neatly shaved, preceded a round face with plump cheeks.
His wife, on the other hand, was rather plain looking and not very pretty. One could tell he had married beneath him even though she was wearing flawless jewelry and an exquisite dress. Her stance was submissive and she looked uncomfortable as if the artist had unintentionally captured the boredom of having to pose for the picture for hours.
As he walked down the halls of his new mansion, Lord Dono Dyaz relived his memories there. His dear uncle explaining the different interpretations of the law, telling him about the most fascinating cases he’d been called in for. He recalled the many times they talked about magic and religion, all that he learned from him in the grand halls of the sumptuous residence.
He walked out to the balcony and looked over the gardens his uncle loved so much and he remembered how they would walk outside for hours, discussing the different kinds of plants and their medicinal properties as well as the dangers of some herbal poisons.
He made his way to the ground floor, past the grand ballroom and remembered how Gauran used to talk to him about proper social manners, teaching him how to carry himself with the poise and elegance of a lord.
The library made him think of the day, not long ago, when Gauran said he would welcome him to the Dyaz family and name him his heir. The old man told him he had given him peace as through him, he could fulfill the most important promise of his life.
Breakfast was dull and he was not hungry. He resumed his tour of memories through the many rooms of the mansion until his steps, as if with a will of their own, brought him to a door he had not crossed in quite a while. It was larger than average, like a storage door for cattle and large amounts of supplies. It opened to a wide passage that descended like a ramp several feet below the surface.
Once at the bottom and past a wooden door, a quick spell lit all the torches in the room, revealing a large space. Thick columns and arches along the walls held the weight of the ceiling and the ground above it. Iron bars separated a large square area in the center of the room with a sliding door on one of the sides. Behind the bars, there was a platinum box of about six by six feet. Holes of about two inches wide had been irregularly placed along the sides of the box, as if to allow light or air inside through very specific angles. The stone floor around it was carved in strange circular patterns and many torches stood straight in holes at different distances from the box. Each torch hole had a circular platinum frame and was connected to the others by a line carved on the stone with smaller lines and encrusted platinum inscriptions intersecting them. One of the sides of the box laid flat on the ground as if it had been cut open by a flaming blade. There was nothing inside the box.
An armchair and a small table sat right outside the cage. Many books and scrolls laid on the floor due to the lack of furniture in the room.
Memories of long conversations came to his mind, Gauran sitting on the chair, asking him about his victims, his childhood or walking around the cage, running his bony fingers from bar to bar while slowly uttering flawed theories and void hypothesis. And, of course, there were the glyphs. Gauran brought them with him every now and then along with many crystals. He would place the glyphs around the cage, into slots carved on the floor, and stick the crystals on the orifices of the platinum box. Then everything would burn.
He begged Gauran not to use the crystals but to no avail. “It’s your treatment”, he would say and then the tongues of fire would raise from the torches, casting a yellow light that would bleed through the green, white, red and blue crystals on the box and then the seizures would begin. Focusing on one of the crystals was the only way to mitigate the pain but he would always black out nonetheless. It was like being swallowed by the Azure Sun and the very light cut him open from every angle. Other times it was like being crushed against solid rock. He could hear his bones break and he would bleed through his eyes and ears. But then the light that tortured him would also heal his wounds. His bones were no longer broken. His organs had been restored. His blood had not been spilled. He died a thousand times and was restored to die again.
In all that time, he received no food or water. “The fast will restore your mind”, Gauran explained and for two years he was fed to the light.
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14.
It took two years! Two years! The old man tortured me as part of his little experiment, hour after hour of pain. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t stop shaking and the bastard just sat on his armchair and asked me questions. All he wanted to do was torture me and talk. And if I didn’t scream enough or pass out or if I didn’t talk enough he would go again, and again, and again.
And they called me a mad man! No. He was the real mad man, obsessed with finding a “cure”, obsessed with his this called “treatment”. The fair Gauran Dyaz. The wise Gauran Dyaz. I saw the real Gauran Dyaz! I saw the butcher.
He would yell and sweat and toss things against my cell if I didn’t say what he wanted or if he felt the torture was not working. He’d scream that I deserved to suffer in the name of those I killed. And he would call me a monster so he would not see himself as one.
And after two years, his treatment worked. I could hear no more. I could see no more. I had been mutilated.
When I opened my eyes I found myself in different place. I could smell fresh air and my body had been covered with soft cotton robes. He was still sitting next to me and he was smiling. And he said it was over and started to explain this new world to me. And I believed him.
He said I had helped him as much as he had helped me. He said I was cured. And I believed him.
I became his nephew. I became his heir and I learned from him how to be a lord of high degree, how to be a disciplined scholar and a wise mage. I was named Dono Dyaz. I was given a new life.
But even though I had forgotten, I could still feel the hole left by that which he tore. It was like having an organ removed and the wound left open. I hid my anguish for fear he would encage me again. I did as he said. I played his game. And he believed me.
Yes, I survived.
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15.
Eoran was waiting. It was getting dark and Danira wasn’t out yet. “Her new Master must have given her another dreadful task again”, he thought. She said he was nothing like Lord Gauran. She said he was a greedy old man with a rotten heart and the acid blood of a trepor in his veins. He had bought the estate a few months ago and ever since her work had doubled. Aside from having to clean every room in the mansion, she had to look after the strange creatures he would bring from his travels.
The wind was cold again. Almost four years had passed since they had agreed to run away and he had almost saved enough to buy a small two-story house in the city where they could set a shop on the ground floor and live upstairs. It would be just a matter of weeks before they could finally get married.
“She must be bringing some pie”, he thought. She would always bring him food and treats she’d made when no one was around. “It must still be hot”, he thought as a warm breeze passed his way.
But it did not smell like pie. It smelled like a brandy in front of the fireplace, like dry wood next to the chimney and a horrible thought squeezed his heart. “It’s winter! There are no warm breezes in winter!” He stepped back to try to see past the walls but before he could get far enough he saw the smoke. “Fire!!!”
He kicked the gates but no one answered. He tried to find a way to climb the wall but the surface was too smooth and no trees or bushes offered any effective route to reach the other side. Desperate, he yelled for Danira. He called for the keeper and Danira’s father but no one answered. He grabbed a large rock with both hands and hit the sturdy gates over and over until his hands started to bleed but the gates would not give in. The cold breath of the night of Novari was freezing his fingers but he could not stop.
Through the very small gap between the doors he saw the fire. The mansion was enormous but the flames already covered everything, even the gardens. He hadn’t seen it on his way there and it was hard to believe it could have spread so quickly. “What had the gods allowed to happen!?”, he thought.
He knew running for help would mean abandoning Danira but there was no way to breach the gates. Then he kneeled down and started to dig a hole to crawl under the doors. He worked as fast as he could and when he finally made it past the sturdy gates he ran towards the flames yelling Danira’s name.
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16.
My search for enlightenment in Religion was unfruitful. The priests and worshippers I talked to heard my questions but only to answer them with more lies.
The Gods are blind despite their power. Talad and Laanx claim they shaped this world but this world is all lie. It is just a façade, an illusion, and they are prisoners of their own deception. Haunted by their petty war over lost beauty and emotions unbecoming of a deity.
Xiosia is no different, offering freedom for the wild spirited. Her worshippers blindly accept their place in the world and call it “balance”. They welcome their role as pawns and cattle.
Dakkru is a parasite just like the others, scavenging on the souls of the dead. They all cling to their possessions like mortals, desperate for worshippers and claiming pieces of the world as theirs, as if that were the source of their divinity.
No. The Gods cannot see beyond the surface. They cannot see the Truth.
I saw it once and was punished.
I understood once and was broken.
And the truth I knew fell into Oblivion.
Yet, I shall recall.
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17.
The walls of his new manor sometimes made him think of the fire, as it would happen to him every time he entered a building. He would amuse himself guessing how long it would take to burn it down but with no serious intentions of finding out. It would serve no purpose this time.
Instead he stayed focused on his objective: to reconnect with the Truth. But a spell that kills the caster is as useless as a melody that destroys the instrument. He had to find a way to hear the Truth without becoming deaf to all other sounds. Only then would he acquire real power. The power to shape the illusion of reality at will.
His position in society was safe. In his madness, not only had Gauran given him his family name and appointed him as his one and only legitimate heir but he had also given in to corruption. He made use of his connections and wealth to buy the prisoner’s freedom. On him, he recognized the very symptoms his wife had but unlike other victims of magical madness he had heard or seen, this one happened to have survived. He was precious to him and worth every sin he was about to commit.
The prisoner received Ortarchal Pardon. “Mitigating circumstances”, they said.
He was put in a strange platinum cell encrusted with crystals of different colors and transported to the Dyaz Estate by megaras. Not long after that, a strange plague broke in the prison, killing everyone there. Authorities blamed it on the bad conditions of the facilities after finding broken pipes and entire areas flooded.
The workers that had built the dungeon never left. Their last task was to place the heavy platinum box inside the iron cage. All of them had to help so it could be set in the right spot, in very center of the room, where all the carvings on the floor met. Then the cage was locked. Confused, they looked at Gauran for an explanation. The bars were never meant for the prisoner but for those who had built the dungeon and now they were trapped.
Everything was in place: the glyphs, the crystals, the torches, and the prisoners. Sitting on his armchair, Gauran cast the vortex of light and burned their bodies while the prisoner screamed inside the platinum box that filtered the terrible energy released upon them and only he survived, as had been the plan all along. For him it would be the first of many sessions of treatment.
With Gauran’s death, Dono Dyaz was complete. There is nothing that will link him to his former life except for the word of those who might recognize his face and even then he will still win. His word is above that of any peasant’s and his wealth and freedom were secured. If anything, he enjoys being recognized by those he hated so much before. It is a small but satisfying victory over them.
But the fact is they are unimportant, not worthy of his attention when rumors of a faceless whisper have reached his ear. They are the Faithful Ones who hide underground and they practice the forbidden faith, the one all the others fear and hate. They call it madness as well and it might very well be because it defies their precious illusion. Perhaps their god is the master sitting outside the cage, amused by the little creatures he holds in captivity. If so, then that shall be the path that will reconnect him with the Truth.
He nods, looking through the window of his new Hydlaa mansion in the winch district. The crystal light dims as the shadows of twilight create a world of their own.
“Yes”, he says smiling. “I am Daehaz”.
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[The story you just read -if you read it, that is- is based on both things that have happened in-game and the character's background story. You can follow and join the current events of this RP here (http://hydlaa.com/smf/index.php?topic=30732.0). Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it (and if you didn't well, bite me). Thanks to Donari for spotting a few typos and letting me know. Always appreciated.]
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;D. Your story is great!
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[I love it :P]
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This story rox! Lol. :D
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[Thanks guys! I'm glad you liked it :D. Chapter two is in the making now ;).]
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ive read it twice, this story is awesome, cant wait for chapter 2 :thumbup: \\o//