-
[This is also in the "fan area" writing section, but it occured to me another proper place for it to be would be here, since I plan to turn it into an ongoing event. So I'll post it in all of it's glorious wordiness. xD]
I.
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.
-
II.
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.
-
Well, that was fast.
Evirea blinked at the body in front of her, slowly raising a scaly eyebrow upwards in dubious disbelief. And of course, the victim just had to be an akkaio enki, which threw her theories off considerably. It meant that the trace fur she had found could very well have been from the victim and not the culprit, and the only defining thing she'd been able to pinpoint thus far was flawed, as far as proof validated. Plain as the crystal, which shined much too brightly on this level to be of much comfort for her, there was her source of information, now very much dead, the all-to-familiar knife thrust deep inside his chest.
Well damn, she thought. Just...damn.
This could also mean that the killer had planted the poison to send her on a merry merry chase. This did not bode well at all, since that would mean he was already rounding the finish line on the track and she was far behind at the starting line. He had a head start, and in this particular race that could end in almost certain demise. Not that this had her edged any closer to a panic. She'd chased these people many times before. Some of them had been excursions when she'd lost the trail of this specific butcher, whose killings and crimes were so incredibly erratic and apparently pointless that losing such a trail was astonishingly easy. But she had a lead now, and whether fabricated or otherwise, she was going to follow it to its end.
Stooping down, she repeated the usual process of wrapping and concealing the weapon, looking around the tower suspiciously. It was shocking, really, that nobody had discovered the body yet in such an obvious place. If they had there would have been an uproar, that was the only reason she knew its presence had not yet been detected. Once she was finished sticking the knife back into her travelsack, she squatted down beside the corpse and gave herself precisely forty-six seconds to decide what her course of action would be.
Scenario: Another corpse has been found, same methodology, killer is present on dome level. Knowledge will cause massive panic, venom extract will take a few days to kick in and dispose of body. Cannot possibly dispose of body without bringing about due suspicion upon my own person. Arrest, not an option. Crystallization, certainly not an option.
Course of Action: Test poison for chemical compounds, and ensure they match the compounds found on the Barn level. Delay suspicion of own person. Act the part of hapless discoverer. Throw self into adamant panic at the discovery, realistic inflection: trembling, wailing, wringing hands, at a loss with oneself.
Her calm and almost callous demeanor instantly shifted. Her face fell in an expression of total and deject horror, her lips parted and trembled and she crumbled physically, her shoulders sloping downwards and her claws digging into the grass. Her wide white eyes showed obvious and believable hints of fear, even though her heard beat steadily and no emotion of the sort lingered anywhere in her psyche. She rose to her feet and pointed downwards, towards the corpse. Drawing in a deep breath of air and hoping that enough people were present at the smithy and on the plaza to hear her voice from behind the tower, she screamed out:
“Gods, Gods! Someone help! Someone has been killed!”
It did not take long for a kore menki, clad in red way bracers and sporting dagger-like claws, to appear. An elderly looking Ynnwn with white, wiry hair was fast on his heels...
-
For the sake of realism I made it fairly obvious where this perma-dead body is. If you like, (and by some miracle actually read through this post,) I'd love for people to post their character's reactions to finding the "corpse." (It's simply a book, detailing what it looks like. Hopefully it isn't disposed of or picked up too quickly by anyone.)
-
Always time to read about a good enki killing!
-
The First Victim:
[Objects under this label (the first, second, third victim, etc.) are to be regarded as collaborative writings; this is the actual RP from the logs, nothing has been altered save some minor corrections in spelling. That is to say, the character Teshia's actions were written by Teshia herself, and are not writing of my own creation. That being said, thank you for your participation Teshia, it was an excellent role play! \\o//]
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.
-
lulz, always fun to see Caraick murdered.
-
How did Teshia get herself into this situation? Why was she targeted? and what led Evirea to finding them?
-
@ Travosh: You like it when any enki dies :P
@ Aramara: I plan to fill in the gaps involving my characters and answer those questions with additional writing ;D
-
@ Travosh: You like it when any enki dies :P
@ Aramara: I plan to fill in the gaps involving my characters and answer those questions with additional writing ;D
I'm allowed to take special interest in individuals!
-
ah yes, I should never have doubted you. I apologize for my impatience. ;P
funny little observation here, of the things that ran through Teshia's mind, Travosh earned a special mention.
Travosh takes special interest in the death of Teshia's husband.
hrmmm...
-
;D appology accepted. Also, don't get him going Aramara, things might explode in fiery pieces.
Literally.
::|
-
/me presses together the tips of her fingers, wearing a wicked grin, "Excellent..."
-
/me gets the nice white jacket and the shot of sedative. "Heeeeere, kitty kitty kitty..."
-
*Travosh bursts into the room and fly-tackles Mari before exploding spectacularly.
Like a boss
-
/me makes a quick post before bursting into tiny little pieces:
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.
-
I find it ironic that, while my posts are shorter than usual. (Shut up, two pages on a document is short for me), this will still probably be the most extensive writing I've ever done on a PlaneShift topic. It feels...wierd. ::|
-
Of all the thought processes and deep deliberations, of all of the intricate planning and plotting and scheming, there is nothing quite so helpful to someone seeking something than the unpredictable piece on the chess board not totally within the player's control.
Dumb luck.
And while Evirea was personally loathe to be constrained to utilize such a force, as it was typically too good to be true and came with certain hidden agendas, here it was, taking place right in front of her. Well, right below her, where she perched between wall and building, her wings splayed outwards to help her keep her balance. She had been taking part in the tricky maneuvering that involves being close enough to a conversation to hear, yet far away enough that those damned enkidukai muzzles didn't pick up on her scent. She'd just been getting close enough to catch faint murmurings coming from the group when they suddenly split up, dispersed, and left the Dastrid duo sitting together, alone.
Watching this is about as interesting as letting a potion steep, the klyra thought. As she observed further, and watched them begin playing some obscene game of water-tag, she felt bile rise in her throat. Oh, joy. As fascinating as watching them make goo goo eyes at each other is, perhaps I should simply take my leave.
She had been preparing to do just that: gathering her journal full of alchemical combinations and sliding her travelsack across her shoulders, when the menki suddenly seemed to fall asleep. A curious reaction to be sure, considering the fact that with their recent activities his system probably would have been shifted more to the sympathetic than the parasympathetic mechanism, meaning that more blood would have been pumped through his arteries, and more awareness would have been a result. Of course, it had simply been a harmless leisure sport with his wife, so it was distinctly possible that he'd simply grow bored. Could just have an incredibly short attention span. I wouldn't find that shocking.
The sight of the figure, cloaked entirely and shrouded in anonymity, made her heart race. A considerable reaction from her, who was as usual a controlled and logical being. Thought before passion, always, and never let the one overcome the other. She made no move to cry out and warn the Ylian woman, and had no intention of doing so. In fact, watching the faceless being take her down only filled her with more eagerness, as his actions began to answer potential unanswered questions. Her tongue ran along her pointed teeth and she squinted to watch better, silent as a shadow, pressed against the wall like a dispassionate gargoyle. It was not until Teshia had been abducted and the figure moved far out of sight, and then a few minutes after to ensure they were truly gone, that Evirea glided down towards the snoozing Caraick and landed nimbly beside him. She didn't know the strength of whatever he'd been given, but she had a clue as to its method of entry, and she smoothed her hands over the grass in a searching manner, careful to make as little sound as possible so as not to alert her presence. She was thankful now for the seclusion of the area, and she praised whatever deity might haughtily take credit for these events when her fingers curled around a small, tipped dart.
Bringing the thing closer to her face, she first examined its scent, breathed it in deeply and let her brain make connections. Potent, sharp. Non-lethal. To check this, she glanced once more towards the napping menki, who was still snoring quite loudly, with his tongue lolled out of the side of his mouth. Right, definitely non-lethal. Induces sleep within oh, ten minutes or so after its administration. Subtle.
A list of ideas sprang into her head even as she flicked her tongue out, giving the drug an experimental taste, rolling it around with the saliva in her mouth. She instantly turned her head and spat it out, nose wrinkling at the overwhelming bitterness. The list narrowed itself down at this new revelation, until she finally came to one in thing that the compound likely was.
Kirium. Common plant found around the base of stones, thrives mainly in moving water. Rivers, waterfalls, potential locations. Stagnant pools, out of the question. The river between Ojaveda and Hydlaa is inhabited by too many gobbles who could interfere with killer's actions. The waterfall at the Bronze Doors, a distinct possibility. Highest probability. Structures for shelter against elements, labyrinthine passageways available for hiding...
Evirea tossed the dart to the side, her mind a blur, still going over her next course of action even as she slipped a change of clothes out of her bag. She donned them right over her tunic and trousers, concealing herself completely, wrapping her wings tightly around her torso and then wrapping those, too, with a great amount of fabric. She slipped a hood over her face, the strip in front of her eyes marked by a film that was opaque from the outside, but allowed her to view the world without effort from the inside. Transformation complete, the klyros took approximately thirty two seconds to look down at Caraick and consider reviving him, before disregarding the notion entirely and taking off to leave him slumbering where he lay.
By studying his previous victims and tracking the amount of time it usually took for the corpses to surface, she knew her time was limited, but that there was a small lax window of opportunity that spanned approximately a day and a half, two at best. The killer would not do his victim in without some sort of nefarious foreplay; probably something like watching a bird pluck the legs off of a spider before devouring the thrashing creature whole. The idea of the Ylian woman falling prey to this process did not bother her in the slightest, however, she was motivated to rescue her at the opportune time. She needed more information on how the killer worked, what his motives were, why he took the strenuous actions that he did.
She needed to get inside his head.
And with that acknowledgment, Evirea swung her leg into the stirrup of her Rivnak's saddle and spurned the thing to a full gallop, her direction clear, aiming for hopefully the same direction the killer had taken, laden with his catch. She honestly had no idea what she would find there, but she had already decided that the actual fortress would be off limits as a place of refuge for his plans, and so planned to scan the area around it closely and with extreme caution. Still uninformed precisely of the culprit's abilities, she hardly wanted to risk her own neck for that of a stranger. That, of course, did not change the fact that she needed the Dastrid woman alive, for questioning, and that meant getting to her before that damned butcher managed to do her in.
-
;D Such a nice young lady, isn't she?
/me grins impishly and calls out:
"Anybody got spare alts they'd like to die a fabulous death? PM me! I need a body."
/me scurries off into the darkness, cackling insanely.
-
/me is so glad someone else finally noted how the menki drools in his sleep. :love:
-
I can take a look. XD
Rath would be too resistant... Meh have to look.
-
;D Excellent, excellent...
/me laughs wickedly.
-
There was something almost euphoric about holding a life in your hands. Something that nearly rendered him to state of exultant delirium, standing there, staring at where Teshia lay on the other side of the cage. Unconscious, awaiting his final say, his final word on how events were about to transpire. She was the one trapped, both physically and, soon enough, within the confines her own mind. He could feel the shaking beginning in his fingers, a nervous tic he'd never been able to get rid of, and he managed to conceal it expertly beneath the forgiving, long sleeves of his robes.
His excitement was only heightened when her vulnerability became more apparent. When he delved into her mind, confident in his position to turn the entirety of his focus to his task, he found it both defenseless and compliant. Soon she was dancing along with him, picking up the emotions he threw at her easily as picking up the beat of a catchy tune. They could have been dancing together, unanimously, whirling round and round the room in a morbid sort of waltz. The pounding of his frantic heart was deafening to him—or perhaps it was her heart, he wasn't entirely sure. It was the drumbeat that held the entire chaotic symphony together, all waiting eagerly for the final note of the song to fill the air in an achingly beautiful chord.
A note he was fully determined to deliver, and as his illusion played itself out, he was more and more assured that everything was going precisely according to plan. Once this woman was dead and her body planted in the plaza for all to gawk at, he would begin selecting more targets, ones that he himself would observe and decide upon simply for their specific characteristics. That was half of the joy, of course. Learning enough about the person to actually know them, better than anyone, better than they knew themselves. It made the entire operation run far more smoothly, and he had conquered it now as a well-oiled machine, with practiced art and tact. Such a simple thing, to offer a shoulder to someone, and quickly garner a lifetime of defining moments and memories. This strange notion that wicked things of ill intent had to look outwardly wicked, well, that in itself was simply absurd. Have they never heard of the kaleidoscopic tropical plants, dazzling in their array of colors, that if eaten, cause the lining of the esophagus and trachea to swell so tightly that breathing is made impossible? Have they never seen the motions of a flying falcon, spreading gold-fringed wings and then collapsing them inward to tangle its prey between pointed talons to be disemboweled?
They find it comforting, he realized, as he carefully counted the chemicals available to him upon his little dilapidated table. They want it to look hideous, to be disgusting and displeasing to the eye. They want what is inside, to reflect outside, so that they can better tell light from dark. A chuckle reverberated in his chest, and his fingers curled into fists as he continued to direct the disturbing waking-dream in Teshia's head. They want it to be unlike themselves. Want to live with their petty squabbles and lies and deceit, and to believe that comparatively their filth is far below that of others. A constant comparison, issuing condemnation from a collective guilty conscience! And yet they are shocked when something truly evil can be spawned from an unassuming and inconspicuous host!
His hand moved up to trace the ragged wooden mask affixed to his face, wondering at the irony of his internal diatribe. He could still see through the haze of his powerful magic, though most of his thoughts were directed on keeping the haze functional, and his eyes traced the slits cut harshly upon the surface that gave him sight. His breathing was issuing forth forcibly, creaking through this artificial maw, through a narrow gap almost as miniscule as his eyes. Patterns from the bark of the tree he'd torn the piece from were present; whorls and knots and random fissures. A fitting disguise, almost a last comfort to those looking upon it, those about to feel his righteous wrath. As if he was saying, yes, that's right, I am that thing from your nightmares, just the same. No trickery. You can truly see what it is now, that thing that's been breathing down your neck and making your skin prickle. No more hiding. No more lies.
She was coming to the end of her story now, the end of her dream. He could feel the waves of her remorse and sorrow washing over him in a powerful tide. She was full of it, but especially full of guilt, which poured out of unknown crevices not even he had predicted, as if such a situation had been presented to her many times before and she had fought again and again to deny its truth. The sensation of a tear trickling down his cheek, moving into his trimmed beard and parting the hairs, alerted him to how gravely it affected him. But then, it always did, when it came to this point. She was realizing, and he was reliving the time when he had come face to face with the vileness of his own soul, and the liberation that followed. And now he would present her with the same choice he gave all, the same fatal choice, and see about the decision she would make.
Watching the droplets of poison slide slickly along the blade, Barsidious gently laid it on the ground and gave it the slightest of shoves, watching it skitter across the small space between them, closing it, moving closer to its target. He watched her fingers twitch towards it, find it, wrap eagerly around the offered hilt and...
The guard at the door suddenly dropped to his knees, then to the floor, his body seeming to make the entire shack quake. So caught in the illusion was he that at first he was presented with mere shadows: the walls of the cabin merged with trees, as if the wood were attempting to return to its original state once more. A green canopy at peace with the rain-ravaged planks above his head. Dense foliage mingled with hardened, much traversed earth. As such, he did not realize entirely what was happening until he felt the burning upon his flesh, searing fabric to skin, a pain so sharp and distinct that his only possible reaction was to let out an agonized scream. A blow to his stomach, to his neck, and that one nearly did him in then and there, sent him witless to the floor. Fortunately the dealer of the blows obviously didn't have much substance to them, and he latched onto that opportunity, throwing himself upon them and listening to the woosh as the action knocked the breath from their lungs. They landed in a tussle of robes and scratching nails, until finally he shoved off of the dark figure and took off, trapped in an nearly incoherent fog that rendered his world a random scape of fuzzy shapes. It happened too quickly for his mind to recover from the magic he'd been recently using, which was taxing and draining even on the most malleable of recipients.
Encouraged by the fact that he heard nothing behind him, no footsteps and no heavy breathing, the crazed Ylian hobbled his way out into the fresh air and away from the building. Need to recollect. Think. Rest and recuperate. Later. Later, finish what I started. He lunged into the tunnels that were inhabited by Valnishi and all assortment of cutthroats, not particularly worried about either. His mind was only on the chase, about what had just occurred, and as it cleared he found a smile growing firmly across his lips. Stopping beside one of the walls, ignoring the dirt that rained down upon his head, he began to laugh softly, then louder, growing to a nearly hysterical pitch as he realized exactly what had happened. The acidic burns covering his arm, bicep to wrist, confirmed his suspicion further. She finally managed to stop me, he thought, and the concept was refreshing. Oh, she finally figured out how to play this game!
Clearing his throat, he grinned impishly into the darkness, pearly teeth set against his lower lip as if his internal joy might actually cause him to explode. “You win this round, Evirea,” he said. “You win this round.”
But now the chase truly begins.
-
Please forgive spelling mistakes...that's what happens when you try to write at one in the morning.
/me collapses
-
“You win this round, Evirea,” he said. “You win this round.”
doop-de-doop-de-doo inspector gadget....
-
;D lulz
The first movie was great, but the second one suuuuuuucked. Badly.
-
Evirea sat squatted against the outer wall, trying desperately to glean anything useful from the sparse conversation going on inside. Her fingers curled around different vials tucked safely away in her bags. She counted them, sorted them, having memorized their locations to the last and knowing where each lay within the leathery folds. But she did nothing as she heard the captive woman begin to say strange things, murmurings that were both petrified and delirious in origin. Wanting to get as much out of this encounter as she possibly could, and still needing verification that this masked figure was the one she sought, she merely leaned her head against the lower portion of the open window and waited in absolute silence.
More rambling. Endless rambling on the woman's part, that Dastrid. Can't remember what her first name was, really, come to think of it. Something with a T. Subject fairly silent, except...is he, giggling? Surely not. Unless he's suffering from a distinct form of mania. I suppose that actually wouldn't be entirely shocking...
She risked a peek, a quick bobbing of her head over the windowsill so that she could glimpse the setup of the interior through her peripheral. There was a guard standing at the door, back turned to her. The evident bulge of weapons concealed beneath his trousers, his face concealed. Muscle marked his arms and was quite prominent, making it obvious that he was an experienced fighter. Element of surprise. Drug, dart potentially. Avoid hand-to-hand encounter at all costs. First, debilitating blow to the throat. Approximate thirty seconds for recovery. Place dart directly beneath chin, caudal, give barb access to carotid artery to encourage quicker traveling of contaminant through blood stream.
Thus having deduced her angle for taking care of the rogue, she turned her mind towards disposing of the robed individual. His back was to her, yet she could see the hint of a mask present, as he turned his head just so. A craggy thing, but bothersome as it served the purpose of hiding his identity. A hood was fastened over it, just connecting in a juncture between the eerie oaken visage and his hair, concealing that too. Not even his hands were visible, and she could only make out that he was some sort of “human” being. Dermorian, Ylian, Nolthrir or Lemur. Quite a wide array of options, and not exactly encouraging. His voice was rarely used. Mutterings about killing, something regarding closer, feel the fear. Look at what you are doing, what you have done! Yes, yes, slice through the flesh, kill the beast, before it devours you and...
Evirea's eyes widened as she noted the faint blue light flickering amidst the man's gloved fingertips. Every god and goddess be damned. He's using Azure Way.
She had no practical defense against Azure Way. She knew the ins and outs, the mechanics behind it, the capacity of the spells. But she herself had never actually taken up the practice of any magic, not because she felt it was necessarily wrong to do so, but because it had never seemed prudent to her work. Regretting that decision now, she began to filter through her options. Her mind, sharp as it was, could only hold up to a barrage of illusion for so long. Logic could only carry her so far, and she had no idea what particular elements the man was implementing into his phantom, artificial dreams. They could very well be something she was highly susceptible to.
But whatever he is performing is taking up all of his attention. And if he can so dutifully and completely wrap that woman up in that illusion, that means that he's a very powerful mage. Possibly a master. Mental manipulation of that level takes energy, however, and will likely overshadow his thoughts just as much as hers. He himself must be guiding her through the entire ordeal, trapped inside her own mind. Linking her to himself. If that is true, I might be able to take him out before he has time to turn the brunt of his ability to me.
The thought that this man might not even be her killer was also what gave her pause. There was no reason to save the woman at all if it meant that this was just some...elaborate squabble between two petty people. Might not even have intent to kill, she acknowledged. Could be bad blood, a little revenge, little payback.
And really, what right did she have to interfere, if that were the case? She didn't have time for that. She had a crazed serial killer to find, and this excursion, headed by someone who for all she knew was nothing more than an overly irrational ignoramus with pathetic ideals of revenge...
The mans hand twitched, and an all too familiar knife slid out, dripping with a venom whose purposes were all too clear. At the same time, she witnessed the woman begin clawing around on the ground, weeping bitterly and wailing her husband's name. It was entirely a puzzling situation altogether. She must be truly obsessed if she was still thinking about the clamod even now. That or the man was just sick, and had used the much-loved image of her husband to reduce her to this despairing creature, gnashing her teeth and scratching her cheeks in desperation.
Her trembling fingers were moving unerringly for the hilt of that blade, closer and closer, and closer still, only inches away from claiming it.
Move.
Body springing, using the advantage of weighing next to nothing, she shoved off the wall after planting her feet against it and catapulted herself towards the rogue. The room was small, and the maneuver rendered possible by this gracious fact. The throat, and her hand followed the order, smashing into it just as her wrist flicked and the dart embedded itself. She turned before he even finished falling, and went for the killer, who was still trying to recover from the tangled effects of his spell. Make him hurt, use resulting shock. Tearing open a compartment in her bag, she smashed the contents of the exposed bottle – a highly concentrated chemical compound that would burn through the skin with an agonizing speed – on his arm. He shrieked, screamed, a gurgled sound that hinted at both shock and rage, both disorienting emotions she could utilize to bring the man down. Hand flashing again, she made a blow to his abdomen, causing him to crouch over and add force to an additional blow to his trachea. Unfortunately, adrenaline was on his side now, his sympathetic system was in full force, and he withstood the assault by keeping consciousness. He bowled into her, and they both tumbled to the ground, his superior weight gaining the advantage and knocking the breath right out of her lungs. There was a brief fighting, one that in the general confusion was mostly unfruitful for both sides, and he tore out of the building.
Every instinct told her to give chase. He was injured, he was confused, and he was vulnerable. Her feet had nearly cleared the threshold in pursuit when her eyes locked on the form of Teshia, just in time to see her draw the blade across her wrist.
Logic dictated that she should let her die.
Logic dictated that she go after the killer, and stop his body count then and there.
Logic dictated that she let well enough alone, and let the ylian face her own fate, since she couldn't draw herself out of the stopped illusion in time to save her own damnable neck.
Logic, for once in Evirea's rather long and impressive career, didn't win out. She whirled, splashed a powerful corrosive on the bars and kicked them through. She applied the agent to the small wound on Teshia's flesh, drawing out the poison before it could begin tearing her apart from the inside out. And she dragged her out to her Rivnak, looking around and knowing that her target had long since found solace and sanctuary in some place it would take hours to discover, even if she knew where to look. By the time she was able to find him, he would be recovered, and would rip through her mind like so much tattered tissue paper.
She told herself that was the reason she jumped up onto her beast of burden and made the long trek to deliver the Dastrid to a save haven. It was not a breach in her careful track record of keeping firm control over her emotions, and doing what was necessary. She was simply avoiding going into a fight without being fully prepared to withstand attacks initiated upon her person. All lies, of course, but perhaps they would help her get to sleep that night.
The truth was that seeing Teshia's flesh torn open by that blade had sent her memory to flaring, back to an incident that she'd thought she had long since buried beneath layers of dispassion and mediated self-refinement.
Their skin and stomachs torn open. Piled one on top of the other, all dead, all bright white eyes looking skyward, the corners tinged red with blood that trickled out of noses and mouths. Chests laid bare, bones broken, bruises discoloring scaly skin evidencing the brutality that preordained their death. Blood, blood, blood, and more of the stuff, flowing out and staining the rich green carpet a sickening red. Other fluids let unnaturally free to mingle down, traveling towards her to include her in the chaos, staining her feet, tainting her claws, filling the cracks decay and filth and grim and gore and dirty disgusting...
The image was easily shredded with a single thought. A command towards reason, impossible to deny. She breathed in and out, counting the beating of her heart, checking behind her to look at the silent woman who sat without saying a word, her gaze downcast. Think in steps, and muddle through. Keep your actions and emotions in check, lest they take over and threaten sanity.
One: Drop off the Dastrid
Two: Assure antidote was successful
Three: Initiate another round of chasing that bastard down
Nodding her head firmly, she clicked her tongue, and coaxed her Rivnak to running.
-
lol, Sherlock holmes fighting.
-
That's right Watson. :P
-
What did I say about not tempting me?
-
/me points at Travosh and smirks. "Bring it on, Batman!"
-
tut tut tut, you knew what happened the last time. I 'spose we must do this dance again.
*Travosh wiggles his tongue at Mari. "And yes, it will be a slow jam."
-
I read it, now I can't unread it. Thanks.
/me willfully cuts out all of her sensory organs so that she can be blissfully unawares of the atrocities taking place in this forum. (and yes, that includes the flaying of her own skin).
-
/me watches Aramara's self mutilation in confusion and gives Travosh a puzzled look. "I think I missed something..."
-
[Forewarned! This entry is a bit gruesome.]
Finally, something had gone entirely right. Smooth as butter, as some would say, spread across so much warm and toasted bread. Pathetic that the first body had caused so little stir. It was possible that was because it belonged to a person not of this level. As stated, disruption of the norm was difficult, but at the same time it was proving rather hard to kidnap another steady and stalwart figure without invoking full-blown societal wrath. And while he may have been a man with considerable talent to stave off the suffocating tide of mass justice, there was only so much he could do on his own.
So he had opted for going in between. Had stolen the lovely yet unsuspecting bard right as she practiced her tune in the streets. From what he could figure, she'd been present for a few weeks in the city at least, enough to make friends, gifted with a personality nearly as inviting and amiable as the music her fingers produced upon that well-worn little lute. Her lungs had had approximately a second to release a startled squeak before he pressed the liquid-laden cloth against her muzzle. This, of course, led to a sharp influx of air on her part in, which carried the powerful relaxant nicely through her system. Her eyes rolled back in her head and she peered at his masked face, limbs limp, unable to make a sound in her near comatose state. The fear was only translated by the rapid contraction of her pupils and the quivering of her crooked whiskers, bent by the pressure of his hand.
Surrounded by wavering green lights and the nearly tangible panic he'd already invoked in the woman, it had been a simple matter to invade her mind. Not quite as malleable as that Teshia woman, but, well, beggars could hardly be choosers. The stench of rot and wreak of rats was also helpful, though often it made even his eyes water and he eventually reached up and covered his mouth and nose with a cloth beneath the mask. In no time the bard, whose name was irrelevant to his purpose...an A, something? Was reaching out towards the venomous dagger and plunging it harshly into her stomach. The illusion fell away, she found herself knee-deep in sewage, and her eyes fell upon his figure looming in front of her just as the light left them. Blood tricked past her pointed teeth and stained a path down the striped whiteness of her fur, and her paws released the weapon she'd just killed herself with, leaving it stuck inside her gut. She struggled to get out a question, a final query, knowing that her time was up. Perhaps not permanently, though she'd figure that out soon enough. The single word was indecipherable primarily, taken over by the gurgling of bodily fluids rushing into her throat at the ravaged condition of her intestines. It made it's way out with the accompaniment of more scarlet liquid, spat upon the ground just before her face met the muck below:
“Why?”
With that, her blood and bile quickly mixed with the feces and urine around her, soaking into her clothing, her fur. The final representation of the truth about her condition rising to the surface, and making itself glaringly known.
His fingers moved of their own accord, used to these motions by now. He plucked up the body, unmindful of the stench and squalor, and brought her over to a table. This time he would make sure he got the point across. He would not take pains in leaving it even partially concealed, oh no. This time, they would be forced to look upon this Truth, with their naked eye, right beneath the statue of Laanx to boot. He would strap her corpse to the balustrade. But first—unfortunate, since such brutality was not typically his methodology—he would have to raise the stakes.
Barsidious grabbed the deceased woman's arm and, using leverage against the table and the full brunt of his weight, snapped through her radius clean. Her forearm swelled, her recent death allowing some sort of reaction that to anyone else would indicate that it was done before her demise. He repeated the process so that the ulna, too, was split, leaving it hanging only by the flesh and letting the edema of the busted vessels fill up the newly vacated spaces. Feeling this perhaps was not quite enough to get his point across, he moved around the table and repeated the process with her ankle, making sure that the awkward angle it sat at made its condition rather obvious.
If they cannot be coaxed to fear death, perhaps they can be convinced to fear a little pain.
Finished with his ministrations, the Ylian picked up the dead kore and his supplies, stuffing them into a large burlap sack, lined to keep her blood from spilling so that he could be at least...somewhat subtle. Then again, dead as it was at this time, even on the plaza, there should not be any issue. With a grunt, he hefted his heavy burden and descended into the sewers, using a subtle path to find his way up to the surface.
-
Blood, bile, feces, and urine. Is she in pittsburgh?
-
Blood, bile, feces, and urine. Is she in pittsburgh?
I award you one point. I would have said Bourbon Street.
-
Nicely written - if quite unpleasant. I look forward to the howling mob.
-
[And the reaction to the body in RP format. Thank you to all who participated. I left it running for a few hours, I'll simply post, broken into separate pieces, the two interactions people gave.]
Avaragil's description:
[A fenki is hanging on the balustrade. Her arm has been harshly broken, hanging by threads and tendons, and her ankle is bent at a painful, broken angle. Buried deep in her gut is a dagger, the source of her demise, the blood from the wound trickling out to soak her tunic and slowly the hem of her trousers. A rope across her collarbone, and another around her waist, keeps her upright, and her eyes have not been closed in death, lending them an eerie and ethereal stare. Judging by the fact that her body did not vanish upon death, it is fairly plain: this woman is truly and forever gone.]
(17:40:18) Taya says: Uhmm.
(17:40:46) Karnath says: I am enki!
(17:40:51) Karnath says: Probably.
(17:40:58) Taya says: Somehow think we can't do much to save this one...
(17:41:37) Edialeda says: I think, you're right.
(17:41:51) Maradec says: I don't like this..
(17:41:52) Taya says: I suggest we get out of here and quickly... if the guard sees us with this...
(17:42:12) Maradec starts backing away..
(17:42:23) Edialeda says: Or maybe we should go inform the guards on this!
(17:42:32) Taya says: Let's head back to the inn... if anyone asks we weren't here
~~~~~~
Weffosh says: A gruefull sight i'm afraid..
(21:35:47) Weffosh says: Does anyone recognize her?
(21:35:59) Onilise says: I wonder who killed her?
(21:36:19) Avaragil's head hangs limply, lifeless eyes staring at the cobblestones. A trickle of blood has worked its way from the wound in her stomach down to her feet, staining the entire stone podium with her blood. She stands in this small puddle, obviously unawares of the goings on around her, deaf and dumb in death.
(21:36:40) Onilise prays that Xiosia would bless her soul
(21:37:02) Korumak gives a soft grow
(21:37:10) Korumak says: growl... Kisoji....
(21:37:32) Onilise says: Kisoji killed her?
(21:37:57) Icerra approaches the corpse and inspects it closely, she turns toward the crowd and demands, "Who's this girl? What'd she ever do to deserve this?"
(21:38:07) Korumak says: He has been stalking bards...
(21:38:13) Miomai stares in awe at the corpse before her, "She's with Dakkru now." A smile crosses her face at the thought of it.
(21:38:47) Thidin steps forwards, slowly "i wouldn't say that."
(21:38:57) Caraick stands silently, looking over the scene. His face is drawn expressionless, eyes creased in thought.
(21:39:11) Onilise frowns "poor girl"
(21:39:12) Korumak says: he's attacked 4 I know of
(21:39:29) Miomai turns to Thidin, "What would you say?"
(21:39:45) Thidin looks to Miomai "This girl didn't make it to that realm."
(21:40:23) Korumak says: Thidin has apoint, all of Kisoji's victums went to the death realm the onces he killed
(21:40:31) Onilise nods
(21:40:41) Korumak says: He doesnt have this kind of well power
(21:40:43) Miomai decides not to waste anymore time with a non-believer, besides, she can't quite recall the revelation that explains what happens after true death. So she just turns back and stares at the corpse in awe again.
(21:41:03) Icerra grows agitated, "Some nobody fenki gets permanent death? Why? What'd she do? This is pointless, her death means nuthin' if she don't deserve it!"
(21:41:26) Caraick folds his paws slowly over his staff, eyes sad, and expression quiet.
(21:41:28) Onilise furrows her brow "I agree"
(21:41:34) Weffosh says: How can you say that, knowing nothing of how she died?
(21:41:56) Weffosh says: For all we know of her she could have been a rougue or a thief..
(21:41:56) Onilise says: because we do know nothing...
(21:41:58) Korumak says: Bit its clear... who ever this is, is targeting bards
(21:42:00) Miomai says: "How do you know she didn't deserve it?" Mimai asks Icerra, a rare level-headed question from the normally insane fenki.
(21:42:25) Avaragil's lifeless eyes stare outwards at the crowd, and even in death it appears eerily as though she is listening to what is being said about her: Her ears pricked forward, her mouth slightly ajar, if not for the faint trickle of blood leaking past her pointed teeth one might even think she is paying rapt attention.
(21:42:59) Onilise says: we should at least loosen the ropes
(21:43:10) Icerra demands again, "Who is she? She's nobody!"
(21:43:16) Korumak says: Give her a proper burial
(21:43:40) Weffosh murmurs something like "I'm not touching that corpse"
(21:43:42) Caraick nods his quiet agreement. "Bury her with some dignity."
(21:44:03) Miomai says: "We don't bury our dead." she says to Korumak, still rather reasonable. Perhaps the topic of death brings clarity to her mind.
(21:44:04) Thidin nods "Shove her down the burial well."
(21:44:27) Weffosh winces at the word "Shove"
(21:44:33) Korumak says: Should I even ask what you do with the corpses?
(21:44:39) Weffosh says: By the gods woman, don't you have any respect?
(21:44:43) Korumak says: the ones that dont go to the death realm
(21:44:52) Onilise says: Well she's not doing the Hydlaa water system any favors where she is
(21:44:57) Weffosh says: Eonwind told me..
(21:45:03) Icerra says: hey's pointless, she ain't nuthin but consumer food now
(21:45:12) Weffosh says: The corpses go to the burial well
(21:45:26) Caraick shakes his head slowly, sadly, and walks over nearer to the fountain. He moves as though to reach up, and attempt to loosen the binds around the Fenki.
(21:45:30) Avaragil's eyes glimmer, evidencing tears left in them upon her death. Tracks have been traced down her face, down the channels beside her eyes, perhaps a final, keening plea to her killer before he took her life.
(21:45:31) Korumak says: Then what seems to be the hold up?
(21:45:44) Thidin looks to Weffosh "That what happens to everyone. A proper morning for the souless body then it is put into the burial well to be fed to Consumers. Thats life."
(21:46:35) Miomai rummages through her sack for a book, and, pulling it out, she begins flipping through it, "Wheah is my rrritual?" she asks herself.
(21:47:19) Korumak says: Anyone tries to feed my body after my final death to any animal is getting haunted...
(21:47:21) Avaragil begins to crumple at Caraick's touch. Her chest collapses in upon itself, followed by her head, her fingers and toes, her legs and arms. They all crumple inwards, collapsing as if whatever held them up has been eaten away from within, reducing the interior to nothing but ashes and dust. Even her fur begins to split and fall apart, piece by piece, until nothing at all but a little pile of dust remains, colorless, a deadened grey, to blend in nicely with the stone. The dagger drops down on top of it with a 'clang' of resounding finality.
(21:47:23) Icerra says: she ain't nobody in life, she ain't nuthin' in death, that's how it goes
(21:47:30) Onilise laughs at Korumak
(21:47:42) Caraick withdraws his paw quickly, observing the odd spectacle.
(21:48:13) Onilise gasps at the now ashen corpse
(21:48:27) Thidin blinks as she watches the body dissapear.
(21:48:28) Icerra jumps onto the platform and picks up the dagger
(21:48:35) Onilise says: what kind of magic is that?
(21:48:50) Miomai gives up on rummiging through her sack o' junk since the corpse is gone now anyway.
(21:48:54) Thidin goes to stop her, but doesn't, not caring.
(21:49:26) Onilise says: poor little fenki
(21:49:31) Caraick steps back slowly, shaking his head sadly.
(21:49:46) Onilise wipes a small tear for the ended life so young
(21:49:47) Weffosh says: Nothing remains but ashes to be swept in the wind..
(21:50:11) Thidin looks to Caraick as he backs up
(21:50:55) Weffosh says: From Yliakum she came to Yliakum she returns..
(21:51:03) Avaragil's ashes begin to shift slightly, as if cued by Eonwind's statement. They billow upwards into a vortex, a small cacoon of whirling breezes. They sweep up every last trace, and carry it off, as if being controlled and given it's own destination, leaving behind only the dried, cracked stains of blood.
(21:51:40) Hareneg watches the the billow of ashes
(21:51:44) Onilise fingers her Xiosia amulet as if to feel closer by the Goddess
(21:51:46) Miomai says: "I can't practice my rrritual now," she says quietly.
(21:51:46) Thidin wobbles up to Caraick, whispering to him
(21:52:01) Icerra steps off the platform landing deftly next to Miomai, holding the dagger carefully in her paw she looks it over, "This did it Lazarene, this released her completely... this is everything we ever wanted..."
(21:52:14) Caraick leans a bit closer to Thidin, so as to catch her whisper.
(21:52:45) Weffosh pauses for a bit, than picks up the crystals.
(21:52:55) Caraick lifts his head to the side, responding to Thidin.
(21:53:12) Weffosh nods to the stone as if paying respects, and moves away..
(21:53:14) Miomai looks at the dagger, somewhat interested, "How did it do that? Is theah any black tah on it?"
-
There's more to it, (I had to log the character because it didn't make much sense for her body to still be there) so if someone stumbles upon this post and finds they have more reaction to this event, feel free to post it here. Also, if it spurs your character to do something, you're welcome to post that as well, in the same RP format or written if you enjoy writing.
@Aramara and Travosh: You guys make the most amusing forum thread combination, and I love you. :love:
@ Cirerey: Thank you. And I know, not pleasant, but well, at least you definately understand that Barsidious is not a nice man. ;D
-
The spirits of the Death Realm stirred, an eddy in a stream of phantom particles. In the ruins buried under the Iron Temple of Hydlaa, Icerra Meibi turned in her sleep.
|||:|:+:+:\\._-_._-_.//:+:+:|:|||
"Listen... things are happening, don'tcha hear? We need you to be strong, we need you to be smart, I need you to lead, you hear me?"
The clamod met her eyes, a look of loss and hopelessness overcome suddenly with resolve and determination.
"I'll lead," Lazarene said simply, puffed out her chest, and followed the others down to the plaza, "Follow me."
So she did follow. The two of them quit the tavern and followed the crowd down the lengthy steps to the expansive plaza below, towards the promise of one truly dead. A corwd had formed around the site, tavern patrons, scragglers in Harnquist's army of slave wage smiths, and professional gawkers alike. The fenki hung on the balustrade. Her arm had been harshly broken, hanging by threads and tendons, and her ankle was bent at a painful, broken angle. Buried deep in her gut was a dagger, the source of her demise, the blood from the wound trickling out to soak her tunic and slowly the hem of her trousers. A rope across her collarbone, and another around her waist, kept her upright, and her eyes had not been closed in death, lending them an eerie and ethereal stare. Judging by the fact that her body did not vanish upon death, it was fairly plain: this woman was truly and forever gone.
The body was of a fenki Icerra had never lain eyes on before, a girl without a name, a home, a past, a story.
The murmers amongst the crowd were what you would expect, "I wonder who killed her" and "Poor girl", as the dead fenki's head hunng limply, lifeless eyes staring at the cobblestones. A trickle of blood had worked its way from the wound in her stomach down to her feet, staining the entire stone podium with her blood. She stood in this small puddle, obviously unawares of the goings on around her, deaf and dumb in death.
Icerra approached the corpse and inspected it closely. She turned toward the crowd and demanded, "Who's this girl? What'd she ever do to deserve this?", but no one there could supply much of an answer. They muddled about, shifting uneasily on their feet, debating in whispered, uncertain voices how best to handle the remains of one as gone she.
She grew agitated, "Some nobody fenki gets permanent death? Why? What'd she do? This is pointless, her death means nuthin' if she don't deserve it!"
This seemed to get their attention, if only briefly. There was a vague look on their faces, hovering somewhere near the centroid in the gamut of fear, confusion, and disbelief.
They challenged.
"How can you say that, knowing nothing of how she died?"
"How do you know she didn't deserve it?"
The corpse's lifeless eyes stared outwards at the crowd, and even in death it appeared eerily as though she was listening to what was being said about her: Her ears pricked forward, her mouth slightly ajar, if not for the faint trickle of blood leaking past her pointed teeth one might have even thought she was paying rapt attention.
Some, for some reason, still empathized for the lifeless and unfeeling, now inanimate object.
"We should at least loosen the ropes."
"Give her a proper burial."
"Bury her with some dignity."
Dignity? Icerra couldn't stand it. DIGNITY? There was no dignity in any of this. A senseless, useless, pointless killing, without meaning, without cause. Nothing was lost, and so Dakkru gained nothing from it. No shift in the balance had been made.
"She ain't nobody in life, she ain't nuthin' in death, that's how it goes."
The menki Caraick emerged from the crowd and walked over nearer to the fountain. He moved as though to reach up and attempt to loosen the binds around the Fenki. The mutilated corpse began to crumble at Caraick's touch. Her chest collapsed in upon itself, followed by her head, her fingers and toes, her legs and arms. They all crumpled inwards, collapsing as if whatever held them up has been eaten away from within, reducing the interior to nothing but ashes and dust. Even her fur begins to split and fall apart, piece by piece, until nothing at all but a little pile of dust remains, colorless, a deadened grey, to blend in nicely with the stone. The dagger dropped down on top of it with a 'clang' of resounding finality.
The dagger.
Caraick withdrew his paw quickly, observing the odd spectacle. Gasps resounded throughout the crowd as the event left them stunned, but Icerra spurred to action. She jumped onto the stone platform and picked up the dagger from its bed of fine dust.
As the initial shock subsided, the onlookers felt obliged to comment.
"Poor little fenki."
"Nothing remains but ashes to be swept in the wind..."
The ashes ashes began to shift slightly, as if cued by the statement. They billowed upwards into a vortex, a small cacoon of whirling breezes. They swept up every last trace, and carry it off, as if being controlled and given it's own destination, leaving behind only the dried, cracked stains of blood.
*"\_<*>_/"*"\_<*>_/"*"\_<*>_/"*
In quantum echo, the murmuring dead quickened into a whirlwind, summoning images from the dark depths and feeding them into the sleeping kore's dream.
>>>:=:=:*{}*{}*:=:=:<<<
Icerra held the dagger across her palms, wondering at its simplicity. She cast a glance over the complacent crowd and felt herself suddenly gripped in a compulsive force. Driven by impulse, she made her voice heard.
"Dakkru demands a sacrifice!" she shouted, "A death worthy of her taking!"
The words were not hers, only emerged from her. She was not speaking to the crowd, but was being spoken to, instructed.
The faces now locked on her in fear, a smoldering spark inside her ignited, fueled her passion. She felt her paws tighten around the dagger hilt and blade. The edges of her vision turned red.
+-\-\-\*}}}*{{{*/-/-/-+-\-\-\*}}}*{{{/-/-/-+
Icerra woke with a start. The scene from the previous day played out in her dreams, only it wasn't. It was different. Hidden among the chain of memories was a sign. She knew instantaneously what it meant.
She slipped the dagger out from under her ragged cloak and held it once again in her palms. There was enough luminescence in the dungeon for her to see it clearly. It was only a simple dagger, one that would be sold en masse, so as not to be easily traced, coated in the dried remnants of a permadeath poison. The coating had been rendered inert through time; Icerra had tested it on enough arangmas, clackers, and rats to confirm this. But it was the only guide she had now to follow if she were to complete her given task.
Dakkru had demanded a sacrifice to make up for the waste that was the fenki stranger's death. Icerra vowed to find the one responsible, to learn their ways, and to make them pay.
-
Still continuing to read this topic. It's a beaut.
-
\\o// Aramara! That was excellent, and not at all something I had thought would be spurred in your character because of the events...which makes it 100X better! Looking forward to see how that unfolds :D
Zai: Well thank you! I hope you can get involved in-game, the more the merrier!
-
Seems like ima have to eventually do more fenki-burning.
*Travosh mutters "Only way to deal with a fenki, burn them from the legs up. The head is useless to them anyways"
-
There had been another killing. Granted, all she had learned about it was hearsay, since she'd arrived apparently moments after the ritual disintegration of the corpse. And of corpse, some idiotic delinquent had taken it upon themselves to liberate the oh-so-necessary murder weapon from the crime scene, which was tantamount to ripping the foundation out from beneath a building.
Without that residual sample of poison I can't possibly figure out where to look next for the killer, she thought, pacing back and forth on some hill outside the city. She couldn't take the throng of people, bustling and talking and bumping into one another, constantly spreading their own bodily odor. Too many sights and smells and convoluted voices. And the irrelevant conversations and chattering was possibly the worst part, half-whispered murmurings of the most recent “juicy” gossip that drove her batty with its persistent stupidity. Much better listening to the distant chirruping of crickets, or the even more detached rustling of wild beasts exploring the brush with clumsy, lumbering limbs.
Pausing for a moment, she let her thoughts ram into a wall and come to an abrupt halt. Folding her legs, she sunk to the grassy ground beneath her and breathed deeply, her hands finding their way to clamp down on her knees. She inhaled the crisp, wintry air and exhaled the tension from her wound up muscles and scrambling mind. Nothing about this entire endeavor was going as it should have. To numerous people, the Dastrid included, her true identity—or at least the “identity” she professed to be true—had been revealed. One layer peeled back. She only had one more below that, one that had never actually been torn asunder, but still. Typically the primary role of clueless bystander was never compromised, so it was certainly cause for some concern. She had even gone so far as to accept help from one of them; a Travosh, a klyros she knew little to nothing about, with a tendency to be as cryptic as the most complicated and infuriating of alchemical formulas.
She was certain he wasn't the killer, of course, or she wouldn't have let him within ten feet of her. But that hardly meant she trusted him. She trusted nobody. A paranoid statement for sure, yet strenuously maintained caution was what had kept her throat from being slit many many times before. Her instincts told her to be wary, and she followed them religiously, as they'd never led her astray before. She'd accept his help for this endeavor only because he'd proven useful and slightly more tolerable than the masses, but once this ordeal was over she'd make every attempt to ditch him. It shouldn't prove too difficult. He was comparatively as aloof as she was, and would most likely make no effort beyond the initial offer to help track down the killer.
Icerra and Lazarene.
Evirea leaned back and exhaled again, her hand moving over to grip her shoulder. Already she'd tried to track down the pair that had allegedly stolen the dagger from atop the desiccated corpse. As par to her recent run of luck, they turned out to be of the less than sane variety. The kore had killed herself just to get away from their encounter and keep hold of the dagger, and the clamod was one she'd encountered already once before. She was unsound of mind entirely, unable to think with a pattern above that of a common child, and consequently she could consider her as little more than that. A child.
And I was never particularly good with children. They can be so whiny and demanding, and you're always snatching them out of danger. It does no good to further torment the fenki. Best leave her to her own devices. Though from what I understand she was not always so addled. I'm sure the issue is mainly chemical, as most things are in the body. If the small deviation could somehow be corrected I'm certain I could somehow manage to rectify whatever happened and return her to her former level of intellect...
The klyros shook her head and forced her thoughts back onto a more productive track, though she knew it was basically a dead end. Her accomplice had somehow gone down to the death realm to try and deal with Icerra, left her here to wait for him, which only twisted her gut further. A bit of the twisting was guilt, to be sure, as the ordeal was taxing so far as she understood, but also because it left a gap in her knowledge of how it was all unfolding, and that was a twisting thorn in the bottom of her foot.
And then of course there is that Teshia woman, the Dastrid, the presumptuous one that nearly put a damper on the entire operation. Anger made her heart clench, and she soothed herself by running her fingers along the length of her head-fin, breathing out again with slow deliberation. Popped up while we were trying to reclaim the dagger. The little harlot actually thought she could evaluate me. Me, of all people! Hah! She's not spoken more than a single conversation, and yet she professes to have a firm grasp of who I am?!
Evirea looked down at her hands and picked idly at some of the dried, cracking flesh there, still healing from the acid burns she'd given herself from the last encounter with Barsidious. The encounter that had saved the Ylians life, not that she'd actually bothered to offer a thank you. Oh no, rather, she'd decided her thanks would be carried on a snowball chucked at her back and the words “keep your eyes on what is important,” or some cryptic equivalent. Whatever the death realm that meant.
I'm currently chasing a killer that leaves his victims gone from this realm for all eternity, cutting lives abruptly short, and whose death toll is thirteen. One that might be even higher than that, if my estimations and research missed something. I should think that is the most important piece of this entire puzzle, to the abyss with everything else. If my personality is too callous for the fragile little flower then she would do best to simply remain out of my work.
Her lips worked themselves into a tight line as she stood up, deciding she should be checking around to see if her assistant had yet resurfaced with the obnoxious, meddling fenki. She turned herself towards the path leading towards the gate and moved towards it, her steps quick and assured. As she moved, she made a promise to herself regarding the self-righteous woman.
And if you don't stay out of my business, Dastrid, I swear I'll drug your arse so badly you'll be a babbling mass for the remainder of my time in this blasted city. People will be talking about your drug addict issues for weeks after, and you'll likely never even figure out precisely what happened.
The comedic images this promise produced brought a faint smile to Evirea's lips.
-
Tesh drugs herself anyways ;D
Though I suggest she go through with that plan anyways. >.>
-
I love how I've been relegated to "the Dastrid" as if I were the only one, instead of one in a family of many. :P
-
;D That's actually as par to her character. If she can learn a last name, she'll use it, so she can just lump people together.
-
The Dastrid Conglomerate? >_>
-
Dastrid, Dastrid, Dastrid, Dastrid...Oh wait! No... Dastrid...
/me thinks they need to do frequent head counts.
-
She was to be his finale. His glorious conclusion to what had been an egregious culmination of thought and work and time. His time, spent mulling about in city after city, going everywhere from the higher ups to the lowest of lows. He'd romped through elaborately decorated halls marked by the most precious of stones, mingled with the grossly arrogant proprietors, the wealthy. And he'd spent countless days cloaked in squalor, adorned in nothing but tattered rags, caked in half-dried clay from the ground on which he slept. The best disguises were of the very nature, rather than appearance. All that was needed was the appropriate application of altered personality, and he could flip from aristocrat to beggar with a snap of his fingers. An illusion that could fool those around him better than any spell he could ever hope to conjure.
His victims were diverse, of course. There was no reason to keep his lessons contained by petty differences like race or religion. So he'd culled the lot, and selected the finest from every region of the social globe. Only a few more lucky recipients now, before he reached his last act, his beautiful and harmonious swan song.
It was brilliant. Part of it was guilty pleasure of course, he'd first learned of her quite by accident, overhearing tidbits of gossip and reading a simple article relating scant and vague details of her deliciously tragic story. But the other part of it was the uproar it was bound to cause. When they found out that the hunter, the valorous hero that might have brought this enigma of nightmares to its knees had actually been a mere fish upon its line the entire time...devastation. Total. Absolute. Resplendent.
Oh and she was perfect. In every sense of the word, she would be both vulnerable and resistant to him. Her steady logic and deadened emotions would make her strong in the face of his affliction, yet her history would be the ultimate crack in her foundation, the thing that would send her sniveling to the floor in a puddle of sorrow and despair.
His hands took on a tremor as they moved over the various piles of data he'd collected about her. The fact that she'd been raised in brilliance, that her parents had invoked from the very beginning a love of knowledge and learning. That she'd excelled in her schooling, and had enlisted to be a part of the guard, showing a prodigal-like promise that had mentor and caretaker alike crowing in excitement. That she'd been assigned to track down a well-known killer, one dubbed the butcher, some villain that maimed his victims by severing and cauterizing their limbs, before delivering a final blow by injecting a rather sloppy potion that severed their souls eternally. If he were to be asked about it, Barsidious would probably confess his disapproval if such actions. Such a pathetically meaningless killing. And so grotesque. He administered some desecration postmortem to make a point, certainly, but his operations always served a purpose. He had a plan, he was not some manic madman that slaughtered at random and left a glaring trail in his wake.
Eyes moving to his favorite of all the tiny periodicals he'd gathered, he pulled it towards him, marveling at the details the artist had rendered in drawing Evirea's heartsick face. Beneath the portrait were words, scrawling words etched by some scribe or other, telling the sad, sad tale of his precious klyros:
Due to her involvement in a yet to be disclosed operation, investigator Pomolle's home was recently invaded by the infamous Barn Level Butcher. Thankfully, Ms. Pomolle was not home, but her parents, the famous alchemist Omia Pomolle and the noted scholar and author Inar Pomolle, happened to be present during the transpiring events. It's been confirmed that both were killed by the Butcher, and that Detective Pomolle has asked for a leave of absence to collect herself after said events...
There was a mention later in the article, something about having found the killer dead and mutilated and planted for all the world to see. Few knew the association between the two, though certainly some had suspected. But he knew. He knew her dirty little secret, about what she had done, and it hadn't taken terribly long for her employers to figure it out as well. What was it her file had read? That her actions after her return to work had been erratic and...obsessive? She had gone after her assignments with a renewed fervor that at first seemed excellent, but as time went on, revealed a tattered and battered psyche. She'd become an addict, compelled to capture the criminals she was charged to as a sort of amorphous salvation for her failure to protect her family.
She blames herself for what happened! He mused, a childlike giggle creeping past his lips. He was giddy with the idea of it. How perfect it all was. His fingers danced over the letters of another piece of writing, one elaborating upon her honorable discharge from the service, on the grounds of instability. Oh, the irony of it. She was so fragile, ready to be cracked open, wrapped in a guise. One that, when removed, would reveal nothing but a broken girl, and even with all of her gumption and reasoning she would be completely unable to hide this Truth. The Truth about what she was. It would be, truly, the most satisfying kill he would ever make, and just thinking of it filled him with an eagerness he could hardly contain.
Not yet, he reminded himself, forcing, as always, a careful and constant control. He still hadn't invoked the panic he wanted. Hadn't stirred the masses to where he wanted them to be. No, more were required. Someone else. Someone whose capacity for mingling had already marked them as beloved, someone who would be well missed. Before he could get to his prize, he had to lay out the trap just right. He had to finish reeling in the carp and the bottom feeders until he was ready to pull in the shimmering swordfish.
Ah, but the next corpse would have a memento. A gift, straight from him. No, he could not physically take her yet, but he would at least give her the benefit of knowing her most ardent attentions had not gone unnoticed. Chuckling to himself, he dipped a quill into a jar of readied ink, saturating the small space inside, and let the crimson liquid flow out onto a pristine, white piece of parchment. His handwriting was morphed, still legible of course. He was not foolish enough to even leave that miniscule of a clue. Writing could be tracked. Even the very letters he was now creating had to take on a disguise of their own, a mask just as solid and real as the one that now sat upon his face.
Intelligent and quick you are
To have followed me this far
But soon our merry chase shall end
So unto you, a hand I'll lend
A benefit upon the doubt
Due to your dedication stout
Though it may come as quite a shock
I'll spare the chance to simply mock
A face that you have never seen,
And from this message you shall glean
The Truth and matter of the facts
Despite your smart and careful acts
You've not a clue, upon the whole,
Ah, but I know you...
Evirea Pomolle.
He set the pen down and took a long moment to imagine her face. The way it would break it's composure, if only for one, single, memorable moment. How her heartbeat would race, how she would quickly begin formulating new concepts and theories and ideas, seeking a solution. For soon she would see who here was truly in control. She was leagues away, floundering about in open sea, and the boat was drawing ever nearer, harpoons at the ready.
-
Note: Your character does not know about Evirea's background. It'll be elaborated upon later, but I want to stress this. There is no way your character knows about what happened to her. The information here is out of character, and unless your character is some sort of amazing psychic (If so, ask me about it and we'll work something out) there is no way for them to know.
No. Way! ;)
-
SPLIT YOUR LUNGS WITH BLOOD AND THUNDER WHEN YOU SEE THE WHITE WHALE!
-
This situation is becoming increasingly aggravating.
Her fingers were already burning something horrid, as she didn't have a proper lab to work with and the careful administration this particular process required could not be done with clumsy, clunky tongs. The liquid required to separate the blood from the poison that had been lethally pumped through it was...less than pleasant, and a hissing issued through her clenched teeth as it managed to move down through the cracks of her already chemical-ravaged skin. This could all have been avoided if she'd simply been able to get her hands on that dagger, but no. First it had been the annoying kore with an unstable obsession for all things necrotic and dead, and now it was some meddling menki who'd tried to barter the weapon as a means to get “in” on the action. Literally, he'd had the nerve to approach her and make demands for knowledge about the goings on of her case, and stated that only then he would give her the knife she needed to make her affirmations.
Got the better of you though, eh Sacho? She thought as she tucked her injured hands painfully against herself, not touching her tunic. If she did it would unravel the fabric like fire melting ice, easy and smooth. She'd learned long ago that trying to wash it off was useless and only further intensified the pain of it, so instead she only waited for it to subside, eyes squinted in agony, and attempted to distract herself by watching as the blood was drawn out of the trace sample she'd managed to collect. Thankfully she only needed to ensure that one of the ingredients was in fact extract from a dark mushroom plant; now that her appendages had been rendered so excruciatingly tattered it would be a few days before she could actually carry out the more intricate work. She smirked to herself as she observed the desired change in color, giving a dip of her head, experiencing momentary relief at her success before she leaned back against the cold stone wall behind her and closed her eyes.
It was as though multiple needles were being stuck beneath her skin, heated to a ripe old degree prior to the morbid acupuncture. Her face twitched and she hissed again, a faint screeching rattling her throat, which only made her thankful that she'd finished her other work prior to running this experiment. What was it the nolthrir had asked for? A cure for sickness, that's right. Well, she'd delivered a treatment at least, nobody could say she hadn't tried.
And why do you care anyway, hey Evi? It's not your problem. You've got plenty on your plate, besides coming up with balms and poultices to heal the sick. You're just a sucker because her family was in danger, and it hit too close to home.
Jerking her head to the side, she shoved her heels into the gravel beneath her and braced herself against the wall as another sensation briefly scattered her thoughts. The first few layers of her epidermis, right down to specific regions of her dermis, would slough off quickly enough, but such a rapid sloughing didn't come with all to pleasant a sensation. The discoloration left on her skin and scales would take months to actually disappear, which was why this alternative was considerably less ideal than simply using a more concentrated sample. Unfortunately that thrice-condemned menki had spoiled it all, and she had not the time to argue with the ignoramus. She needed to find her killer, and then get the death realm off of this level.
The people here are either of three categories: deluded into a belief of their own self-created omnipotence, so crystal-blessed and happy go lucky they don't know negative if it slaps them in the face, or so wrapped up in their damnable secrets its like pulling teeth to get anything out of them. In a listed order she could even spell them out one by one, the pinheads that she believed officially designated the standards one needed to meet in order to fall into any particular category. Sacho, Dannae, Travosh...
She was just about to dip into defining several different sub categories and combinations of these anthologized groupings when her hands suddenly gave off the impression that they were being torn off. Slow baked might even be a more accurate description, though she personally had never had the experience of sticking her hand straight into the heart of a fire and letting it burn every article right off of the bone. Nevertheless, she imagined it would be a very similar scenario as a whole. Glad she'd selected a secluded location in which to carry this out, she slammed her head back against the moss-riddled stone and screamed into her clenched teeth, producing a half-muffled and strangled noise that might have attracted attention if she hadn't taken great pains to make it quieter. She really just wanted to let out a blood-curdling howl, but this wasn't the first time she'd had to live with the effects of this potion, and she wasn't about to be a sissy now.
Bloody bleeping trepor's bleeping for all that is holy bleeping death to Laanx, Dakkru, Xiosia, Talad and whoever else I forgot!
Sagging over to the side, for a few good minutes all she was aware of were blurry shapes and images. She blinked her eyes to reacquire some semblance of focus and looked down to where a warm sensation was creeping through the newly rendered cracks between her dark blue scales. Her blood was seeping out in tiny rivulets, and the flesh on her palms was stained a bruised and abused violet. Shreds of dead skin lay idly and innocently in her lap, and she stood up stiffly to let them fall to the floor, unwilling to do much of anything with her hands for the moment. Shaking each leg to relieve her trousers of the rather gruesome reminder, she stepped forward and pressed her forehead to the wall, her arms limp at her sides. For one paralyzing, petrifying moment, thoughts of failure assailed her. They chocked her in a tangible, physical way, and she suddenly found it very difficult to even breathe as her throat closed in upon itself. You can't really catch him, you know. You've failed so far, and that blasted klyros is probably right. The killer probably even knows who you are. Down to every little detail. And if you're right about his methodology, you'd be like honey to him. You'll end up dead, a failure as you've always been, and everybody here will know it in the end. Impossible to hide it, really. Totally impossible to...
She slammed her bleeding hand against one of the rocks of the wall, and the white-hot flash of pain scattered all of those thoughts rather effectively, eliciting another throaty scream. Leaving a red imprint that showed all five fingers in grotesquely artistic detail, she lowered her fisted hand and glared at the cracks between the mortared stones. She waited for every trace of frustration to seep out of her shoulders, and every single thread of hysterical emotion to work its way from her mind. Then, having worked herself into her usual state of mechanical and carefully regulated calm, she wrapped her hands and strode out of the alleyway.
She didn't have time for such irrelevant drivel, after all.
She had a killer to catch.
-
We can't all be open books ;D
-
Dannae falls into the 3rd category.... right? Must be that one... ;)
Very entertaining to read, as always!!!
-
Barsidious pulls out a chair and slides into it, glancing over at the Lemur with a cordial sort of smile. "Afternoon, sir."
(15:13:23) Ametes nods politely. "Hello, sir.
(15:13:53) Barsidious waves his uninjured hand outwards. "Enjoying the sights, I take it?"
(15:14:46) Ametes nods. "Yes. This area is nice. I am glad I made the trip here. It has been good for business as well. I am Ametes. What is your name?"
(15:16:37) Barsidious dips his head. "Barsidious. It is good to meet you, my good sir." He reaches out his hand to be shaken. "I take it you've been doing a lot of mingling, making a mark, making new friends?"
(15:18:28) Ametes shakes the offered hand. "You could say that. I am a jeweller by trade. How about yourself?"
(15:19:20) Barsidious smiles softly. "A studied man, a bit of a philosopher, you could say." He draws his hand back. "I don't suppose you're particularly thirsty? I've a lovely vintage here with me," he draws out a bottle of red-tinted wine. "You might enjoy."
(15:19:56) Ametes says: If you mean to share, I would welcome it.
(15:20:54) Barsidious pours some of the drink into two glasses, and slides one towards the lemur. He swirls and watches the sloshing, but takes no drink.
(15:21:53) Ametes takes the offer glass and smells the wine as if he is testing its quailty.
(15:22:40) Barsidious waits with a wierd sort of patience, tapping his fingers against the table softly. He takes one sip and swirls it around his tongue, swallowing lightly.
(15:23:44) Ametes then takes a sip. "That is good wine. So do you always share such a bottle with a stranger?"
(15:24:47) Barsidious smiles and watches Ametes take a drink. He glances around him, and leans forward slightly, shaking his head. "Sometimes. But only for special strangers."
(15:25:21) Ametes takes another sip. "So what makes me so special?"
(15:26:06) Barsidious moves his glass to clink against Ametes'. He then shifts...and dumps the remainder of his drink out onto the wooden floor with an odd sort of finality. "People will know your face. At this point, that is reason enough," he mutters softly.
(15:26:47) Ametes sits his glass down. "I'm not sure I like the sound of that."
(15:30:47) Barsidious gives another chuckle. "I wouldn't worry, you'll be pretty senseless soon enough, it won't really matter."
(15:32:21) Ametes gives a look of concern as he starts to try to get up, but instead slowly falls onto the table and into sleep.
(15:33:05) Barsidious quirks a brow. "Damn. Lemurs must not have a very strong ability to resist." He reaches down towards Ametes and attempts to pick the man up and sling him across his shoulders.
-
Doesn't sweet lil' Evirea fall into the first category herself? :flowers:
and the third? :love:
Icerra asks, "Who died and made HER the protagonist?"
-
(16:17:10) Evirea shouts: GODS DAMN BLAST IT ALL!
(16:17:59) Miomai pins her ears to her head to avoid the obnoxious shouting from the femros in front of her.
(16:18:35) Sacho walks up following Miomai. He speaks softly. "Vire, we need to talk."
(16:19:31) Evirea doesn't even turn around, and clenches her hands into fists. "I'm. Busy." She grates out.
(16:20:22) Sacho walks over next to the klyros.
(16:21:06) Evirea ignores the clamod, seeming far to furious at the moment to concoct a sentence.
(16:21:11) Miomai tilts her head to one side as she wonders exactly what the rude klyros is busy with. The body can certainly wait a few moments. It wouldn't mind.
(16:22:00) Voron frowns slightly, then his face returns to its usually impassiveness. He studies the surroundings for a while.
(16:23:02) Sacho looks over the corpse carefully from where he stands. "We should get the guards."
(16:23:16) Thidin goes to make sure Teshia does go closer
(16:23:36) Voron doesn't respond and studies the crime scene.
(16:23:52) Teshia stays near to Thidin, watching the other people there curiously.
(16:24:15) Miomai wonders what the guards would do with the corpse. Not like they do much of anything with live bodies.
(16:24:23) Thidin steps a bit closer
(16:24:38) Evirea seems to unlock herself from her catatonic state. She strides forward and moves to grip the letter, instantly staining the edges with the blood on her tensed and injured hands. Staring down at the text, her eyes grow wider as she reads it, and she starts to swear profusely.
(16:25:01) Teshia stays near to Miomai and Thidin "looks like he got another one."
(16:25:24) Thidin looks to Evirea "What is it?"
(16:25:53) Miomai's eyes are wide and focsed on the body, maybe even that dagger stuck into the body. A fenki of many words, she expounds on Teshia's statement with an eloquent, "Yep."
(16:25:55) Telena says: "What on-" She looks closely at the dead body.
(16:26:37) Teshia looks to Miomai, and replies with the usual amount of tact and grace "If they didnt get the dagger back from Icerra, looks like they'll have one to work with now."
(16:27:02) Voron steps back, looks at the crowd, frowns in a disapproving manner one could think and then returns to his blank state.
(16:27:48) Evirea moves towards the corpse and wraps a hand around the hilt of the dagger, the letter clenched in her fist. She yanks the thing out of the Lemur's chest and stands there, facing away from the crowd, her expression unreadable.
(16:28:10) Thidin looks at Evirea , worried.
(16:28:19) Miomai slowly closes her paws into tight fists as Teshia explaines the situation to her. The rest of her muscles tense as she wonders how best to eradicate that blade from the ones who wish to do evil against her Goddess.
(16:28:24) Ametes's body falls apart as the dagger is removed. HIs body reduces to a pile of dust. Only his necklace, and clothes remain.
(16:29:17) Teshia reaches out, and tries to rest a hand on Miomai's shoulder "Peace. It won't be used for wrongness any more." She doesn't know precisely what the fenki is thinking now, but she's heard this song and dance before, and can probably guess where it's going.
(16:29:18) Telena folds her arms, watching what is happening. Her face is blank, not showing any expression anymore.
(16:30:18) Evirea watches this event impassively. She carefully folds the dagger in a cloth and slides it into a concealed space, before stooping to study the amulet more closely. The letter is still clenched tightly in her fist.
(16:30:51) Sacho speaks softly. "What does that note say, Vire?"
(16:30:53) Miomai is an open book, but Teshia's gentle, motherly touch and soft words sooth her somewhat. She relaxes her muscles and looks over at Teshia for a few moments. It takes a minute, but a smile crosses her lips for the briefest instant before she looks back at Evirea and company.
(16:32:56) Evirea's voice is quite dull, as if she's making an obvious attempt to remain perfectly calm. "Nothing relevant," she answers. She seems to be counting the breathing behind her, and turns her head ever so slightly to glimpse the crowd. Jerking her head back again, she swears.
(16:33:06) Teshia murmurs softly to Miomai "perhaps once they have finished with the body, they will let you take the dust to honor the Dark lady."
(16:33:23) Telena turns around and walks towards the Den.
(16:33:23) Ametes's remains then blow away as a directed gust of wind comes by.
(16:33:43) Teshia immediately looks about to make sure she's not downwind.
(16:33:46) Sacho says: Vire, I want to see that note.
(16:34:35) Voron walks over to the other side, perfectly calm studying the scene without any expression an his face. then he turns to Sacho, looks at him for a moment, then at Evirea.
(16:35:00) Miomai's interest in Teshia's idea blows away with the ashes of the corpse. She's used to disappointment now, and remains stoic in the face of it.
(16:35:31) Evirea rises slowly. She turns around and glances at Voron and Sacho, then at the other three gathered, and seems to be trying to find an easy means of escape. "Yes, I am certain that you would," she states, and decides to just start walking.
(16:35:55) Sacho turns to follow the klyros.
(16:36:00) Teshia is trying very hard to hold a straight face, and those ashes either hit herself and Miomai directly... or Sacho and Voron... or maybe even went into the fountain, where people drink!
(16:36:32) Thidin tries to step in front of her
(16:37:12) Evirea halts and looks rather impassively at the clamod fenki. "Please step aside," she requests.
(16:37:34) Sacho then pauses and moves to take the necklace that the lemur had.
(16:37:37) Miomai watches the klyros try to make an attempted retreat with that dagger. She hopes that this klyros has at least as hard of a time doing so as she and Icerra had before. She'll follow Evirea into the Death Realm without hesitation.
(16:37:58) Voron walks over where the body was and studies the water for a moment. Kneeling down, he mutters something along the lines of "Ashes, ashes, we all fall down...". He looks for remnants of the ashes.
(16:38:05) Thidin laughs at the idea "You're hiding something that may be important."
(16:39:21) Teshia looks to Miomai, frowning thoughtfully "what exactly do 'you' want with the dagger? Not like it would help you honor Dakkru?"
(16:39:24) Evirea smiles coldly, the first break in her stony facade, and leans closer, having to stand up slightly taller in order to do so. "Believe me when I say I am more qualified to continue this investigation than you are, and that I will not be letting go of any further evidence, if I have anything to say about it. Now, step aside."
(16:40:36) Thidin nods "Oh yes, of course you are. I'm still not moving."
(16:40:42) Sacho turns to look at the klyros. "Vire, you may keep the note, but we wish to read it first."
(16:40:46) Miomai doesn't take her eyes off of Evirea, and answers Teshia slowly, "yep. It would."
(16:41:12) Teshia is completely ignoring the others now, focusing totally on miomai "but how?"
(16:41:20) Voron turns around apruply and studies the people as one might study prey.
(16:41:20) Thidin looks from Teshia to Evirea "Vire?
(16:41:38) Evirea's eye actually twitches. It seems the klyros is growing increasingly frustrated with this meddling audiance, and she looks about ready to blow a gasket. "Move," she says.
(16:42:21) Teshia turns a bit to stare after Rabartus too... noting how yet again, the guards are ever-present and utterly useless.
(16:42:40) Thidin shakes her head, standing firm as she hold out her hand "Now as the Menki said, just let us see it."
(16:42:59) Voron clears his troat audible enough. "I would like to see no further circumvention of the Law of Hydlaa."
(16:43:15) Sacho steps up and tries to gently put a hand on Vire's shoulder. "We are trying to help. Share with us what you have and you may go. Do not think you are the only one who wishes to find this person."
(16:43:41) Miomai turns to Teshia and attempts to come up with an intelligent reply, "It made True Death. That's Dakkru's daggah," she fails.
(16:43:54) Evirea has literally taken to pretending the guards aren't actually there, since they are pretty much the definition of idle anyway. She winces slightly, as that happens to be injured, and turns her head slightly. "There is a REASON I'm not readily giving you the LETTER," she spits.
(16:44:12) Teshia wrinkles her nose, and replies with an equally intelligent reply to Miomai "Dakkru would have something prettier."
(16:45:18) Thidin nods "Then hold it up for us to read."
(16:45:24) Voron eyes Evirea, sacho and Thidin. "I will NOT repeat myself." He says in calm tone.
(16:45:57) Thidin completely ignoring Voron.
(16:46:13) Sacho says: But, if you don't share that note with us, you will be more hunted than the killer. What is more important to you? What are you are hiding or stopping this killing? That note needs to be shown to the guards."
(16:46:18) Miomai thinks about that one for a moment, and her Dark Crystal earring starts to glow. Concluding that Teshia is probably correct, she lets a small smile curl the edges of her lips and nods her head slowly. She turns back to watch the goings-on, but with a stance that clearly shows she's lost interest in it.
(16:46:57) Evirea suddenly chucks the letter to the ground. Poor Voron, he chose the wrong time to speak up, and now has invoked the wrath. She flings a finger into his face. "Look, buddy," she snaps. "I frankly do not give a damn what you want, nor what you're trying to figure out. Your statement is irrelevant. I don't care WHO you are, nor WHAT your motivations. I suggest you SILENCE your yapping maw."
(16:47:49) Thidin watches Sacho Carefully "let me.'
(16:47:55) Thidin goes to pick it up
(16:48:21) Voron doesn't flinch or move, just stares back into Evirea's eyes.
(16:49:21) Teshia smirks widely and nudges Miomai "Issym tossed me in jail a few times, how about you?"
(16:49:30) Thidin covers her hand before picking up the letter as a precation
(16:50:00) Sacho moves next to Thidin. "I wish to read that as well, Thidin."
(16:50:21) Thidin nods, holding it out to him
(16:50:29) Issym says: Evening Citizens I hope everyone is doing well this evening.
(16:50:32) Miomai looks at Teshia with a bit of nervousness in her eyes and a quivvering in her lips as she says, "Ye-ep. I don't evah want to go back theah."
(16:51:10) Teshia starts to reply to Miomai, but instead just turns and grins widely to Haraun.
(16:51:11) Sacho turns to look at the guard. "No, things are not well this evening."
(16:51:31) Haraun waves to Teshia and looks around what is happening here
(16:51:42) Issym looks to Sacho "What seems to be the problem?"
(16:51:49) Voron stares at Evirea still, without any expression on his face. "Calm down, Miss."
(16:51:51) Thidin fold the paper, possibley before Sacho can finish reading it as she sees the guard approach.
(16:52:10) Teshia waves a hand to motion Haraun closer, replying in a low voice "A lemur was murdered... and not sent to Dakkru. he fell into dust, and it blew into the fountain."
(16:52:38) Evirea makes a face at Voron, a face of slightly cracked rage. She's been pushed to this point, and the presence of the guard doesn't seem to be helping her at all. "You calm yourself, elf," she snaps, her finger still shoved in his face. "And back out of something that doesn't involve you."
(16:52:52) Haraun looks quite disbelieving "How's that possible." But adds after a moment rather unthoughtfully "Haraun won't bath there again...
(16:53:21) Miomai raises her paw slowly and points to Evirea. She speaks clearly to Issym, "She killed someone."
(16:53:38) Sanrai says: What's happening, Haraun *whisper*
(16:53:43) Teshia nods solemnly to Haraun, before doing a double take and trying to swat at Miomai's paw "did not! it wasn't her!"
(16:54:05) Haraun whispers to Sanrai "That's apparently the place where Telena saw the dead body."
(16:54:14) Sanrai says: ah.
(16:54:17) Voron's lips twitch, then he laughs calmy. "Good good. So more people must die, then?"
(16:54:51) Sacho says: "A body was found here and there was a note on the body." He motions to Thidin. "Thidin has the note and Vire there was the first to approach the body."
(16:54:55) Evirea's eye twitches again. "No. I'm attempting to prevent such a happening, and believe me, your meddling will help NOBODY in this endeavor."
(16:55:01) Miomai retracts her paw much faster than she had drawn it out and flinches at Teshia's light attack. She doesn't try to defend her words, however, and remains silent.
(16:55:06) Issym turns and stares at Evirea "Were there any witnesses to this murder?"
(16:55:17) Sesp says: taps kettas shoulder*
(16:55:32) Sesp says: *smiles Hi
(16:55:39) Ketta turns and greets Sesp
(16:55:47) Evirea appears to be ignoring the guard, whether intentionally or not, she might just be too angry to be logical. "No, there were none," she snaps, turning slightly. "There never ARE any."
(16:56:09) Ketta says: Thanks, Sesp! Happy to help!
(16:56:09) Teshia looks to Miomai, frowning softly "you didn't see it, did you?"
(16:56:31) Thidin looks to Evirea "She needs to calm down...
(16:56:48) Miomai nods slowly, "I saw the klyros stab the lemah."
(16:56:58) Issym steps closer to Evirea "Are you denying the claim that you murdered someone then?"
(16:57:18) Ketta steps closer, straining to hear
(16:57:19) Teshia turns and stares, jaw dropped "But...you're sure?"
(16:57:27) Thidin steps away from Sacho and back by Teshia
(16:57:46) Voron squints at Evirea, then looks at the guard and remains in his usual demeanor.
(16:58:10) Evirea continues to ignore Miomai's accusations. She leans back slightly, a sneer of disgust present on her face. "I haven't KILLED anyone, you lot of ignorant morons." Her voice rises to a nearly hysterical pitch, and she is trembling, probably because of her situation of being trapped and utterly exposed in this crowd. "I'm the one trying to STOP the KILLER!"
(16:58:22) Miomai keeps a straight, mostly stoic face. She turns to Teshia and simply says, "Yep. I saw her."
(16:59:00) Teshia arches a brow slowly, eyeing miomai for a long moment, the wheels in her own head obviously turning "But she was over by Ikon, Thidin and I. She couldn't have been here too."
(17:00:00) Miomai shrugs, unable to produce an answer to that question. It is not clear if she is unable or unwilling.
(17:00:11) Issym looks towards Miomai "Are you ready to swear on a witness statement that you saw the murder and that the klyros here was the one who committed the murder?"
(17:00:28) Teshia leans down and whispers something to Miomai.
(17:01:10) Evirea lets out a shrill laugh. She points a finger at Miomai. "Are you KIDDING me?! That fenki is completely insane! She's not even mentally stable enough to take care of her own well-being and has the capacity of a small child, and yet you would take her testimony as something worthy of sending someone to the crystal for a permanent killing?!"
(17:02:09) Voron frowns a bit. "Calm down, Miss."
(17:02:33) Miomai remains calm and quiet. She turns to the guard after listening to Teshia's whisper and says, "Yep." She ignores Evirea's rant about her accused demntia, but a tiny smile curls one half of her mouth.
(17:02:58) Issym gives Evirea a confused look "Who said anything about sending someone to the crystal. There would have to be a further investigation but if there is cause to hold you in a cell during the investigation then that certainly might happen. And right now you appear to be the irrational one here.
(17:03:54) Teshia's nostrils flare slightly with the effort to keep a certain opinion to herself "Guard Issym. I can give an alibi for this woman. She's been needled by a crowd for long enough to make anyone upset, but she's far from irrational. And she wasn't in the plaza at the time the body would have been stabbed."
(17:04:28) Evirea lets out a snort. "Irrational?! You're the one here who's stepped in ready to ship me to a cell. If you do that, I garuntee you more will die, and no one here has the capacity to stop it. You'll only have more bo..." She halts, and slowly turns to stare at Teshia, falling silent.
(17:05:00) Voron crosses his arms behind his back. "Given that this is a case of true death and the other circumstances, I would like to point out the state of the lady as it currently is."
(17:05:02) Sacho speak to Issym. "I think if you look at that note that was found on the body, you will understand why she is so upset. And I had noticed the body and was watching before she came to the fountain."
(17:05:42) Voron looks at Sacho, then at Teshia and Evirea before returning his attention to the plaza, frowning a bit.
(17:05:54) Issym looks at Sacho "Where is this note you speak of?"
(17:06:13) Sacho motions at Thidin. "Thidin here picked it up."
(17:06:18) Thidin shakes her head at Sacho
(17:06:24) Thidin sighs
(17:06:50) Issym looks towards Thidin "Could I see this note please?"
(17:06:53) Evirea lets out a low, soft groan. Her bandaged hands move up to cover her face and she says nothing more, letting the silence continue on, totally detaching herself from the situation. Backing up, she takes a seat hear the fountain, cross-legged, and simply starts breathing steadily.
(17:07:52) Thidin gives sacho an evil look as she steps up to the guard, holding out the letter
(17:09:43) Sanrai's ear twitches a bit
(17:10:09) Teshia says: What does that letter say?
(17:10:36) Sanrai says: Indeed! Read it out loud?
(17:11:00) Issym reads the letter and frowns "This doesn't seem to shed much light on the subject. Does anyone here know a Evirea Pomolle?
(17:11:37) Teshia arches a brow and looks to Evirea, as if something just fell into place "that's who it was, wasn't it? that's who he killed first?"
(17:12:07) Issym says: This note seems to have been written by this Evirea.
(17:12:17) Evirea twitches where she sits, and continues to say nothing at all. Her hands remain folded in her lap, and she remains silent. As Teshia speaks those eyes open and she stares at her for a moment.
(17:12:51) Issym holds out the letter for anyone who is interested to look at.
(17:12:56) Sacho shakes his head. "No, I think it was written for an Evirea Pomolle."
(17:13:04) Voron frowns and studies the fountain.
(17:13:13) Evirea narrows her eyes and says gruffly, "It's a poem, you dolt. It's a poem. It rhymes with whole, get it?"
(17:13:35) Teshia looks at Evirea, and frowns "You knew Evirea, didn't you?"
(17:14:01) Evirea arches a scaly brow at Teshia, utterly baffled. Of course, she answers, "Certainly," seeming rather lost.
(17:14:58) Miomai looks at the poem, but, as her reading skills haven't progressed much beyond a 6 year old's, she just shrugs and forgets it as soon as she's read it.
(17:15:17) Voron looks at Teshia with an impassive face, then raises an eyebrow.
(17:15:47) Teshia glances at the poem, before stepping a bit closer to Miomai, watching the fenki to make sure she's not upset. her demeanor is obviously motherly.
(17:17:39) Evirea blinks slowly. She glances towards the guard, and then strangely, she closes her eyes again, keeping her wounded hands on her knees. She lets her wings curl around her shoulders slightly and resumes breathing steadily.
(17:18:00) Thidin looks around
(17:18:01) Miomai remains as calm and composed as a half-deranged long-standing insane fenki could possbly be. Actually she's been rather stoic and acting like she's mostly given up hope for quite some time.
(17:18:58) Voron scratches his left ear and appearantly waits for something to happen.
(17:18:58) Sanrai says: What happens now, guard Issym?
(17:19:39) Evirea re-opens her eyes and stares at the guard. "I should like to resume my investigation," she states, "To prevent any further casualty, if you would be so kind. I will be needing that letter for evidence."
(17:21:25) Issym looks to Evirea "If you have some paper and a writing instrument you can make a copy but the original shall stay with me since it appears it is connected to a murder and this case will remain under investigation for now.
(17:22:07) Evirea's eye twitches yet again. "I need the original to use in my investigation. This is the first time this killer has left such a note. If you take it, you will only prolong my search. And cause the death of numerous others."
(17:22:24) Oele looks at the group, quiet and indifferent, not having a clue what is going on.
(17:22:59) Sanrai says: um.
(17:23:14) Voron clears his troat. "If somebody has a glyph to copy it, a copy is enough. The problem is elsewhere."
(17:24:02) Evirea jerks her eyes to glare at Voron. "No, I need the original. It could have different chemicals worthy of being tested, contain trace amounts of skin, or hair, that could point to who or what race the original author was. It is invaluable to the investigation."
(17:24:12) Teshia frowns a bit, giving Evirea a slightly sharp glance, a silent warning not to press that issue "There is little to be found in paper and ink that could not be determined in the words."
(17:24:18) Issym stares at Evirea "You are not a guard so you will not be getting this message. You are certainly free to help investigate on your own but since you are not part of the official investigation the letter will stay with me for our investigators to examine."
(17:24:31) Miomai sees the little girl approach the crow, and a genuine look of happiness crosses her face. She beems with happiness at seeing that cute girl again, though she just stares at Oele, clearly lost in thought about the last times she's seen the ylian.
(17:25:15) Evirea slowly bares her teeth at the guard. "You lot are useless," she grates out, "And your involvement is worse than your idle languising while killings happen all around you." She stands to her feet abruptly, and moves to walk away from the crowd after her dismissal.
(17:25:48) Sacho says: "With you permission, Issym, I would like to make a copy of this note." He removes the needed glyph from a pocket.
(17:25:51) Voron frowns at Evirea, then at Issym. "on what grounds will this investigations be done? There is no body, no evidence that this is acutally a crime. And given how few people you have at hand, I'd suggest you even hire her, Lady."
(17:25:53) Teshia eyes widen and she looks over at Oele, worried "Miomai... please go get the little girl. She looks hungry."
(17:26:32) Oele shifts her weight slowly from one leg to another, not sure if this is really a good idea to be here.
(17:27:18) Voron crosses his arms behind his back and looks at Issym in a calm and patient manner. "It would benefit both parties, I think."
(17:27:30) Miomai is all too eager to oblige Teshia's request and walks over to Oele slowly, carefully, but with a hunger in her eyes, belieing her insanity more than anything else.
(17:27:48) Issym turns to Voron "Hire one who seems to have such a lack of respect for the proper authority? Not something that is likely to happen. and if she has information about additional killings like she seems to imply she should bring her evidense to the proper authorities."
(17:28:06) Issym holds out the note again for Sacho to make a copy of it.
(17:29:03) Sacho copies the note into a book and then steps back a little. "There is also the dagger, she removed from the body. That may be a starting point for your investigation."
(17:29:06) Voron frowns. "With all due respect, Miss." He looks at Issym. "Given the circumstances, her emotional state seems appropriate. You judge do quickly, and give away a great chance to find out what this is all about."
(17:29:19) Oele doesn't seem to have noticed Miomai's approach and instead keeps her eyes fixed on the small crowd. She still tries to understand what is going on, but can't find a reason for the argument.
(17:29:28) Teshia twitches lightly, watching the two girls, the young Ylian and the deranged fenki. She flicks a gaze at Evirea, before giving the back of Sacho's head a look that clearly shows how much she wishes he'd jsut stop talking right about now...
(17:29:39) Evirea lets out another laugh. "Your authorities are never around when they are needed," she says over her shoulder, "And I've found more killers than you or your brood ever could, I assure you. You expect brute strength to fight your battle, and you do not back it up with the intellect necesary. And here, you further prolong MY investigation. I've been chasing this killer for years, all over different letters." She glares again at Sacho, and suddenly she takes off at a full on run, not wiling to give up this last evidence to the useless authorities.
(17:30:30) Thidin looks to Sacho and widens her eyes
(17:32:44) Miomai stares at Oele for a few minutes, ignoring the dashing klyros behind her before she finally asks, "Ah you hungry Oele?" Not one for introductions to the child she adores and hasn't seen for months, she just cuts to the chase.
(17:33:07) Teshia rubs her temple and watches the children again. At least they have an excuse for their naivity.
(17:33:50) Voron crosses his arms behind his back, standing at ease and studying Issym.
(17:33:58) Issym pulls out her notebook and scribbles some quick notes in it watching Evirea run off for now. "I wish the dagger had been mentioned earlier. Now what could possibly be an important piece of evidence has gotten away."
(17:34:30) Sanrai says: um
(17:34:51) Teshia sighs "She is well known to our order. I am certain we will be able to speak with her, and perhaps the dagger recovered and brought to the guards."
(17:35:46) Oele's complete attention is at Miomai as she starts talking. Stares at her, confused by the fact that the fenki is completely different than the last time she met her again. She recalls their last encounter and lowers her head as a reaction. She inquiries in a very low voice. "Not mad?"
(17:36:18) Issym says: Until then I'll put out a notice to the other guards to be on the look out for that Klyros and if need be detain her.
(17:36:51) Teshia says: You'll have our full cooperation, Guard-Issym.
(17:37:13) Thidin looks down
(17:37:24) Voron remains quiet and studies Issym quietly with an impassive face.
(17:38:11) Issym nods to Teshia. "For now I need to return to the barracks and get this notice out to the other guards.
(17:38:37) Issym says: If anyone has additional information about this please contact me.
(17:38:52) Miomai is mad, Miomai has almost always been mad. She thinks about Oele's question for a few minutes before letting out a short, "Nope." That is all she reveals, and otherwise continues to stare at the girl with hungry, eager eyes.
(17:38:57) Teshia nods politely, smiling serenely.
(17:39:35) Teshia steps a bit closer to the two girls, and beckons them "lets get you two something from the tavern, shall we?"
(17:39:44) Sacho turns to look at Thidin. "May I speak with you in Kada El's?"
(17:40:15) Issym says: Good day to you citizens.
(17:40:16) Thidin purses her lips as she looks up to Sacho "Why?"
(17:40:26) Issym turns and heads towards East Hydlaa.
(17:40:29) Thidin nods to Issym
(17:40:50) Voron bows his head politely to Issym.
(17:41:15) Teshia dips her head to Issym, before focusing agains on the girsl.
(17:41:18) Sacho just smiles. "You don't want a free drink, my friend?"
(17:41:45) Thidin turns and walks towards the tavern
(17:42:15) Teshia hastily scribbles a note, sending it off with her groffel.
(17:42:26) Oele's face brightens up, believing that simple word of Miomai on the spot. She doesn't notice Teshia at all and steps toward the fenki, raising her left hand to lightly touch Miomai. Her voice is still a bit low, but like it usually is. "Missed Lazarene."
(17:42:39) Ketta says: Well...so much for that...
(17:42:46) Sanrai nods.
(17:42:57) Celizan says: I have not seen that guard before
(17:43:08) [Tell] You tell Evirea: A fat, drooling yulbar waddles up, a note hastily stuffed in his collar "the guards will be told to look for you as soon as Issym reports back. Stay out of sight as much as you can." The note is unsigned.
(17:43:28) Voron steps beside Teshia.
(17:43:42) Ketta says: Oh, Issym shows up when there is a disturbance
(17:43:49) Teshia sighs, seeming to relax a bit, and looks to Voron. She apparently trusts Miomai not to eat the child.
(17:44:26) [Tell] Evirea slides further into the corner of the temple, leaning back to rest her head there. She lets out a pained groan, and grabs the letter, reading it quickly. Her blood stains the edges, and she uses a pool that has congealed on the tip of her finger to merely write: "Thank you."
(17:44:42) Miomai shudders with Oele's touch. She takes the child's hand in her warm, fuzzy paws and kneels down to look the girl eye to eye. She ignores the fact that Oele is a total wreck of a girl and simply stares at her cute face with a bright smile, ignoring the rest of Yliakum for now.
(17:44:49) Celizan says: Such events often draw crowds...I'm surprised no one saw the killer in such a public place
(17:45:03) Celizan says: Did anyone see it happen?
(17:45:14) Voron smiles politely at Teshia. "This was interesting."
(17:45:28) Sanrai says: Not I.
(17:45:44) Teshia rubs her temples "THAT... was a fiasco. If Sacho hadn't shut himself up, I'd have smacked him, gaurd or no guard."
(17:45:54) Ketta says: It seems the person was already dead and the killer just dumped the body
(17:46:26) Sanrai says: I heard something about a dagger?
(17:46:51) Ketta says: ...but I certanly can't say for sure...
(17:47:47) Ketta says: Yes,,,when the dagger was removed, the body turned to dust, which was blown away...
(17:48:00) Sanrai realizes she has a drink in hand, and takes a long swig.
(17:48:28) Sanrai says: ah ...
(17:48:41) Oele shows a slight smile, something she rarely show. The warmth of the hand lets a shudder go through her body, erasing the memories of the hardship she went through after getting lost again. As the tension leaves her, tears start first filling her eyes, then run down her cheek, drawing lines in her dirty face.
(17:48:51) Ketta says: That's the second time it's happened here
(17:49:26) Sanrai says: um.
(17:49:42) Voron chuckles. "It doesn't matter. The problems are of an entire different dimesion."
(17:49:59) Teshia eyes the children surruptitiously, nodding slightly "yes. they are."
(17:50:26) Ketta says: All I can say is, that klyros woman's investigation doesn't seem to be doing any good, if bodies keep popping up...
(17:50:40) Celizan says: Ah well, such trouble are beyond my help, surely...still I will keep an ear open
(17:50:49) Sanrai says: I have to agree.
(17:51:06) Ketta says: Indeed
(17:51:28) Miomai isn't a child, at the adult age of 26, though she acts like one. She brings a paw close to Oele's cheecks to gently whipe away the tears. She remains silent, otherwise. Tears almost well up in her own eyes at the girl's outpouring of emotion.
(17:52:03) Ketta says: Shall we head back to the Den, if it is still open?
(17:52:11) Voron smiles diplomatically. "Well well. I made myself a total kormi, there is another murder, another slip towards anarchy." He shakes his head. "Do you have a moment to speak?"
-
/me snickers. "You think she's the protagonist, or the victim?" ;D
Evirea's too complicated to figure her own self out, like most people :P
-
Whew! Well, I'll be filling in the spaces with plain text, as well as the reactions of both characters. As before, you're all welcome to do so as well, with whatever your character might be thinking about these events. There are more logs to go with what happened, and I will filter through and post them as I have the time. Thanks again to all who participated! \\o//
-
This question has come up, and perhaps I should specify that the views of the characters (Evirea or Barsidious) regarding the personality traits, flaws, or positives of another character are not necesarily MINE. The entries are written in a third person limited, meaning that they are tainted and heavily laced with their views. As if you were looking at the world through their mind or perspective. So if they say or think something bad about a character, that in no way makes the thought accurate or true. Thank you kindly :P
-
lol, guards need to learn to have ears. Wearing a helmet all the time has deafened them.
-
(18:09:41) Travosh says: You asked, and as such I appeared
(18:10:55) Evirea appears to be curled up against the temple, her back pressed into the corner. Quite disheveled, her bandages have bled through, and her eyes are wide and owlish. "Hello Mr. Travosh," she says softly. "We have a problem."
(18:11:32) Travosh says: By the looks of it, yes
(18:12:57) Evirea nods once. She keeps speaking, but she doesn't stand up, and she just stares off into space. "The killer knows my name," she says quietly. "And that clamod accused me of having killed...there was another killing. She told the guard that arrived it was I who did it, and now apparently I'm being hunted by the guard as well."
(18:13:23) Travosh says: So it was as I theorized... and Clamod?
(18:13:27) Travosh says: All enki look alike to me.
(18:13:48) Evirea says: Miomai.
(18:15:23) Travosh says: Ugh...
(18:15:23) Travosh says: Why a guard would listen to that babbling idiot is beyond me
(18:16:13) Travosh says: I suppose now would be the time to cite my experiance dealing with mob diplomacy
(18:16:13) Evirea leans back against the temple wall and shakes her head, her eyes clenching shut. "I attempted to explain that, but it seems, as usual, the guard consists of little more than a numerous conglomerate of trepor's dung."
(18:16:34) Travosh nods. "Unfortunately."
(18:16:38) Evirea slowly opens her eyes and looks over at Travosh. "Diplomacy?"
(18:16:54) Travosh says: I'm an ambassador and councillor for a reason.
(18:17:45) Evirea lets out a low, quiet sigh. "If you could subdue the crowd, I would be grateful. They're likely still on the plaza. I need to get rid of this ridiculous accusation so that I'm only being chased by one entity, not two."
(18:18:01) Travosh says: Were you there upon discovery of the body, or did you stumble across it later?
(18:18:51) Evirea shrugs a shoulder. "I found it. That Sacho was not long behind me. And an elf, who arrived around the same time."
(18:19:44) Travosh says: Was it murdered with a dagger?
(18:20:42) Evirea nods. She reaches into her travelsack and pulls out the dagger, wrapped in cloth. "It was him. His methodology, the same devolving of the corpse. It turned to dust. Unraveled, if you will. And of course...the letter."
(18:20:54) Travosh says: Perfect.
(18:21:00) Travosh says: That poison he's been using takes time to work
(18:21:11) Travosh says: and if you had been the killer, it would be impossible for it to take effect so quickly
(18:22:20) Evirea nods her head. "I know," she says. A faint smile flickers on her lips, but she stays squatted up against the wall. "I can honestly say this is not the first time I've had to deal with these idiot guards. Even when they do bother to lift a finger, they do more harm than good."
(18:22:43) Travosh says: I'll go to the plaza and see who I can see about getting you named innocent.
(18:22:53) Travosh says: Do you care if I lie and say you were with me at the time of the murder? you may as well have been.
(18:23:27) Evirea nods again. "Not at all," she says. "You're perfectly welcome to lie."
~~~~~~
(18:40:10) Travosh says: You will go to the guards and inform them of your lies.
(18:44:22) Ketta giggles
(18:44:23) Oele frowns, not liking how Travosh talks to her friend and scared that she might get taken from her again. She glides off the chair and walks a few steps towards those two. "Leave Lazarene."
(18:44:23) Lodisto grabs up a steamed clacker leg and smiles as he bites the shell and sucks the meat out.
(18:44:39) Sanrai says: ah!
(18:44:52) Sanrai says: Someone who knows how to eat them!
(18:45:10) Lodisto is chewing but still adds, "It's a feast!... wondephooolll."
(18:45:57) Lodisto smiles to Sanrai. "Ooh... I don't waste time when it comes to clacker legs."
(18:45:59) Miomai purses her lips together as she tries to figure out what to do now. She certainly can't leave Oele alone here. The approach of Oele and the entrance of Evirea doesn't help matters, and the hamster in her head has to work overtime to come up with a decision. She suddently rushes past, or rather tries to rush past travosh and snatch up the ylian in her arms before anything bad could happen to her.
(18:46:23) Travosh simply moves to intercept
(18:46:40) Lodisto tears a hunk of bread of the end of the loaf.
(18:46:51) Sanrai says: I tend to use Ketta's method.
(18:46:53) Lodisto winces at the clattering upstairs, "What you suppose is that all about...?
(18:47:05) Lodisto turns back to Sanrai, "Ketta's method?"
(18:47:14) Sanrai nods.
(18:47:23) Evirea appears to be watching this with a relatively impassive. She merely watches the scene, and says nothing, having walked right past the guards outside just as she figured she'd be able to.
(18:47:51) Sanrai picks up a leg...
(18:48:06) Ketta says: Um..there was a murder...at least, the body was left in the plaza earlier...
(18:48:07) Miomai knows she can't beat Travosh and yells out to the girl, "Oele rrrun!"
(18:48:19) Travosh doesnt really care if the girl runs, seeing as she wasnt important
(18:48:39) Lodisto squints to Ketta, "Murder... in the city."
(18:49:16) Ketta says: Yes...permadeath...
(18:49:47) Miomai backs away from Travosh slowly. Her eeys flick from klyros to ylian quickly as she assess each action.
(18:49:58) Lodisto sighs again, "This has got to end...
(18:50:01) Travosh is ready to snap into action should Miomai move somewhere he doesnt like
(18:50:08) Evirea sighs very softly, her hands idle at her sides. "Lazarene," she says, her voice surprisingly calm.
(18:50:08) Ketta says: There was a dagger, and when it was removed, the body turned to dust...
(18:50:10) Oele completely freezes where she is, not able to understand what she should run from and not wanting to have another friend of hers sacrifices for her.
(18:50:14) Travosh says: Nothing bad will happen if you simply walk outside, and tell the guards you lied.
(18:50:26) Lodisto says: permadeath...
(18:50:44) Evirea says: "We only want you to confess to the guard that your testimony was false, do you understand?"
(18:50:51) Ketta nods
(18:50:51) Lodisto repeats as he chews the bread, "...dust..." He shakes his head and takes a swallow of the red.
(18:51:18) Lodisto says: Was there anything about the dagger... that... did it cause the permadeath by itself? Or... have a crafting mark on it?
(18:51:19) Sanrai sips on her drink as well.
(18:51:53) Miomai believes Travosh about as far as she could throw him, while he's electrocuting her. She simply freezes right in her spot, seeing as how the girl is still around and could get hurt also.
(18:51:53) Ketta pours wine into her mug, an elaborate stein, and takes a drink
(18:52:26) Travosh says: I wont hesitate to drag you out there, but It would be easier if you just walk.
(18:52:51) Travosh says: If you need proof I wont take action, Allelia here can easily tell whether or not I kill you after you tell the truth.
(18:53:03) Ketta shakes her head "we don't know...but it is the second time recently..."
(18:53:19) Lodisto turns one ear backwards to the upstairs events and one toward Ketta with a raised eyebrow. "The second time?"
(18:53:27) Oele decides she is better off when she is close to Miomai, since she doesn't want to be separated again. She tries to squeeze past Travosh to get to her friend.
(18:53:40) Travosh allows it, he is not after Oele after all.
(18:54:17) Evirea carefully strides forward and stands a few paces away. "Lazarene, I need you to go outside and simply tell the guard that what you said was false. After that, you can go back to whatever it was you were doing before, and nobody will hurt you. Clear?"
(18:55:51) Evirea squints and puts her fingers against her head with a scowl, leaving some bloody prints behind as she pulls it away.
(18:56:18) Miomai's eyes widen as the girl approaches. She shakes her head vigorously, "Nope nope Oele! Stay away." This is the most emotion she's shown all night, and it is one of clear panic. Panic for the safety of the girl she cares dearly for. With eyes darting among the three, she speaks to Oele clearly and conscisely. "Oele, please head upstairs okay? I'll be right ovah. Just give me a minute."
(18:57:05) Travosh says: The girl is even more safe than you, I've no interest in her. Now will you go peacefully, or do I have to drag you
(18:58:08) Miomai continues to act in a way that clearly shows she doesn't believe one word of Travosh's when it comes to anyone's safety. Her concern is clearly for the girl.
(18:58:35) Travosh's hands begin to glow faintly, one hand brown, the other red
(18:58:52) Evirea turns and gestures towards the door, arching a scaly brow as she does. "Go on, then," she says. "Go tell the guard you lied.
(18:59:29) Oele raises her head to have her eyes directed at Miomai's face. She reaches with her left hand out to Miomai, not sure to reasure whom, herself or Miomai. "Won't get hurt." She turns around and her attentions seems to be divided between the magic on Travosh's hands and her friend.
(19:01:18) Miomai shakes her head, "Nope, I won't get hurt," she lies, though probably subtlly enough that Oele doesn't notice it. "So just get going upstaihs and I will bring up some food. Okay?" As long as Oele is near, she ignores the klyran.
(19:01:52) Travosh casts a strength on himself and begins to try and grab Miomai's arm, whatever spell in his right left uncasted for now
(19:04:34) Miomai pulls back from Travosh's attemped grab, but this only puts her into a corner. She looks at him and says, "give me a second," with plenty of annoyance in her voice.
(19:04:36) Evirea utters a quiet sigh. She's tired, quite obviously, tired of the entire run-around, and simply waits to see whatever might occur. She flicks a glance at the child, but seems to believe well enough that Travosh has no reason to hurt the ylian, and isn't overly concerned about it. "Lazarene. The guard. Go," she says. "Follow Travosh, it will only take a minute."
(19:05:53) Travosh says: You may not follow the girl, but she can go. I don't care one way or the other what Oele does.
(19:06:09) Oele needs a while to get to a decision on what to do. She decides to be a obedient girl and takes a few steps away from Miomai, though she doesn't go upstairs, partly cause she doesn't know where to go and partly cause she doesn't want to leave completely.
(19:08:47) Miomai watches Oele head towards the stairs and is satisfied that the girl at least has gone the opposite direction she needs to go. She looks at the despicable klyran and says, "fine," in a quieter, level tone. She looks at them both carefully, suspiciously, as she walks slowly towards the door.
(19:09:12) Evirea moves without a word outside, nothing particularly threatening in her gait.
(19:10:10) Travosh says: Don't think about lying again. I've got witnesses in there.
(19:10:11) Evirea glances at the guard and raises a brow at him, while he presumably simply stands there, staring back. Probably they haven't gotten the decree yet, who knows.
(19:11:03) Jefecar "Yes, Citzen?"
(19:12:11) Miomai approaches Jefecar slowly and looks at the enki for a few long, tense, moments before starting her confession.
(19:12:43) Jefecar listens intently, bringing out the notepad all guards seem to have, ready to jot notes
(19:15:15) Miomai looks down at the ground then back up at Jefecra before fomulating her response. 'I...have something to tell you." She folds her paws together, and provides a nice, dramatic pause.
(19:16:44) Jefecar "Well, out with it!"
(19:18:06) Miomai quickly points to Evirea, "She's got a daggah that the guahds want! She's keeping....." it takes her a few seconds to think of the word, "uhm...evidence!"
(19:18:20) Travosh says: Like you are, Miomai?
(19:18:23) Travosh says: Do not lie again.
(19:18:41) Jefecar does not take any action just yet, but does put one hand on his weapon. "Is this true, klyran?"
(19:19:07) Evirea isn't quite sure which klyran he's addressing.
(19:19:14) Jefecar is looking at Evirea.
(19:20:05) Evirea lets out a soft sigh. "No. What is true is that miss Lazarene here made a statement that I was a killer, and gave false testimony to the deed."
(19:22:00) Jefecar "Then what was all that talk about your lying, miss fenki? You don't seem very sure of yourself."
(19:22:53) Travosh says: It would be impossible for my compatriot here to be the killer, as she has been with me most of the morning and left to find this body.
(19:26:16) Miomai never said she was lying. "The othah guahd was theah, at the fountain. Sacho said she had a daggah." she points to Evirea again to emphasize who has the dagger. "She's got the daggah that killed the lemur."
(19:27:16) Jefecar "Is this true Ma'am? "
(19:28:43) Evirea narrows her eyes at Miomai. "I am using the dagger for an investigation, one that I have been pursuing for precisely two years, three months and sixty seven days. Yes, it's accurate that I took the dagger for evidence. Though, if you're so eager to have it to alleviate this stupid and nonsensical accusation, and further put a damper on the entire ordeal, fine." She tosses a cloth-wrapped dagger at the menki's feet. "Here."
(19:30:26) Jefecar picks it up "Leave investigations to the real guards, not vigilantes. We can't do our jobs with everyone on the street getting in the way."
(19:31:14) Evirea's eye twitches, but she says nothing in reply. "Now, as to the matter of false testimony?" She gestures to the clamod.
(19:32:07) Jefecar "I will talk to Issym and make sure she knows."
(19:32:29) Travosh says: Good. Hopefully you can make use of the knife and find this man yourself.
(19:32:52) Miomai ignores Evirea's prodding and rubs her paws together, "That cleahs it all up!" She begins to back away slowly.
(19:33:28) Evirea re-grips her travelsack and adjusts it. She doesn't care about Miomai at this point, and makes no move at all to stop her. Her expression is distant, and her mind is on other things.
(19:33:29) Jefecar looks at Miomai "And dont EVER lie to the guards again."
(19:35:41) Travosh is tempted to punish Miomai for trying to break her promise, but decides thats best done away from two guards
(19:36:13) Miomai looks at Jefecar cross eyed, wondering how this ever happened, but she doesn't care, her mind switches quickly to Oele and she runs off.
~~~~~~~
(19:36:43) Evirea takes a breath. "I need to speak with you, Travosh."
(19:37:45) Travosh nods
(19:38:28) Evirea only turns, and moves away, clearly expecting him to simply follow.
(19:40:21) Evirea takes a seat on the bench and looks down at her hands. Her brow furrows as she studies the bloody trails they've left on her tunic. "Now we have another issue. The killer knows me, but I do not know the killer."
(19:40:33) Travosh says: So it was as I guessed?
(19:40:53) Evirea actually chuckles at that, an ironic sound. "Unfortunately," she replies simply.
(19:42:15) Travosh says: Suppose that goes to show you something about listening to others.
(19:43:04) Evirea only shakes her head. "I have captured twenty nine. Not all a severe, certainly, some of them known for more...petty things. And I've done it alone. It is not in my nature to be discovered, or to trust the word of another. It is also in my nature, to assume I am anonymous."
(19:44:37) Travosh says: Should probably work on fixing that.
(19:45:56) Evirea gives a shrug. "At any rate, his letter leaves me to think he knows more about me than just my name."
(19:46:35) Travosh says: Unfortunate.
(19:47:32) Evirea grimaces. "And if that is an accurate assumption, we can also assume that he knows in a way that I am vulnerable...moreso than most, to his methods."
(19:48:09) Travosh says: is he aware of me?
(19:48:27) Evirea shakes her head. "I do not believe so, no. He has no reason to think I'd join up with someone."
(19:48:44) Travosh says: Good, then he isn't as all knowing as he would have you think
(19:49:23) Evirea smiles very faintly at that. She looks at her hands again, and watches as some of the blood on them trickles down and drips to the cobbles between her feet. "Thank you for your help, Mr. Travosh."
(19:50:32) Travosh says: Heh, you would be surprised how few thanks I get. Or unsurprised. Either way, he knows who you are and that means he's using you for something
(19:51:15) Evirea closes her eyes. "Yes," she says, in a forcefully level tone. "That would be a logical assumption, and considering what he's done thus far, it's not difficult to deduce what that might be."
(19:52:06) Travosh says: Have you any idea whether he wants to attack you as some grand finale, or just wants an audience?
(19:54:38) Evirea continues to watch the blood flow slowly. "No idea," she admits. "Though I'd imagine the latter, personally. He seems to enjoy invoking panic, as it helps him in his goals. I'd imagine it's little more than a knowledge that I've been following him, and exposing my expertise to others, and killing me. Well...Hm. It doesn't really matter either way, does it?"
(19:55:25) Travosh says: 'Spose not, never know what might come in handy to know.
(19:55:44) Travosh says: We could always resort to my previous idea of bait
(19:56:49) Evirea chuckles. "It would seem that now, I happen to be the ideal bait."
(19:58:24) Travosh says: Or if he would have you be the watcher, myself. But we need some way for him to want to target either of us
(20:00:11) Evirea shakes her head. "He goes after people who are well known in this society, and I'd imagine, well loved. He WANTS to cause a stir, but to remain anonymous as he does it." She glances over at the klyros and raises a brow. "What are your thoughts?"
(20:01:42) Travosh says: Unfortunately while I'm moderately known, I am certainly not loved.
(20:03:14) Evirea manages a smirk at that. "I find that so incredibly difficult to believe," she says, only a hint of irony in her tone.
(20:03:33) Travosh says: Yes yes sarcasm. Either way, we need some way to draw him out
(20:04:15) Evirea only sobers, and nods her head. "We do," she agrees. "And I suggest we use me to do it, though if he's already after me that suggests he's merely taking his own sweet time about it."
(20:05:18) Travosh says: And as to how we accelerate his timing?
(20:08:18) Evirea shakes her head and stands slowly. She starts to pace, one hand behind her back, the other rubbing at her headfin. "I don't know. Threaten exposure, perhaps? Make him think we're on his trail just as much as he is on ours?"
(20:09:39) Travosh says: a good idea, but how?
(20:11:05) Evirea sighs again, keeping up with her pacing. "I don't know," she admits, and this only seems to further agitate her. "I...I don't know."
(20:11:24) Travosh says: Have you any way of getting him to view a message?
(20:11:50) Evirea pauses. "Not that I know of, but he seems to like the fountain. We could leave it there. Write one and...leave it."
(20:12:43) Travosh says: I suggest we name a race.
(20:12:55) Travosh says: You thought he was either ylian, diaboli, or ynnwn yes?
(20:13:20) Evirea nods. "That's accurate."
(20:13:52) Travosh says: I don't think he could be a ynnwn. They are often quite enormous, and you never mentioned him being tall
(20:14:49) Evirea shakes her head. "No. About six feet believe, he was male, and his skin had no fur. Unfortunatly I couldn't distinguish more from that after I tossed the...corrosive agent at him."
(20:16:02) Travosh says: Wait, skin? You saw skin?
(20:17:05) Evirea nods. "Badly damaged, bloody, and only a flash. I couldn't discern pigment, it was just enough to get a quick glimpse and basically assure it was neither klyros nor enki."
(20:18:08) Travosh says: Bah... Could've told whether or not it was a diaboli by skin. And with a hood and cloak you can't tell whether he had horns or a tail
(20:19:37) Evirea smirks for a fleeting moment. She stops pacing and turns to look at Travosh for a moment. "I suppose you could have, but that's a bit beyond us now. Perhaps only the implication that he is known, would be enough."
(20:20:29) Travosh says: Ah wait... Most Diaboli left our plane though.
(20:21:26) Evirea shakes her head. "And yet I know of more than a handful. Silly, really." She gives another shrug.
(20:23:00) Evirea turns her head and looks about herself for a paranoid moment. "You know, it really puts a damper on the situation. This. Knowing that he knows. I don't like it, not one bit. Nothing has gone according to plan, and believe me, there was a plan."
(20:23:19) Travosh says: The best laid plans of yulbars and men...
(20:23:44) Evirea chuckles. "A fount of quotes and knowledge now?"
(20:24:13) Travosh says: You like to read yourself, so don't be so sarcastic
(20:25:01) Evirea arches a brow. "I wasn't," she says simply, but a small grin forms on her face. "And I don't like to read. I love it. My father was a librarian."
(20:25:11) Evirea says: Maybe it's passed down in the genes.
(20:26:34) Travosh shrugs. "If I had to guess, I would say ylian. its the most probable."
(20:27:26) Evirea nods. "Most numerous, matches the hieght and presumed skin type. Yes. Ylian. So we suggest we know that bit about him. Not that intimidating, since we're surrounded by Ylian. Though they can't top enki."
(20:28:02) Travosh says: Having any detail at all on him may startle him
(20:29:41) Evirea steps away from Travosh. "Alright. I'll work on writing a letter, and I'll pant it." She looks up at the tree, and then leans her head against it. "I'll inform you when I've done as much."
(20:30:57) Travosh nods. "Good, hopefully he will make some move we can catch him on."
(20:31:55) Evirea returns the nod. "Hopefully," is all she offers, though her body language suggests she's not thinking with any amount of optimism.
(20:37:03) Evirea taps her boot on the ground for a moment. "Mr. Travosh, what is your motivation for going to all the trouble to catch this killer? I suppose it's logical...after all, he's in a place where he could hurt your associates."
(20:37:50) Travosh says: Boredom.
(20:38:23) Evirea raises both brows. "Boredom? You're...quite serious."
(20:39:40) Travosh says: Would it be better to just let him carry on as he does?
(20:40:05) Travosh chuckles. "For all the terrible things you would hear about me if you asked others, I do a remarkable amount of good."
(20:40:12) Travosh says: Pity is all utterly unnoticed.
(20:40:45) Evirea shakes her head. "No, certainly not, it's just I don't typically run into those who put the effort into it." She turns around and studies Travosh closely. "What else have you done, recently?" She inquires.
(20:41:37) Travosh says: Recently I assume means before I joined you on your escapade?
(20:42:22) Evirea says: "That would be accurate."
(20:43:17) Travosh says: Well, you know about my run in with an enki at the ball
(20:43:34) Travosh says: and I've been tracking down a man who's been harassing Dannae. I actually believe I know who now, but I cannot find the blasted girl.
(20:44:47) Evirea tilts her head. "Dannae? I spoke to her not too long ago, maybe a week. I was...well, if I see her, I'll direct her to you. What's been causing issue for her?"
(20:45:52) Travosh says: A man repetedly assaulted her in her place of business, while a mysterious other appeared to say he could make it all go away if she let him become co-owner of the Den.
(20:45:58) Travosh says: If it sounds obvious to you, that's because it is.
(20:46:47) Evirea gives Travosh an incredulous look. "She didn't seem quite that depleted of mental facilities last I saw her, but then again she also strikes me as somewhat naive. Dangerously so."
(20:47:47) Travosh nods. "That's unfortunately correct."
(20:48:04) Travosh says: but i have damning evidence that even she has to see this time.
(20:49:00) Evirea nods. "I believe it," she says, simply. "Currently, I'm waiting to see if she contacts me. Again, if she does, I'll let you know." She smirks slightly. "You can pounce on her with your evidence."
(20:49:17) Travosh says: Why would she contact you anyways?
(20:49:35) Evirea gives a shrug. "I did a favor for a friend of hers, one of her sisters."
(20:50:12) Travosh says: Ah. good
(20:51:11) Evirea nods. "Hopefully it works, if not, well. Not much good done, eh?" She smiles, only for a moment, before her expression again turns grim. "I should contact her and inquire."
(20:51:36) Travosh says: Can't hurt.
(20:52:30) Evirea gives her head a dip. "Well, thank you again." She raises her hand to offer a shake, a formal and usual gesture, but then realizes that as covered in blood as it is that's not a very pleasant notion and drops it back to her side. "Contact me if you discover anything."
(20:52:57) Travosh says: Shall.
-
*Travosh takes a bow "And that is how a guard is done."
PAY NO ATTENTION TO THE YULBAR IN A GUARD OUTFIT.
-
I was wondering how Jefecra became Jefecar. Travosh playing a menki. how delightful.
-
Barsidious hummed a jovial tune to himself as he strapped the dead body of the Lemur to the fountain. After a moment, he decided that being too terribly consistent would eventually lead to massive public boredom, so he opted for simply plopping the corpse down beside the fountain for some unlucky soul to find. Positioning it so that the glistening dagger stood in stark contrast against the noble image of Laanx, he crossed the loose and lifeless hands over its chest and reached up to close the dry, clouded eyes. The face was tear-streaked, as was usual. He typically didn't put out such a fresh kill, but the time was drawing near, and he needed to up the stakes quickly. That meant more bodies, more panic, more general state of disillusioned hysteria for the public...
Standing, he smiled lovingly at the inanimate sack of flesh that was Ametes. His killing had been a simple one too. Simple procedure for the simple minded. Which was alright enough by him, he was perfectly glad of the brief respite. Eager to put his plans into motion, he only allowed himself to admire his work for a relatively limited amount of time, before he stooped down and placed his letter beside the body, turned, and walked away from the fountain.
A whistle was sounding from his lips as he slipped silently into an alleyway, and removed his beloved mask. He quickly stored it away, along with the dusty and somewhat tattered ensemble he had donned for the momentous occasion, and stuffed in into the confines of his travelsack. Concealing it loosely beneath his scarlet robes, the man walked further into the alley and made his way aimlessly into the stink of the sewers, frowning slightly as the grime sloshed on his boots and at the hem of his outfit. He'd have to clean it again. Couldn't have that while mingling with the rabble, after all. Would conflict greatly with the general image he was trying so very hard to personify. Cleanliness lent a sort of refined air to him, which of course in the long run tended to help dispel the suspicion that he was a possible suspect for certain transpiring events.
Admiring the general masonry of this place, it occurred to Barsidious the silly notion that so much work had been put into carving out the stone and hardened clay of this structure as a fancy repository for fecal matter. What a strange world it was, in which people put so much effort into taking care of their own waste, yet at the same time did little to nothing about the metaphorical rot of their own souls. It both disgusted and fascinated him, really. It was mostly the former, but the effects of the latter kept him from going stark raving mad.
There was one unpleasantry he should take care of, he knew. It could no longer be avoided. As he turned into his makeshift workspace, he headed for the charred bits of wood at the center of the dank and musty-scented room. He gave the dead fire a kick, and revealed the dull throbbing glow of the live embers still beneath. Stooping down, he quickly tossed some more wood onto the fire, adding fodder so that it grew higher, and higher still. His hands moved to take off the robes he wore, so that he stood in nothing but a pair of dark trousers, staring down at the lively flames. Unraveling the shoddy bandaging he'd done to his arm, he studied the chemical burns that marred his skin with a distinctive frown.
They were noticeable. Far too noticeable. One little sighting and Evirea would be able to point at him, dancing merrily and exclaiming, “It's you, it's you! I've found you!” Not that she would probably be quite that enthusiastic about such a discovery. From what he understood she was of a far more reserved breed, and he understood quite a bit about her. And, while he was leading her along with baited hook, he wasn't about to loose his lead in the race by making stupid mistakes.
And healing the burns was certainly out of the question. Can't have a sniveling Crystal Way mage running their mouth about this rather novel injury they took care of, can we? The fingers on his good hand curled around the robes that were now sprawled beside him, and he stuffed a large portion into his mouth, humming a merry tune to himself once more as he clenched his teeth down upon the fabric.
“And a-trollopin' through the field we go, a merry merry chase. A wonderful thing, it is, it is, a merry merry race. Over the hill and under the tree, I'll catch up to you, but never you me, and on and on and on we'll go, a spiraling maddening spree. Unto a glorious, splendorous end, shall fill us all with glee!”
The words cycled over and over in his head as he shoved his arm directly into the fire. It began to bake instantly, filling the small interior of that room now with the acrid smell of burning hair and flesh. His humming quickly became a muffled screaming, and a swearing, but still he held that arm within the fire, letting it roast clean the ruddy marks left by Evirea's acidic weapon. And then, tears still glimmering in his eyes, he jerked his arm back out, and studied the sooty, bleeding skin with happy approval. Agony forgotten in light of the greater good accomplished, he stood up and moved to his table, whistling once more.
“And a-trollopin' through the field we go, a merry merry chase. A wonderful thing, it is, it is, a merry merry race. Over the hill and under the tree, I'll catch up to you, but never you me...”
-
/me snickers. "Yes, yes, Travosh's guard impersonation was most excellent."
Personally I think a little yulbar in a guard uniform would be downright adorable though :love:
/me pauses a moment to admire the idea of poor Travosh having to stoop to the level of playing as a menki...and cackles with glee.
-
[Returning to the RCD after seeing the dead body]
(23:34:45) Ketta says: ...and then he left me this...
(23:35:02) Chraz says: Luckily an Idiot. A real profesional would have grabbed your glyph pouch first
(23:35:10) Haraun scratches his cheek "Hmmm.. nice?"
(23:35:11) Telena returns behind the bar, having no expression on her face. Her thoughts seems like they are somewhere else.
(23:35:35) Ketta nods to Chraz "Oh, he took a few things...and some trias.."
(23:35:57) Sanrai nods.
(23:36:12) Chraz says: I meant that Sanrai could still cast something at him
(23:36:12) Ketta notices Telena's return "Is everything okay, Telena?"
(23:36:30) Haraun's head turns to her, too, after that question.
(23:36:34) Korumak says: I hear some of the Azure arch mages can trace a Glyph... dont know how true that is
(23:36:38) Sanrai looks at Telena.
(23:37:44) Ketta takes a sip from her mug "I was out cold...and then tied and blindfolded...I didn't have a chance to get a spell off.."
(23:37:46) Telena fixes her eyes at Ketta as she hears her name. "Huh? Yes I am fine. I just saw a dead body on the plaza. Permadead. The second permadead person I know of."
(23:38:01) Sanrai says: ah!
(23:38:06) Haraun sits more upright "Who was it?"
(23:38:13) Sanrai says: who?
(23:38:19) Chraz jaw drops
(23:38:31) Ketta stands up in shock "What?"
(23:38:59) Telena rubs her head. "I don't know that person this time. Merchant maybe. Male."
(23:39:35) Korumak says: So much for two theories
(23:39:46) Korumak says: just down to well 1...
(23:39:53) Chraz says: hu... I've only heard the head of the house of Purrty left Yliakum permanently..
(23:40:20) Korumak says: Well more like disbanded
(23:40:59) Sanrai says: umm.
(23:41:09) Haraun watches Telena for some time to ensure that she's as fine as she can be after such an encounter, looking often to the door though.
(23:41:14) Ketta says: Oh? Who was that, Chraz?
(23:42:02) Chraz says: Hmm... was before I came to Hydlaa, I heard there was a big service carrying her to the well
(23:42:48) Ketta says: Oh, my...how sad...
(23:43:38) Telena says: "This one fell to ashes and was blown away."
(23:44:06) Korumak says: It fits the motive of the person...
(23:44:09) Chraz says: Tell... never heard such a thing. Red magic?
(23:44:13) Ketta nods to Telena "The same as the other one..."
(23:44:27) Famiel loses interest in drinking the rest of his beer he sets it back down on the table then puts up his feet kicking the beer off the table making more room for his feet
(23:44:28) Haraun says: Which other one?
(23:44:44) Korumak says: now that we know why, all thats left is the who and how
(23:44:59) Chraz takes a big sip to calm down
(23:45:06) Telena nods at Ketta's words. "So I heard..."
(23:45:22) Ketta says: Wasn't there a fenki not long ago? The same thing...
(23:45:45) Chraz says: A fenki?
(23:45:52) Korumak says: Aye that one a bard, this one a merchant, so he's not targeting specific, but in general...
(23:46:15) Korumak says: he or she is makeing a point with the public displays
(23:46:51) Korumak says: to be honest its been something i been griping about since i arrived here
(23:47:40) Chraz says: Pardon, I just got the picture that somebody died, but not it sounds more like a killing?
(23:47:54) Sanrai nods.
(23:48:00) Telena says: "Killing. There was a knife in the chest."
(23:48:10) Haraun looks at Telena as he returns the mug and says quietly to her "Haraun will have a look outside to be sure everything is fine around the den."
(23:48:17) Chraz says: And then he crumbled to ashes?
(23:48:20) Korumak says: Its all boils down to how people see the death realm... where I was born, when you where dead... thats it, short of a very powerful clearic and a gods permission thats it your dead
(23:48:32) Telena nods and takes the mug. "May your path be protected."
(23:48:40) Ketta says: Yes...and whoever is responsible is sending the message that they have the power to do this thing...
(23:48:47) Korumak says: who ever this is that did it, wants people to know that the door doesnt always swing back
(23:48:48) Haraun waves to the others
(23:48:59) Korumak says: its not about the power
(23:49:04) Famiel says: Maybe we should go with him?
(23:49:10) Korumak says: There sending a statement...
(23:49:30) Chraz says: I hope its not Dakkru herself that is offended....
(23:49:30) Korumak says: If it was about the power, he would have chosen a more prominate powerful person to do that to
(23:49:31) Famiel says: I will head out front aswell
(23:50:09) Ketta says: Maybe we should go and have a look, sis?
(23:50:21) Sanrai says: Yes, I think so.
(23:50:40) Telena sighs. "I am not sure if there is much left to see."
(23:51:07) Sanrai says: At least we can find out who and why....
(23:51:20) Korumak says: you want to find who did it, find out who made thoes daggers...
(23:51:33) Telena shrugs. "Not sure you will find out anything."
(23:51:33) Korumak says: ... (shakes head)
(23:51:34) Chraz says: Point taken
(23:51:41) Ketta gives a wave "..then we'll probably be back shortly..."
(23:52:05) Korumak says: Elves...
(23:52:24) Chraz says: Guess you need to count your mugs, Telena
(23:52:51) Telena raises an eyebrow. "We always miss some Chraz. What is with elves Korumak?"
(23:53:22) Korumak says: You try to explain things to them, and there more interested in seeing things than hearing the explination
(23:54:09) Korumak says: You say 'oh this persons sick' and before you can say common cold, there half way to Oja by then
(23:54:12) Telena laughs softly. "I am not sure if only elves are like that."
(23:54:47) Korumak shugs, "Just seems more noticable with them"
(23:55:02) Korumak sips his beer
(23:56:32) Chraz snickers
(23:56:38) Telena says: "Maybe." She picks an empty mug up and starts cleaning it. "I was never really close to an elf yet."
(23:57:15) Korumak says: almost half of my female friends here are elves... and everyone of them is like that
(23:57:43) Telena grins. "There has to be some truth then."
(23:58:05) Telena smiles to Karnath. "Welcome! Would you like to have a drink?"
(23:58:57) Karnath lighty smiles "Yes, please. A cider mug would be great"
(23:59:58) Telena nods and takes a clean mug, turning around to pour the cider. "I just got fresh one." She turns back and hands the cider to Karnath. "That will be 30 tria please."
(00:00:25) Chraz says: Say tabei, you found something?
(00:00:26) Telena says: "Thank you. Enjoy your drink."
(00:00:31) Karnath says: Thank you, Telena, as usual.
(00:00:37) Telena looks to Famiel, waiting for his answer.
(00:01:37) Famiel says: Nothing for me thank you
(00:02:04) Telena blinks. "I wanted to know if you have any news."
(00:03:20) Famiel looks down from the balcolny "Nope i didn't see anything while i was out there, rather cold so i hurried back inside"
(00:03:48) Famiel wiggles his toes on the rail
(00:04:38) Korumak sips his beer
(00:05:00) Telena says: "I did expect it. Since that guy fell to ash or dust already."
(00:06:06) Chraz says: if the word spreads... some people who choose a visit to Dakkru lightly may reconsider...
(00:06:35) Korumak says: That is the whole point of the displays
(00:07:12) Korumak says: Its the only logical explination for both events
(00:07:29) Telena says: "Or someone is just being crazy."
(00:07:55) Korumak says: Crazy is often a shifted point of view.
(00:08:10) Famiel picks up the pan flute on the table and starts to blow through it from right to left, left to right slowly
(00:08:53) Korumak says: If you where trying to make people fear death again... you wouldnt go after high profile people, but intentionaly choose victums from all walks of life
(00:09:33) Korumak says: High profile people and its "oh a personal grudge match"
(00:10:12) Telena shrugs. "Could be. Still I am not sure if that is the culprits intention."
(00:10:13) Chraz says: hmm... but aiming a higher ranks may help to spread the news faster - if I put me in this twisted way of thought
(00:10:47) Korumak says: Think about it, remember Kisoji, if we found him like that, what would people think...
(00:12:25) Telena snorts. "They probably would be happy that that guy is gone. Judging from the stories I heard about him."
(00:12:38) Korumak says: They would think its a "Vendetta" or a "Challenge to the SPC" etc....
(00:12:42) Korumak says: exactly
(00:12:50) Chraz nods...
(00:13:19) Korumak says: But you hit the no bodies, the ones people rarealy hear of, of no social status... then people start asking why?
(00:14:00) Chraz says: call the guards, the onix dagger is getting out of control?
(00:14:17) Telena says: "But then, why those people? Why not you or me?"
(00:14:32) Korumak says: No if it was the Onyx daggers they would be targeting someone, might also insite a guild war
(00:14:55) Korumak says: Well to be honest I known, and so is my viewpoints on the death realm
(00:15:15) Chraz says: Sorry, I meant that as a reaction from the crowds
(00:15:26) Korumak says: my guess that the secound reason of his targeting thoes people is a flippant dis reguard for the death realm
(00:16:10) Korumak says: since i didnt know either of the two i cant say for sure on that part so that part is still a guess
(00:17:34) Korumak says: Plus I'm also save in guessing the process was some how alchamy... due to the fact he or she left the dagger behind
(00:17:47) Korumak says: at least the first one, and I'm guessing the secound time too?
(00:18:00) Telena says: "The first victim... The fenki... she had been in the Den a few times." She nods. "The second time as well."
(00:18:26) Korumak says: so the sorce of what is doing it isnt the dagger it self but more than likely something coating it.
(00:18:56) Telena says: "I guess so. If it was poison it has to get into the body usually."
(00:18:58) Korumak says: So who ever this person is, they have alcamy skills, and a motive...
(00:19:20) Kaerli says: Greetings Telena.
(00:19:30) Korumak says: All thats left is the 'who' and each death brings more clues
(00:19:51) Kaerli says: So...what is this death we speak of?
(00:20:15) Korumak says: Another final death left in the square
(00:20:20) Kaerli says: Wow. Brazen.
(00:20:21) Chraz says: But could some poison affect the ways of Dakkru?
(00:20:23) Telena smiles at Kaerli. "Welcome!" She shrugs. "I don't know. The permadead person I saw on the plaza earlier."
(00:20:36) Kaerli says: Who was it, if I may ask?
(00:20:45) Korumak says: IT has to be alcamy... bit more than a simple poison
(00:21:31) Kaerli says: Greetings...Geriah, is it not?
(00:21:40) Korumak says: a merchant by Telena's description
(00:21:48) Kaerli says: A merchant, eh?
(00:21:51) Geriah seats himself at the other end of the table, nodding a greeting to everyone, particularly focusing on Kaerli. "Good memory. I'm not as keen on names - what was it again?"
(00:22:00) Kaerli says: Kaerli, Kaerli Stronwylle...
(00:22:20) Geriah says: Kaerli. Alright. Sorry about that. We'd barely spoken that night... ah, how've you been though?
(00:22:31) Kaerli says: Doing well, as for you?
(00:23:04) Geriah says: Not bad. Having trouble finding someone that I'd given a job. Not that it was too important, but... ah well.
[here the talk changed completely and is not on the topic of the permadead person anymore]
-
(16:35:36) Ariletar passes under the doorway, nodding a greeting at Ambrere, before angling towards the bar.
(16:36:10) Barsidious refocuses his attention on the man at the door with distinct curiosity. Seeming to have forgotten about the fenki's issue, he suddenly turns away and moves to claim an empty table for himself.
(16:37:11) Ariletar exchanges a quiet word and coin with the bartender for a glass of beer. He turns, as though to approach the table now occupied by Barsidious. "A fine morning, isn't it?" he asks, casually.
(16:38:50) Barsidious glances over at Ariletar, his visage the image of casual calm, perfectly collected. "That it is, far as I can tell. Warm weather. Clear skies." A plastic smile creases his face.
(16:39:59) Ariletar sets himself unbidden into the unoccupied seat across from Barsidious, setting his mug on the table. "Yes, the skies were exceptionally clear today. I hope they remain, but I expect it may be a bit more...cloudy this evening."
(16:41:31) Barsidious glances casually at the mug, and pulls a bottle out of his own bags. He swirls its contents and uncorks it, bringing it to his lips for a long drink. "I suspect as well," he replies. "But as they say, there's always the calm before the storm. And once it passes, even more clarity than there was before."
(16:42:14) Ariletar squares his focus evenly on Barsidious, speaking as before. "I'd certainly hope so, yes."
(16:45:36) Barsidious's eyes crinkle again, smiling just as brightly as before. A coldness is present, however, beyond this practiced visage, and he sets his bottle aside. He leans forward to slightly descrease the space between them. "It will be," he says, with certainty. Promise.
(16:46:52) Ariletar tilts his head back, taking a sip of his beer from his mug. "He will expect proof, you know."
(16:49:18) Barsidious lets a chuckle vibrate in his chest. His hand digs around in his pocket, concealed deeply within his robes. He tosses a small, tightly bound sack across the table at Ariletar, letting it land with a thunk against the wood. "Proof," he says.
(16:50:18) Ariletar slowly reaches out for the bag, unlacing the tie loosely enough to peer inside briefly. He nods once, as though satisfied, and re-fastens the bag's seal, sliding it back across the table. "Fair enough."
(16:51:18) Barsidious chuckles again. "I've another delivery on the way. This one should prove to be considerably promising. You may tell him that everything is properly in order, and that he has nothing to fear. I have plenty of motivation to complete my task."
(16:52:56) Ariletar steeples his fingers against each other, and nods slowly, gaze fixated on the man across from him. "He excepts nothing less," he says, simply, in answer.
(16:55:21) Barsidious's fingers reclaim his bottle of liquor, and he again brings it to his lips. He downs a large draught, at least a quarter the contents in one drink. "We both know that our motivations differ, but you've done your job." He waves his hand. "Simply assure him that every care is being taken. He'll have what he wanted, and I shall get what I need."
(16:57:15) Ariletar chuckles once, the sound more of a grating cough, than an expression of any sort of mirth or amusement. "Yes, we do. He'll make sure you get what you need. If everything's settled, then..."
(16:58:37) Barsidious waves his hand dismissively. "Yes, yes, well and settled. You may return to his heel and inform him of what's been going on. Do give him my gift with a smile, won't you?" He gestures to the bag and smirks faintly. "Farewell."
(17:01:12) Ariletar snakes his hand out, and picks up the bag once more, fastening it to his belt. He laughs once again, gratingly, at the man's words, simply walking out, without a further word.
-
Oh no, I ruined the discussion :P
-
Shame on you, Suno.
SHAME! >:(
(Tehe :lol:)
-
whoah what's this pray tell? more layers? \\o//
/me grabs her *<<*Bronze Pickaxe*>>* and starts digging.
and by the two goddesses please post the exchange between miomai and barsi from last night. that deserves to be laser etched in platinum and hung in the hall of fame wing of the hydlaa museum.
-
::| I never played a menki, I assumed the guards were so stupid they had an actual yulbar in their ranks. ::|
-
It would be a lie to say she wasn't at least somewhat out of sorts. And who wouldn't be, following the events that had occurred over the past few weeks? Her cover was so horrifically shattered that there really wasn't a point in maintaining it any longer. So she'd shed it like so much dead skin, just like the necrotic skin that had been left on her hands. Come off like mutated gloves it had, really disturbing when one thought too much about it. She mumbled obscenities to herself as she quickly applied the honey-egg-white combination that Teshia woman had had concocted for her. Not only did that gods forsaken killer know who she was, but now, because of the workings of that downright neurotic clamod Miomai, the guards actually believed she was the killer! Her! Hah!
I'm damn glad they booted me out of their service. They've been a driveling mob of incompetent blockheads for longer than the government has been alive. All brawn, no brain. Their bloody helmets are probably constricting oxygen to whatever gray matter might actually exist between their ears.
Of course Travosh had done some talking and had finagled the fenki into confessing that her testimony had been a lie. Not that it should even have been necessary; from what she understood the woman was a widely known lunatic. But of course, who cared about actually catching the one doling out True deaths when you could just pin it on somebody and avoid public unsettling? The moment that guard had walked onto the scene the whole thing had just about toppled in on itself and collapsed in a dreadful, chaotic display. Not only had she taken the letter, the one that could have been used as further evidence aimed at finding the killer, but thanks to that nincompoop Sacho, she'd almost gotten her hands on the dagger as well.
Wasn't about to lose that too, she scoffed, and pulled it out of her bag. She'd tossed a duplicate at that iron-clad menki and he'd taken the bait without question. Again, hardly shocking, and it served her purposes perfectly. Really, it was like tossing meat to a bunch of dogs and then watching them fight ravenously over it.
Leaning her head back against the tree, Evirea carefully unwrapped the dagger and looked at the dark metal. There were the dried bits of blood and poison on it, just as she'd suspected, and honestly with the combination of the letter there really wasn't much she could test about it. She already knew it was the killer's, especially with the abrupt disintegration of the Lemur. And of course, as par to her recent run of luck, a giant group of gossiping bystanders had been there to observe the entire ordeal, confounded clamod Sacho included. Who, in his state of brilliance, had ultimately been the one to lose her her letter. Not to mention that he'd read the thing, and now knew her real name.
I should just reactivate the poison on this thing and kill myself with it, she mused, rotating it this way and that. It would be a preferable end than dealing with this rabble.
She knew that was a lie, of course, and that she was really just being an overly emotional twit. But she figured at this point she'd at least earned the right to have a fit, a blessed moment of hysteric, illogical fuming. Truth be told, each body was like a personal blow to her. It was a reminder that she'd failed this stranger. She hadn't been there to stave the approach of the dagger, hadn't been there to ensure that their family wouldn't have to wander around in black mourning clothes for months as a result of their untimely demise. She didn't want anyone else to die. Every single person that did, stranger or not, rattled her further and further, shoving her ever closer to the edge of her sanity and self-control.
You're a bastard, you know that, she thought, glaring heatedly at the dagger tip. A good for nothing, scum, lowly, disgusting bastard. What gives you the right to take someone's life? What gives you the right to make the decision to stop their beating heart, their steady breathing? Who died and made you a god?
Stabbing the weapon into the grass beside her till the lush green foliage reached the hilt, she brought her tender, still-healing hands up to cover her face. The scales were soft and supple, which wasn't at all natural, but she was used to this. It had the rather troublesome side effect of having to touch every surface she encountered like it was white hot and flaming, though. Most bothersome.
Setting her mouth in a grim line, the klyros stared at where she'd driven the dagger deep into the soil. She imagined what it would be like to drive it straight into the killer's heart. To plunge it deep and see the light slowly leaving his eyes, to watch him die with a look of open-mouthed shock, and to smile as his fingers unclenched. Maybe she'd even wait until his corpse reached a pleasant rigor mortis before she finally set it on a pier, drenched it in alcohol, and lit a celebratory bonfire.
The anger at her situation was growing, compounded further as her thoughts carried on along this vindictive train. Yanking a strip of blank paper from her journal, she began to scrawl a letter in a sloppy hand, as the emotion in her chest caused a trembling in her fingers:
Your intellect is hardly worth merit. Nothing you could possibly say will steer me from my course of action. I can assure you, for every life that you take, I'll lob off a limb, before I kill you. I'll make your skin look like it was driven though with shards of glass. I shall put into use every piece of knowledge I have to make you suffer, signal every nerve ending to screaming. You may know my name, but I know your race, Ylian. It's only a matter of time before I target who you are, and believe you me, you will pay for every life that you have taken.
Her breathing rate had increased considerably, to a ragged, harsh sound. The shaking in her hands made an audible rustling in the paper. It occurred to her that the letter was somewhat outrageous, and that this was the first time any of her rather unwilling clients had gotten under her skin so effectively. It probably had something to do with being so exposed to the general public. She felt naked without the front of her disguise. She'd never been trapped in such a situation where she could literally be grilled about her failures or successes. Just recently she'd had to tolerate it plenty from that dunderhead Icerra, asking all of these overwhelmingly idiotic questions about her motives for trying to catch the killer. Wasn't that obvious? Who wouldn't, if they had the capacity as she did, try to stop such events from occurring? What other motivation could she possibly need for bringing the man to his knees, plucking out his eyes, wresting his heart from his chest, lopping his head off his shoulders...
Shocked out of the musings by the graphic images they produced, the idea that the kore had a point crept slowly up her spine, like a shiver from a rush of unexpected cold. Could it be possible that what spurred her actions was in fact an emotional ramification of her traumatic history? Surely not. She was above such things, after all, and had proven it time and again as she made her way through case after case. Her purpose and goals were perfectly clear, clear as the crystal itself, and she didn't need some stupid excuse to justify them. She possessed no niggling voice in the back of her head that told her she needed to redeem herself from her own failures. There was no guilt in her conscience about what had happened years ago. The haunting image of her mother's head staring up at her with wide white eyes, the red of blood leaking slowly from her tear ducts and staining her corneas, had absolutely nothing to do with her lofty pursuit of these criminals.
Clenching her eyes shut, Evirea forced the gruesome picture from her mind. She leaned forward and took several deep breaths, instilling in herself the usual artificial calm that she managed to carefully fabricate throughout her daily life. The letter she planned to plant at the fountain before the killer could make his next post-tortuous delivery crinkled in her fist, and she pressed her knuckles against the lids of her eyes until she saw sparks in the darkness behind them. After she'd collected herself, she stood to her feet, her gaze angling downwards towards where that knife stood innocently and harmlessly planted in the ground by her feet.
“I won't let you win,” she rasped at it, quivering as her oath was made. “I swear on my life, I won't let you win.”
-
[I had to do some serious pruning to the other conversations that were going on in the tavern so that this entry made some semblance of sense. If I cut you out, please, don't be offened.]
(19:15:16) Barsidious clears his throat and straightens his collar slightly, his gaze flitting from one person to the other. His attention suddenly fixes itself on Finnis, as he observes his interactions with the other people entering, and his cordial greetings.
(19:15:19) Masaro smiles a bit and turns back, glad the topic got dropped and seeing some nice, drama-less conversation
(19:15:53) Finnis says: Indeed. I figured one more nights stay couldn't hurt, although this town appears to be crawling with the villainous kind. I believe I just might make it out of here alive if I'm careful
(19:16:28) Danao says: Maybe...
(19:16:38) Danao says: But you aren't a fenki so you might stand a chance.
(19:17:17) Finnis lifts a brow, "Indeed?"
(19:17:54) Danao says: Been a bad run with fenkis turning up unconsious in odd places.
(19:17:57) Miomai quickly turns her attention to Finnis as the topic of death comes up. Though nothing further of interest to her is said, so she goes back to her reading.
(19:18:19) Masaro says: Wait, really? That's news to me...
(19:19:11) Danao looks back "Well I doubt I'm just lucky enough to be around for both fenkis in the last two days."
(19:19:19) Finnis glances over at the studious fenki, "You might want to inform that one, and the two downstairs."
(19:19:50) Danao chuckles "no thank you. I'm no newsboy. I plan on staying out of as much trouble as I can manage."
(19:20:06) Danao says: Enough people get hurt around here as it is.
(19:20:23) Masaro says: Good luck with that... I've been avoiding it by staying at the anvil but that gets boring after a while.
(19:20:42) Danao shrugs "I'm making my way with the furnace myself."
(19:20:43) Barsidious seems to have fallen very silent amidst the conversation.
(19:21:28) Finnis lifts a finger in suggestion, "Ah, why don't you two join me on the road? A life of travelling I can assure you is much more fulfilling than a life watching your back"
(19:22:06) Masaro says: I'm tired of relying on smiths for weapons and armor.. and I've had a lot of time since I left the guild, so I'm learning that.
(19:22:17) Danao says: Some how that seems like 6 in one hand and half a dozen in the other.
(19:23:06) Masaro looks to Finnis, "I've travelled enough thank you... I've still a few friends here which is more than I can say for other places, and that was before erm... some issues..."
(19:23:21) Miomai looks up at Danao and thinks about what she just said. The clamod starts counting on her fingers before she realizes she does not know what a half-dozen is.
(19:24:45) Danao says: I did my traveling already... I got here.
(19:24:53) Finnis seems genuinely dejected and takes a sip of liqour to compensate, "Ah, so I must keep travelling alone..."
(19:25:09) Barsidious leans back in his chair and slowly rolls up his sleeve to his shoulder. Showing the somewhat sullied bandages there, he unravels the carefully applied cloth and reveals the badly burnt flesh beneath, still somewhat reddened and charred by the effects of a fire. He studies the cracks in his skin with care, and then uses the old gauze to try and wipe away some of the blood, lest the injury become infected.
(19:26:20) Danao says: Well, you could just take root somewhere and get it over with.
(19:26:23) Danao laughs
(19:26:52) Miomai looks outside and sees no rain, she helpfully calls down to the fenki, "It stopped raining," in her currently monotonous voice.
(19:27:50) Masaro looks over to Barsidious and frowns, "You're burnt too? I think maybe you should see a healer about that..."
(19:28:02) Finnis shakes his head furiously, "No ma... sir. I plan to keep moving till the very end. No point in settling down now."
(19:29:29) Finnis takes a look at the hideous wound, "Indeed! That needs proper medical treatment. I believe there's a sanitarium of sorts in this town?"
(19:29:29) Barsidious grins at Masaro, the corner of his mouth tweaked in a gratifying smile. "Ran into a bit of an over eager red way mage," he explains. "Felt I was cheating him on a transaction...and didn't take to the idea too kindly."
(19:29:40) Miomai turns again and says, "Lazahene."
(19:30:36) Danao looks over at Barsidious
(19:31:11) Barsidious smiles pleasantly and nods at Danao. "Sir," he says, and begins to re-apply some bandaging to his injury with a steady and practiced hand.
(19:31:13) Danao says: Sounds bad... I had enough of a time just with a furnance burn...
(19:31:14) Finnis nods to Danao, 'Indeed, my grave should be my first, and last, resting place, wherever it may be."
(19:32:13) Danao looks back at Finnis
(19:32:29) Miomai gives up on her reading in the busy tavern. She closes the book gently and places it in her bag. The fenki stands up and rests her arms on the railing, finding some small interest in the conversation taking place below.
(19:32:36) Masaro tilts his head, "Someone apparently needs to learn control... not even I was that easy to set off."
(19:32:43) Danao says: You don't plan for many people to be visiting your grave do you?
(19:34:20) Finnis laughs in his goodnatured way, "may grave is most likely to be a pile of bones in a vast empty field, no, I don't expect many to even notice I'm gone"
(19:35:32) Miomai curls a lip and narrrows her eyes as she mentions casually, "But she might stick you with an arrow."
(19:35:35) Masaro says: I'd like to be noticed if I was gone for good, myself...
(19:36:03) Danao just nods slowly "That is kinda... a hard way to go don't you think?"
(19:37:14) Finnis says: what's that? Alone in a field? I say it's rather liberating, having no ties to hold you back.
(19:37:40) Danao says: And nothing to tie you to anything... No legacy.
(19:38:01) Danao looks for a moment at the area where the fireplace is when the purring starts
(19:38:31) Masaro says: It seems kind of... sad, knowing when you go you won't have anything left behind...
(19:38:34) Masaro puts his ears down
(19:38:46) Miomai is mildly disturbed by the cuddling scene below, and also mildly intreagued. She ponders what it might be like herself to hug a nolthrir, though she's determined that it'd definitely be a male nolthrir.
(19:38:49) Finnis touches his finger to his nose, 'Ah, but I've left my mark on this world. A little touch here and there, that's good enough for me."
(19:39:50) Danao says: Well I can't say that would be enough for me...
(19:40:52) Finnis sips on his mug and looks upon Danao with some consideration, "If you don't mind, how do you plan on leaving your mark? What would be good enough for you?"
(19:41:07) Barsidious has started grinning like some kind of fool. He realizes this, and instantly he molds his expression into a much more placid and less wolfish one. Standing up suddenly, he moves towards the bar and tosses Allelia some tria, before bringing a mug towards himself and taking a sip of hte frothy brew. With his good hand he gestures to those gathered and speaks in an amiable and welcoming tone, "Mind if I join the conversation?"
(19:41:50) Masaro smiles a little, "Go ahead sir... more fun with more people, especially people I've yet to meet"
(19:42:14) Danao scratches the side of his face "I don't know... Raise a family, maybe start my own farm... contribute back to those around me. I suppose I haven't given it much thought."
(19:42:23) Finnis nods to the al of a sudden friendly Ylian, "Indeed good sir, the more the merrier, how's about your name?"
(19:43:17) Miomai watches Jilata leave, but says nothing and remains rather stoic.
(19:43:21) Barsidious smiles and gently passes his mug into his injured hand, gripping the handle lightly, apparently still possessing some mobility of the appendage. He raises his hand first to Masaro for a shake. "Barsidious, at your service. A travelling merchant, and aspiring philosopher."
(19:43:56) Danao chuckles "Philosopher?"
(19:45:04) Barsidious flicks a glance over towards Danao and flashes a smile, the expression deepening the crow's feet radiating from his eyes. "Why certainly!" He says. "Then again, I suppose many people are in their own right. Though they would not necessarily say as such. It's the study of moral aptitude, yes? Very fascinating."
(19:45:12) Miomai determines she doesn't like the continued affections down below, and vocalizes it, "ew." She turns back to the group on this floor and rests her elbows on the railing.
(19:45:33) Danao says: I never thought about it much myself. I don't think I'm much of a philosopher.
(19:46:35) Finnis smiles, "Ah, a fellow free thinker eh? welcome to our little circle."
(19:46:36) Danao nods at Karnath "Afternoon..."
(19:47:22) Miomai knits her brow as she tries to understand every fifth word from Barsidious. Her Dark Crystal earring glows with her effort, but she fails to understand what in Dakkru's Realm he is talking about.
(19:47:59) Barsidious lets his hand dangle in front of Masaro for a moment, and then, smile never faltering, moves it over to Finnis to be shaken. "So what is the fodder of conversation this evening?" He chimes, his tone especially jovial.
(19:48:31) Danao looks over at the fenki by the stairs for a brief moment
(19:49:12) Masaro would have shaken the hand in a timely fashion, smiling a bit, "Apparently still death... all it's been since I got here earlier"
(19:49:16) Danao says: Talking about what we leave behind last I can remember.
(19:49:34) Finnis gladly takes his hand and gives it a single firm shake, "Finnis Shelnut's the name, the menki here goes by Shadow, don't ask me why, and the pretty gentleman by my side is, well, the name's slipped my mind."
(19:50:04) Danao says: Danao...
(19:50:13) Finnis says: Danao
(19:50:29) Barsidious chuckles and offers Danao his hand as well, following through with the cordial introduction. His smile falls as he hears Masaro's comment, and he furrows his brow. "Yes. I've heard of killings. Tragic, really. I hope they catch the bastard."
(19:51:02) Danao shakes Barsidious's hand as well
(19:51:56) Masaro looks to Barsidious, "What do you go by?"
(19:52:11) Finnis says: yes yes, 'twould be nice to be rid of the evils in this world, but wouldn't be too exciting then, would it?
(19:52:29) Danao says: I could live with that...
(19:52:34) Danao says: No pun intended.
(19:52:47) Masaro says: Excitement and a few trips through the dark realm is different from finding corpses...
(19:52:48) Barsidious drops his hand back so that he can once more switch his filled mug of beer into his uninjured hand. "Barsidious," he repeats. "Folks used to call me Bars were I'm from, you're perfectly welcome to use that addressal if it suits you." He tilts his head and ponders Finnis' statement. "Perhaps, but it's the nature of the adventure, isn't it? Being dead isn't very adventurous."
(19:53:31) Masaro says: Well then, Finnis, Danao, and Barsidious... nice meeting you three
(19:53:32) Finnis sips on his mug with a nod, "Indeed."
(19:53:42) Danao says: Same.
(19:54:23) Finnis tips his hat to Masaro, "Leaving good sir? I see the rain has ceased to fall. Let your travels stay dry."
(19:54:42) Barsidious's eyes glimmer with a faint sort of humor, and he raises his mug to enjoy a deep drink of his cold beer. "Hmm," he says. "The characters you can meet by random chance, eh?" He glances at Masaro and raises his brow at the menki inquiringly.
(19:54:58) Masaro says: Oh no... I'm staying....
(19:55:07) Masaro nods to Barsidious
(19:55:37) Barsidious chuckles. "So, what shall we discuss, hm? Are any of you of a particular religious persuasion?"
(19:56:06) Danao shrugs "talad worshipers in my family."
(19:56:53) Finnis scratches his beard, "I've seen the hands of all the many gods in my lifetime, though I don't claim to serve any of them, rather try to avoid them." he chuckles lightly at himself
(19:57:33) Venorel orders a Red Liquor
(19:57:37) Barsidious nods. "Ah, yes. The God of forgivness, of grace and mercy and vindictive restraint. Not a bad pick, really. Certainly somewhat less flawed than most people, though in general most of the gods tend to be somewhat...human." He looks to Finnis with a certain amount of interest. "Why do you say that?" He asked. "What makes you fear them, hm?"
(19:57:47) Finnis tips his hat to the Ylian as she approaches the bar
(19:57:47) Danao chuckles "Not a good way to hedge your bets there."
(19:58:09) Miomai frowns at Finnis' declaration of his agnosticism. She is obviously disturbed by this and mutters a curse towards him for such a blasphemy as that.
(19:58:52) Masaro says: I'm not really in a religion either... I've seen the good and bad side of Laanx, Dakkru, and Xiosia... I don't fit with any of them exactly, but follow many of their ideals and understandings
(19:59:28) Danao nods in acknowledgment to venorel
(19:59:39) Finnis says: hmm, I never considered it a fear to be sure, but it could be that at some level. I just don't like to bog myself down with any sense of duty or loyalty is all.
(20:00:24) Venorel listens with interest to the discussion
(20:00:26) Danao says: You really don't tie down to anything do you?
(20:00:28) Danao lifts an eyebrow
(20:01:02) Barsidious takes another sip and asks of the three gathered, "So tell me, then. It's such a nebulous topic, but please, to entertain me with your wonderfully studious responses. What do you think the epitome of moral Truth is? What drives you towards your own valiant and noble deeds, hm?" His eyes twinkle again with a sort of personal merriment, and his tone carries nothing but sincerity.
(20:01:11) Finnis smiles and winks at Danao, "been free as a bird since the day I escaped my mothers womb."
(20:02:26) Masaro says: ... always tried to do what was right, it just makes sense...
(20:02:45) Finnis raises a finger in answer, 'Truth I'd say is what lies on the horizon."
(20:02:48) Danao shakes his head "Not what I'd call free..."
(20:02:48) Miomai repeats her curs for Masaro and thinks that she ought to be writing this stuff down, lest she forget these people. She hunts in her bag for her diary and then remenbers that it is missing. She frowns and looks around. As if the tavern might hold the answer. It could, if a certain elusive fenki friend were available, but sadly she's elusive.
(20:03:22) Danao says: I can't say I have many nobel deeds to account for... I just needed a change I guess.
(20:04:06) Masaro says: Helping others to live happily, and keeping others who would end that from being able to...
(20:04:32) Masaro grumbles a little as he catches a curse from Miomai, shaking his head and looking back into the group
(20:05:01) Barsidious nods in time to Masaro's and Danao's words, seeming to be collecting these replies with a personal earnest. He glances towards Finnis with utmost curiosity, waiting for him to add voice to the discussion as well.
(20:05:21) Masaro says: Besides... I vowed I would protect the innocent when I became an Adani... I might have left the guild but didn't forsake that vow....
(20:06:00) Venorel speaks up with a mild slur to her words, "If not a Kran or a Xacha, I see no need to give worship to any God. They treat such praise a smight indifferent lovers"
(20:06:46) Venorel sips on her cider
(20:06:48) Finnis gives Venorel a sideways glance, 'Easy on the mug there miss."
(20:07:01) Barsidious tips his drink at Masaro. "That is a very noble intent," he replies. "Perhaps you should tell me of this Adani later." He glances over at Danao and winks. "Often our time is yet to come. Everyone gets their day, I assure you. Even craggly old Ylians like me who talk too much and do too little." He chucklees and merely says to Finnis, "Please, expound upon that statement."
(20:07:09) Danao lifts eyebrow and looks at Venorel
(20:08:59) Danao looks back at Finnis
(20:10:24) Finnis nods, "Gladly. You see, Truth is rather elusive, dont you think? It keeps us searching but we never find it. It's lies on the horizon as a said, in a land you can never reach. 'Tis why I keep travelling, honestly, to learn and see all I can before I go."
(20:11:29) Miomai is fed up with Barsidious' large words like "expound" and Finnis' words like, "elusive." She decides to join the simpler banter down below, taking the shortcut of hopping over the railing.
(20:13:27) Danao says: I don't think that truth is all that hard to get...
(20:13:31) Barsidious nods in time to Finnis' words. "That's an excellent statement, a well thought out reply. Quite an interesting method, too, to travel seeking something you may never truly answer. Ah, that is life though in so many cases." He pauses, perhaps for a bit of dramatic effect, having no clue that his overly verbose statements are upsetting the poor, lovably addled clamod. Musing only for a moment, he continues his banter, clueless to the fact that his inquisition my be counted as a bit...eccentric. "Tell me, then. What is it that is good about a person, man or woman. What specifies goodness from evil?"
(20:14:27) Danao chuckles and mutters"Whether or not I want to boot them all the way to the crystal..."
(20:15:10) Miomai dismounts from the railing like a seasoned gymnast. She lands like a flailing fool. The clamod stumbles as she hits the bench, catches herself, stumbles as she dismounts from the bench, catches herself again and bumps into the wall. At least she managed to keep herself upright this time. "Oof," she emits as she finishes her pathetic display.
(20:16:00) Danao smiles and looks back at the woman behind him
(20:16:29) Finnis chuckles at Danao's answer, "I follow a 'live and let live' policy. Has worked for me thus far." He says with a grin
(20:16:59) Masaro's ears perk at Miomai's failed landing attempt, and he looks to Barsidious, "Well... I suppose good means not disturbing other's lives, or ending them in some cases, and trying to make society as a whole a better place..."
(20:17:39) Masaro says: Bad... acts like thievery, murder, torture... acts that cause others pain against their will
(20:18:08) Finnis scratches his beard, thinking about his answer some more, "I suppose the worst thing you could do to a man like me is keep him locked up in a cage."
(20:18:20) Barsidious squints an eye shut in a wink, and gestures with his mug as if saluting to everyone present. "Pacifism," he remarks. "That's a very useful trait to have." He turns and glances curiously at Masaro. "Funny. Your statement makes good out to be more an absence of evil, rather than a concrete or stable definition. Which I suppose if you think about it...that makes a certain amount of sense. But that also means those annoying snarky individuals that get under your skin aren't evil, no matter how much you may wish it." He chuckles.
(20:19:21) Masaro says: Well erm... I used to be one of those kinds of people... and sometimes still am. I don't think myself evil though.
(20:19:49) Finnis nods at Masaro, "I doubt anyone thinks of themselves as evil."
(20:20:21) Masaro says: Well, true.... I try not to be though, that's the difference.
(20:20:26) Danao says: I don't think much about it until well... stuff like unconsious fenkis start turning up.
(20:20:50) Masaro plays with his claws, "I know I have the potential to be, it's why I'm trying so hard now..."
(20:21:57) Barsidious watches Masaro's claws for a brief moment. His voice softens slightly, and sounds almost fatherly in nature. "We can't all be perfect. Life is often about accepting our own flaws, and learning to deal with them. Learning to move on, kknowing that it's perfectly acceptable to make mistakes, so long as we know they are there, and strive to change."
(20:21:58) Danao says: Well at least you try.
(20:22:21) Masaro looks up and nods, not saying anything
(20:22:56) Finnis tilts his head towards the door, 'Maybe it's the liquor playing tricks on my old ears, but sounds like there could be trouble outside."
(20:23:30) Barsidious frowns and turns slightly, his attention faltering. "Hm," he mumbles, and gently moves to set his mug on a table, before striding for the door and over the threshold.
(20:23:31) Masaro tilts his head, "... sounded like one of the dermorian sisters..."
(20:23:51) Danao says: I'll be stayiing here though...
(20:24:04) Danao says: I've had enough trouble as it is.
(20:25:06) Masaro walks outside and looks around
(20:25:11) Barsidious shrugs, "Seems quite empty to me," he comments.
(20:25:23) Masaro nods in agreement
(20:25:23) Finnis sets his mug down and scratches his beard in contemplation, "Hmm, 'twould be a smart move to stay here where I know I'm safe... but I've never been one to stay put. No sir, I don't like it." he makes for the door
(20:25:31) Danao watches people go outside "There's going to be more unconscious people today."
(20:26:13) Danao shakes his head
(20:26:24) Danao grumbles and heads outside with the others
(20:26:36) Barsidious frowns. "I'll take a look back in this alley," he comments, and moves towards it.
(20:32:07) Barsidious re-emerges and glances around at the crowd. "Apparently no trouble," he comments.
(20:32:15) Finnis says: indeed, now where'd I put my mug?
(20:32:27) Masaro shakes his head, "Nope, no trouble"
(20:32:58) Barsidious chuckles softly. "You probably won't find it, my good Xacha. Likely someone has already taken it for their own drinking pleasure."
(20:33:11) Finnis says: young man, you must stop crying Ulbernaut, or else no one will believe you when the real danger comes
(20:33:42) Masaro grins and a bit of dark magic shows around his eyes, "That or I'll give you reason to flee"
(20:33:46) Barsidious smirks. "What DID happen, precisely?"
(20:34:26) Finnis sighs, "'Tis sad but true. Seems to be a case of false alarm.”
(20:35:04) Barsidious chuckles. "Well, at least it provided for a brief diversion, if nothing else.
(20:35:25) Miomai lets out a canned reading quip.
(20:35:59) Finnis takes in a deep breath, "'Tis true. I've been cooped up in that stuffy ol' tavern for too long. I think it's about time I hit the road once again."
(20:36:57) Masaro says: Leaving so soon? Well Finnis... hope to see you again then.
(20:37:11) Miomai wishes there were tables and chairs in the library for, you know, reading in peace. She closes her book again and heads out of the tavern, having not finish the sentence she started hours ago.
(20:37:14) Barsidious smiles. "Actually I would like to go out along the road. I was thinking about trying Gugrontid, some sales there to be made perhaps. Shall we travel together?"
(20:38:57) Finnis tips his hat at Masaro, "Yes sir, it's about time for me to travel along. I'm sure to pass this way again. How's about I buy you a drink then?" He looks at Barsidiuos, "That sounds like as good a direction as any, and I'm always glad for a traveling companion."
(20:39:50) Barsidious makes a sweeping sort of bow, and nods to Masaro. "It was good meeting you, Sir Shadow. May our paths cross once more, which I'm sure they will. Small world, and all that." He lets out a boisterous laugh.
(20:41:07) Masaro says: You two both take care, don't let the arangmas get you
(20:41:45) Barsidious turns, his robes moving slightly. "Hah! Bring on the arangmas." He shakes his fist at the air valiantly and makes off towards the stairs at a steady, easy gait.
-
[An aside: Only these two could make kidnapping someone with intent to murder somehow hilarious. I was actually sad to have to prune out the OOC comments, maybe I'll make a seperate post for them later. I wuff joo guyz :love:]
(21:00:38) Barsidious halts amidst the trees. "Hm. Fancy a quick picnic? I haven't eaten much today and I'm a bit starved."
(21:01:37) Finnis stops and looks around, "Sounds lovely, but I'm afraid I haven't any edibles on me, although I'm something of a renowned forager."
(21:02:49) Barsidious gives a chuckle. He removes a tightly rolled blanket from his travelsack, and spreads it out smoothly onto the ground below his feet. Tugging out the ruffles, he takes a seat and begins drawing some bread and dried meat from his travelsack, setting them out as a sort of offering. "Help yourself."
(21:03:54) Finnis smiles and nods, always willing to subsist on the generosity of others, "Indeed? Well, if you insist."
(21:04:15) Finnis joins Barsidious in the light snack
(21:06:24) Barsidious chuckles again, his eyes twinkling once more with that strange sort of humor. He watches Finnis eat, and puts a bit of the cheese into his mouth, enjoying the sharp taste of it. He draws out a bottle and pours some of the liquid into a cup, one that has a white, powdery residue on the bottom, previously applied, that dissolves instantly on contact with the liquid. Leaning forward, he offers Finnis the drink.
(21:08:19) Finnis munches on the bread and dried meat, glad to have something substantial in his stomach to go along with the red liqour from the tavern. He gratefully accepts the cup and swallows a mouthful of food, "Ah, what's this?" he asks as he wafts it towards his nose.
(21:10:30) Barsidious smiles as he pours himself a cup of the same liquor, corking the bottle once more and setting it aside. "A wonderful vintage of wine, I assure you. The grapes must have been juuuuust perfect. I found it on one of my trips to the barn level. Best you'll ever taste." The illustrate, he takes a deep draft of his own glass, and swallows.
(21:13:45) Finnis raises his cup in toast, "To the spoils of the road" and tosses it back, enjoying it's warmth as it coats his gullet. "Ah, satisfying." he says and smacks his lips a bit, "But leaves something of an aftertaste, doesn't it?"
(21:15:58) Barsidious gives another soft chuckle. His eyes glint further as he observes Finnis. "Only the best do," he replies offhandadly, not really caring about that. "So tell me, Finnis. You say that you search upon the horizon for the Truth, the difficult ideal of good and evil, to further perhaps an understanding of the world and yourself." His smile grows strangely plastic. "I think a bit of self-searching is required for such revelation, no?"
(21:19:06) Finnis nods as he drains the remnants of his cup, and leans back casually, enjoying the stimulating conversation, "Indeed, traveling alone offers me that opportunity. My thoughts are more likely than not my only companion."
(21:21:39) Barsidious nods as we watches the Xacha, as if waiting for something with a forced sort of patience. He too drains the last of his drink, running his finger along the rim to make it emit a soft ring. "I'll tell you about the true matter of good and evil. You see in all there is evil, despite the facade that we so often evoke. And we try to cover it up, beneath layers of personal justification, until it doesn't really exist anymore and we no longer acknowledge it's presence." He gives a short, curt sort of smile. "And of course, the only way to deal with it is to draaaag it, kicking screaming and biting, back out into the light."
(21:28:13) Finnis grows drowsy and his eyelids heavy, he leans back on an elbow, trying to focus on his Ylian companion, although he is growing more blurry be the second, and his voice slowing and lowering in pitch, he shakes his head to try and clear it, and tries to say something along the lines of, "Must of had too much liquor." or "I'm sorry, but I don't follow." or even, "Why's it getting dark all of a sudden?" but instead falls unconscious to the ground, the little cup which sealed his doom rolls away from limp fingertips.
(21:30:36) Barsidious smiles gently at Finnis as he loses consciousness. He doesn't catch any of the garble, obviously, but he does go about collecting his things and cleaning off the blanket. That finished, he cinches his travelsack shut once more and swings it over his shoulder, before moving to wrap the blanket around the now unconscious Xacha, and attempts to pick him up off the ground by placing one arm beneath his shoulders and the other beneath his knees. This is relatively painful as one of them is badly damaged, and he grimaces to show his distaste.
(21:34:06) Finnis is lifted without having any ability to resist, or even the awareness of what's happening to him. He may be a bit scrawny from a life of travel, but his lanky figure would pose a challenge and awkwardness to carry
(21:35:21) Barsidious grunts to himself as he moves to swing the corpse onto his back. Slightly bend over from his efforts, he turns, and strikes out, heading towards the ruins behind the city of Gugrontid. As he moves, he starts to whistle a merry tune to himself, his legs carrying him and his burden with a doggedly eager intent.
(21:42:02) Barsidious moves to set Finnis down on the floor. There appears to be a chain jammed into a crack in the wall, which he moves to undo and then slip over Finnis' wrist, snapping the cuff shut tightly. Then, with a gentlemanly care, he covers Finnis with the blanket so he won't get too terribly cold against the chilly stone floor, and steps back.
(21:43:11) Miomai remains behind the stone wall of the ancient ruins and listens intently to the goings-on on the other side. Her dagger is at the ready, should the need arise to do some damage to some unsuspecting agnostic.
(21:43:13) Finnis sits motionless, chained, captured... a personal hell for him really
(21:45:09) Barsidious chuckles softly at the Xacha. "Well," he muses. "You're about to have a very long lesson to that effect, aren't you?" He places his injured hand over the man's brow for a moment. "Have your eyes opened, you could say." Turning, he hops out of the small enclosure, and starts to cicumvent the thing, looking for any possible followers.
(21:46:38) Barsidious halts as he spots the clamod he vaguely recalls from the bar. He slowly arches a brow at her. "Well well," he mutters.
(21:47:56) Miomai bolloxed up her careful plan to sneak up on Finnis. Not surprising, as she's a half-wit. She's caught, red, or rather, black handed. "Oh..Uhm...Ah... " she stutters as she attempts to think of a valid reason for being here. She begins chipping away at the stone wall, "Just doing some mining heah, don't mind me."
(21:51:05) Barsidious chuckles very softly at the fenki. Strangely, he doesn't advance towards her, but rather remains rooted in place. "I'm afraid I'm up to some private business, which you can't be a part of, miss clamod," he says, his voice quiet. "I think you should sleep, take a bit of a nap. I mean, if you've been following for so long, surely you must be very tired." The tips of the fingers on his left hand glow with a soft blue light. "Don't you think you'd like to sleep?"
(21:54:49) Miomai doesn't want to sleep at all, but kill. She want to kill Finnis with her own two paws. Well one paw and one dagger. To take those paws and place them on the one side of her head and lay herself down to nap. No! To strangle that agnostic while he sleeps. A deep deep sleep that he never gets out of. That's it just lay there on that soft grass and...and....SNORE. Barsidious probably didn't even break a sweat on that task.
(21:57:11) Barsidious strides forward and stoops down to one knee, genuine amusement evident in his expression. He moves to place the palm of his good hand against her head, and begins to try to filter through her memories one at a time, skimming over them with a general disinterest, and looking for the tiny chain that illustrates the events she's witnessed up until the point she toppled over and was whisked off to kitteh dream land.
(22:01:03) Miomai's mind is the picture they show next to the defenition of chaos. Though he may be able to manipulate her mind, it would probably take some effort to understand it, as the neuron pathways are their namesake: neurotic. She's a mess in there, having been sane, insane, sane, insane, insaner and Dakkru knows what else. After some time, though that little bit that looks like her recent memory surfaces. It's right next to the part of her mind that thinks about purple fish and the one that dreams of being a rivnak. There's some connection between the two, but Barsidious is probably not interested in those. No, the thread he wants is in the middle, glowing like a little neon sign saying "Erase me!"
(22:05:37) Barsidious probably would go about picking through this brain, neurotic though it may be, if he had the time for him. After all, he is a rather sadistic bastard, and would take great pleasure in frying whatever little greymatter the poor clamod is still in possession of between her fluffy little ears. Alas, he has more important things to attend to at this particular moment in time, so instead, he simply reaches mentally for that one specific strand of thought and tugs at it sharply, as if to cut it loose from its brothers and sisters and send it flying into the tulmultuous abyss that is Miomai/Lazarene's cracked and addled little mind. His pupils glow softly with a faint blue light, and a pleased smile curls his lips as he goes about his work.
(22:10:04) Miomai's thread of recent events goes careening out of control inside her mind. It bumps into a few other parts of her and she sudenly learns how to rub her tummy and pat her head at the same time. In addition, now she dreams of being a purple fish, and wonders why her rivnak is that odd dull brown color. Otherwise, she's still the same ol' Miomainsanity Hydlaa's come to love or hate as the case may be. She shifts in her sleep and blows drool bubbles. She mumbles something about a galloping rivnak and a killing ulbernaut before becoming still again.
(22:11:29) Barsidious stoops to pick up the clamod and sling her slight frame over his shoulder. He stands, and turns away from the tower, satisfied for now in the knowledge that Finnis is under proper confinement.
(22:13:53) Barsidious hops up onto the rock and moves to deposit the fenki out of the reach of the mulling Riverlings. How very kindly of him.
(22:15:57) Miomai flops down on the hard stone and sprawls there like an abstract painting with her limbs all askew her tongue hanging out and bubbles now forming at her nose holes. Flies are buzzing around her ears in search of a meal.
(22:17:52) Barsidious can't help but laugh at the image. He lets himself enjoy it for a brief moment, before stepping casually off of the rock and leaving the unconcious clamod to her own devices. Strangely, he makes no move to further harm her. And he does not kill her. Apparently he's a very loyal homicidal maniac. Only one victim at a time.
-
@ Jilata: Thanks for that! It's an interesting point of view to hear the gossip that the situation is stirring.
@ Aramara: Awww, what, you really thought it only stopped at a crazed serial killer? :devil: Bwah...bwah hah....Mwah hahahahahah!!!!! (Nu.)
@Travosh: DENIAL!
-
Its why it was jefecar instead of jefecra, one's a yulbar ones a menki
and poor Finnis, thats why you never picnic with strangers.
-
The ruins. Such an interesting illustration of metamorphosis. At some point it must have been a social mecca. A place of congregation for buyers and sellers with eager hands and flushed faces. Consumers passing tria over for both the mundane and the titillating in product variety. The proud and noble walls must have been polished to a notable shimmer, one with the capacity to magnify its own glamor by capturing and reflecting the light of the crystal on the clearest of days. These weeds would have been replaced by trampled dirt or frequently installed rubble. Perhaps the overgrown paths had even been laid with cobblestones that had been cut from the caverns and stones surrounding the place, using the natural geography of the region to mold the land into a less chaotic state.
But no longer. And this was where the transformation originated. Now it sat in this physical state of brokenness, a shadow of what it had once been. Nature had for the most part reclaimed it, and stretched her emerald arms over the sharpened, jagged points of the shattered stone buildings, adding these remnants to its own craggy version of aesthetic appeal. Maybe some day a civilization would see this place in its state of disrepair and mold it back to wholeness. Maybe they would erect newer, stronger walls. Maybe they would come together and make something glorious out of something so horrifically maimed and forsaken. At that point there would be an astounding reversion, and from the memory of what it had been like to be in such a moribund state, the city would stand prouder that it had ever been before.
Sharpening the knife against a rough-hewn stone that seemed made for such a purpose, Barsidious eyed his latest victim as he laid chained against one of those abandoned walls. Finnis was his name, a simple Xacha traveler. Unfortunately for him, all it took to be selected at this point was a general adeptness at social capabilities, and he could mingle well, from what he'd observed. He wasn't aware of his fate yet, sleeping in a drug-induced coma, his chest rising and falling to its own steady beat. He was covered in a blanket, tucked tightly around him. After all, it would have been terribly rude to let the chill of these stones get into his skin and touch his bones beneath. He hardly wanted his guest to be catching any colds or illnesses of the sort. He wanted him sharp, ready to discuss the nebulous moral fiber that they had been hinting at back in the tavern. Ready to see what else the man might have lodged up between his ears, he sincerely hoped that fear would not render him incapable of speech or, gods forbid, reduce him to a sniveling fool that wept and cried piteously in the corner.
Or to screaming. He'd just kill him outright if he started screaming.
The Ylian set the knife aside, astride his small sack of carefully mixed and fermented poison. He wouldn't coat it quite yet, not yet. He enjoyed letting himself have the pleasure of getting to know his victim before they both embarked on this rather personal journey. And the man would take a while to stir, so he settled himself down and reached into his robes, unfurling the letter he'd found placed upon the fountain. His eyes scanned it briefly, and instantly his head tipped back, rolls of laughter peeling from his mouth and echoing in the enclosed structure. She was so entirely dry about it. No elaborations, as if she were stating scientific fact and that the matter was mostly irrefutable.
Ah, Pomolle. My dear, dear miss Pomolle. I suppose we shall have to give you another demonstration, shall we? Not so easily rattled?
Oh, but he had rattled her, he could see it in the sloppy curves and arches of the letter he held between his thumb and index finger. If so little a thing as the knowledge of her name could invoke such a precious and entertaining response, certainly, then, his next application would send her reeling over the edge. Or at least skirting along right next to it, ready to throw herself over at the slightest shove.
Hands digging around in his bags, he eagerly began to scribe his elaborate and romanticized response. He knew his continued lightheartedness would likely infuriate her, which only pleased him further as the works were born upon the page. He saw no reason to waste perfectly useful time on waiting for Mr. Shelnut to awaken. After all, time was of the essence, and he was in rather a short supply as more of it slipped through his fingers.
How incredibly adorable you are
To try and engage me in this spar
You boast that you now know my race
While still you've yet to see my face
The fact and truth, dear miss Pomolle
Is that your guess is simply droll
I'm disappointed, can't you see!
For I know so much more of thee:
So sad your tale of grief and woe
To lose your family to your foe
Their limbs lop't off, their lives cut short
There could not be a greater retort
Would that I could have been the one
To spark your tears to endless run
Alas! I shall simply settle for
A simple settling of the score
I know your every move and dread
And soon you shall end, well...
QUITE DEAD.
Pleased with himself, Barsidious let his breath ghost across the still-wet ink to hasten its drying and folded it lengthwise, neatly, before putting it back into the pocket that sat above his heart. He figured the klyros would appreciate such tidiness. He knew that this too was an interesting quirk of hers, one that he found more than amusing in light of her chosen career.
Hopefully, she wouldn't be too put out when her own blood stained her tunic irreparably.
-
Function over form!
-
My capacity for poetry is...needless to say...lacking.
-
While I don't know a thing about poetry, I found it quite nice!
-
:-[ Thanks Suno.
-
Victim Number Three (Poor, dear Finnis Shelnut):
(22:47:41) Barsidious approaches the Xacha and stoops to one knee. His fingers move into his sack and he pulls out a vial, uncapping the thing and holding it so that the fumes waft up into Finnis' nostrils, carrying with it a very malodorous scent.
(22:47:41) Finnis stirs as he awakens from his drug induced slumber, eyes squinting as he tries to focus through the haze, "What? Where am I?"
(22:48:40) Barsidious situates himself calmly just out of the reach of the Xacha. "You are in the ruins," he says, voice somewhat disembodied by the mask he wears.
(22:50:07) Finnis blinks at Barsidious as his vision clears. He does a double take at the mask wielding Ylian and chuckles nervously as he feels the chains around his arms, "hehe, what is this, some kind of joke?"
(22:51:52) Barsidious leans forward slightly, steep-ling his fingers, his eyes flickering through the slits before them. He smiles, but the expression is lost behind this craggy visage. "No," he says. "I was hoping before we carry through with our little lesson here, we might further discuss what we spoke of at the tavern. About good and evil. About the contents of one's heart. I'll ask again. Do you think yourself good, Finnis Shelnut?"
(22:56:25) Finnis's nervousness increases and he wiggles trying to loosen himself from the chains. It takes him a moment to recollect the events prior to his drugging and he gasps at the masked figure, "You!" his nervousness seems to ebb a little, "I see now. This is some sort of philosophical moral aptitude test of yours? Well sir, yes, I DO believe myself a good person. This whole charade is entirely unnecessary, what happened to the pleasant picnic we were having?"
(22:59:08) Barsidious gives his head a curious sort of cant, a quizzical expression that is belied further by his gesturing towards the heavily restrained Xacha. "And you never truly defined good. Have you ever lied, Finnis? Have you ever stolen, or used the graces of others for your own benefit? Have you ever kicked or looked down upon those in a lower position than yourself? Have you turned your nose up at their material state of depravity?" He lets his words circulate, content to ignore the man's pointless inquiry about food and drink. "What makes one sin greater or lesser than another?"
(23:03:57) Finnis tries to relax to get through this strange ordeal of forced philosophical debate, but the chains around his arms remind him of his state of captivity, increasing his panic. He jerks every so often, subconsciously, and continues with the nervous laughter, 'I'll tell you what good friend, it certainly is a sin to keep a man locked up like this. Can't we have this discussion out in an open field, or how about over a pint in the tavern, eh? I'll buy!"
(23:07:06) Barsidious chuckles softly at Finnis. "You don't seem to understand," he says. "You see we are here to reveal the true condition of your soul, covered in sullied rags and dipped in fecal matter as it is. And the only way to do that truly is to bring it to the surface with abrupt and shocking clarity. We'll be getting to that. But first I'd like to pick your brain at least a bit...before I literally pick it apart. Piece...by piece...by piece...." The Ylian begins to fiddle with something beneath the folds of the dusty fabric on his chest, and the faint blue glow of azure way carries through the threading of the fabric.
(23:12:36) Finnis bites his lower lip as he watches the glowing mystical light brighten underneath his masked tormentors robes. His panic quickly grows into fear and he begins to struggle hard against his chains, trying to sweep his legs underneath himself to increase his leverage. He begins to plea, "Please... let me go... I haven't done anything wrong. I've never lied. Well, once...twice now, I never took anything that wasn't given to me... I live off the land, nothing wrong with that, now please..please... let me go...please."
(23:15:41) Barsidious waves his hands in a quelling motion, bringing his fingers downwards. "There, there," he says. "I'm going to let you go Finnis, when we're all finished here. I'm going to let you go, most assuredly." He reaches out a heavily gloved hand to try and place it on the other man's boot. "Now just settle down and let us ponder before we go a bit deeper on the subject, hm? Do you have loved ones, Mr. Shelnut? Family members that you often think about, or long lost friends that fill your chest with warm remnants of affection? Come come now...do cooperate, it will make this process that much easier and it will end." His tone and demeanor are strangely soft, his gestures and the candor of his voice genial.
(23:19:55) Finnis calms under Barsidious's suggestive words coupled with the Azure Way spell, he begins to answer honestly, "I think about my parents sometimes, but they died long ago. Never could stay in one place long enough to have, ya know, a romantic, long term relationship. I've been on my own and free all my life."
(23:22:30) Barsidious nods solemnly in response to this, something definitive flickering in his eyes, perhaps what might look like worry. "How sad, not to form what most would call so important and noteworthy a bond." There is a moment of silence, and he lets it drag just long enough to become uncomfortable, before continuing. "What were your parents like?" He asks quietly. "What fond memories do you have of them?" As he speaks, sensations of comfort and safety ebb from him, from the glyphs he has hidden beneath his clothing, emitting the deceptive illusion of calm.
(23:29:12) Finnis laughs briefly, a blissful smile appears on his face as his eyes glisten, the deep seeded memories buried under decades of travel and adventure now coming to the for under the power of barsidious's hypnotic spell, his mind regresses to a simpler age, "Mother made sugar cookies... but I can't have one till they cool... but I want one.. OW! Hot!" a look of terror seizes him as the darker side of his repressed memories appears, 'No father! I didn't mean to! Don't beat me father no!"
(23:33:07) Barsidious's smile disappears from his face beneath his mask. Something shifts in him, and though one might be quite generous to call this thing compassion, it's a ghost of it, a non-corporeal phantom, more brought on by his disappointment that his parents might not serve their suitable purpose. "What was your mother like?" He asks, withdrawing so that his voice seems a narrator rather than conversational. He attempts to let the ruins fall away in light of his home, glimpsing fuzzy memories of it and then laboriously bringing them forward in sharp detail. A fire on the hearth, a mother and father sitting casually and lounging in their chairs. Strangely he does not attempt to suppress the negative energies entirely, and allows Finnis to feel this innate fear of his father. He then draws further out, into an omniscient third person, to see what unfolds until he deems it necessary to interact.
(23:37:59) Finnis is back in his childhood home. A plate of sugar cookies fresh from the oven lies broken and smashed on the floor. It was a family heirloom, a priceless artifact. His mother looks petrified, his father looming over him, the flames of the fireplace back lighting him into a monstrous silhouette. 'Don't beat me father no!" His mother intervenes, taking the hit meant for him. "Run Finnis Run! Don't ever come back!"
(23:41:00) Barsidious slowly begins to slip into the situation, an intangible force, planting his feet in the shoes of his father. He forces the morbid memory of Finnis's encounter to mold to his will, and as such his father's hand lashes out towards the image of his mother to grapple with her and take her by the throat. He delivers another blow to her face, holding her unconscious body upright as she dangles lifelessly, and his eyes, brown in color despite what they might have been naturally, bore into Finnis. "You going to run, son?" He asks. His grip tightens on the woman's throat. "You going to kill your mother, you selfish coward?"
(23:45:36) Finnis shrinks in fear, tears now streaming down his face which is wrent in agony. The overwhelming fear he felt that day when he did in fact run away from home, never to return, compounded with all the years of his life he spent running from it. He claims to be free, but he is chained to the weight of his guilt. The implication of his tormentor's question has it's effect and he sobs and wails, "I killed her! I'm such a coward I killed her! Oh Gods what have I done!?!"
(23:49:24) Barsidious's voice begins to leak from the walls, making them shudder and tremble in response. He smiles softly as outside of the dream, his hands work mechanically, and he carries out the nearly cultist practice of coating his knife with the familiar poison. Placing it so that the hilt is within easy access, the hissing in the dream intensifies as the walls shift and form into countless mirrors, all reflecting Finnis' grief-stricken face and, more importantly, the pale dead body of his mother, which now lies lifeless and bloodied upon the floor behind him. "You're worthless," the voice whispers. "Scum. Not worthy of the life she gave you. Not worthy to draw another breath. Look at yourself, look at your very soul and see just how destitute it truly is. What can you do in the face of this? What can you do to redeem such filth? You can do NOTHING!"
(23:53:48) Finnis's freewill is broken under the power of Barsidious's spell. Unable to face himself nor the body of his mother, yet forced to look every way that he turns, he screams,"NOOOOO! I'm not worthy" he sobs, "It’s all my fault, I deserve to die, I'm nothing anymore."
(23:56:08) Barsidious utters a soft sort of chuckle as he leans forward, quickly unlocking the mechanism of the cuff chaining Finnis to the wall. He maintains the illusion, and gently pushes the dagger forward while at the same time he produces a dagger from shattered pieces of the mirror as it bursts into a brilliant and beautiful display of multiple fragments. "You're right," the voice encourages. "You deserve to die. You deserve to die for what you are."
(00:03:02) Finnis's voice becomes a weeping echo of Barsidious's exact words as he reaches out for the dagger, "I deserve to die... I deserve to die..." he repeats. No longer physically imprisoned, he has now fallen completely under the spell and has become a slave to it. He picks the dagger up turning the blade to aim towards his chest, he keeps repeating, now at a barley audible whisper, a hypnotic chant, "I deserve to die... I deserve to die... I deserve to die."
(00:06:22) Barsidious leans forward slightly, and both the phantom voice and his physical one rings out of mutual accord, stirring his vocal chords, his hands clenched tightly upon his knees in an un-subdued show of eagerness. His tongue runs itself once along dry lips, the tension in the air seeming to have sucked the moisture from him. "DO IT!" He says, and the reverberation is both mental and physical as his voice bounces off the walls of the small dilapidated enclosure and assails their ears upon its return.
(00:11:44) Finnis shouts as he plunges the dagger deep into his chest, 'I DESERVE TO D---" his words are cut off as his heart pumps blood directly into his lungs. His eyes clear of their glaze as the spell is broken and fall on the grotesquely formed wooden mask. It takes a moment for him to recollect the events prior to the spell, his final word croaked in his death rattle as the murtique courses through his veins, shutting down vital organs one by one, "You..." and Finnis Shelnut the wandering Xacha is dead. Permanently.
(00:14:02) Barsidious leans over the dead body, doing his best not to muss it up too badly as he tenderly turns it over upon the blanket he'd so carefully wrapped around it previously. He folds the hands over the chest, and passes a hand over the brow, but leaves the eyes open and gazing into sightless oblivion. "You've finally found your horizon, my friend," he says, his voice nearly choked with emotion. "You've found your Truth and faced it with noble intent." With that, he rises, and begins making preparations to move the body to the plaza.
-
[There was more to this role play, but I'll count on others to distrubute the logs whenever they can and I'll post them here as well.]
(20:56:10) Barsidious stoops down to pick up Finnis gently, wrapping him entirely in the blanket so that his head is covered and his feet are concealed. He then throws this makeshift sake over his shoulder.
(20:58:15) Finnis's corporeal remains flop over barsidious's shoulder, wrapped like a burrito, a tad stiff from the onset of rigormortis
(21:12:45) Barsidious hops up onto the balustrade and instantly he takes a loop of rope from his belt. Working rapidly, he begins to tie Finnis to the protruding structure, first once around his torso, then once around his waist. He removes the blanket and folds this neatly.
(21:16:26) Barsidious fixes the blanket behind Finnis' head like a malformed pillow. He smiles beneath his mask as he removes a letter and places it, rolled tightly, by the dead man's feet.
(21:18:59) Finnis's corpse remains passive and dead.
~ ~
(22:12:17) Eardstapa wraps the dagger gingerly in a clean handkerchief and slips it into her satchel. "Aye, either to find the klyros woman, or some other who can investigate. The dagger shall be my bargaining tool. "
(22:12:19) Dannae says: Uh, wait, that's her now
(22:12:35) Dannae points toward Evirea
(22:12:50) Evirea frowns. Deeply. Her eyes flit between the two, the elf and the nolrthrir, eyeing the dagger in the former's hand. "Don't tell me."
(22:13:05) Eardstapa turns Wyndhover towards Evirea. "Miss Pomolle, I presume?"
(22:13:19) Dannae says: You know something about this Vire?
(22:13:22) Evirea looks up at Eardstapa. "Accurate," she says.
(22:13:34) Evirea clenches her jaw. "Was there a body here?"
(22:14:06) Finnis , or all that's left behind of him, namely his fine traveling clothes soaked in congealed blood, and a really nicely crafted straw hat of Nolthrir origin, blow off the pedestal and drift lazily across the plaza grounds
(22:14:26) Dannae nods removing the cloth away from her face now that the odor and dust has dissipated
(22:15:34) Evirea holds the dagger between her hands and stares up at the podium, which now contains Finnis' sparse remains. For a moment, she looks back down again, her face is devoid of emotion. Then it shifts very quickly through a number of them: Fear, abject sorrow, panic. But mostly anger. A rage that starts to make her shoulders tremble with the power of it.
(22:15:52) Timil glances up at the grisly scene and decides he ought to have chosen a different fountain in which to wash his face.
(22:15:58) Dannae says: There was... a moment ago anyway... I never saw anything like what just happened
(22:17:01) Dannae says: The note, Eardstapa says it was addressed to you. Did you know... well, no, you didn't see... but maybe he was a relative?
(22:18:14) Evirea lowers her head towards the dagger. She starts muttering something to herself, and if anyone knew her before while she was trying to hide who she was, the effect seems similar. "Dead body. Torn apart from inside out. Reduced to dust, dust in the wind. Dust and so much dirt left of complex systems and organs and intricate vessels and..." Dannae's words snap her out of the commentary, and she jerks her head up wide-eyed. "Letter. What letter. WHAT LETTER?"
(22:18:18) Dannae eases herself slowly down off the fountain pedistal and approaches Evirea with a worried expression
(22:19:43) Dannae says: "I thought... Eardstapa didn't .... " she looks back, "No, I guess she didn't"
(22:20:05) Evirea's breathing seems irregular as she struggles with this new revelation. She seems rooted in place, and she stares at the mentioned bit of paper wide-eyed.
(22:20:32) Dannae retrieves the note, "It's addressed to a Mis Pommelle, is this you Vire?"
(22:20:51) Evirea can only nod.
(22:21:32) Dannae offers the note to Evirea
(22:22:05) Dannae says: I, um... I didn't look.... Eardstapa said who it was for
(22:22:46) Evirea takes the note and unfolds it slowly. Her eyes scan the words, quickening as she reads, ending with them as wide and petrified as they were before. The paper rustles softly in her hands and she clenches it in her fists as the trembling infects her arms.
(22:22:58) Dannae says: She picked up the dagger. Did she give you that at least?
(22:23:58) Evirea glances sideways, then at her travelsack, to indicate the hilt protruding from it. Throat clogged with emotion, she does not speak, still, and is struggling to gain control of herself.
(22:24:17) Dannae watches Evirea's emotions as she reads and her look becomes taught
(22:25:11) Dannae says: Is it from the xacha? It was a xacha... I didn't recognize him though
(22:25:48) Finnis is nothing more than dust in the wind, as free as he's always wished he'd been
(22:26:25) Evirea shakes her head softly as she sinks to her knees. The paper falls out of her hands and lands in her lap, which she quickly covers by placing her torso over it, hunched in this fashion, her hands moving to cover her face.
(22:27:03) Dannae says: "Vire" she gasps coming close to offer support
(22:28:36) Dannae says: "Is it... is...." she gives up thinking of guessing the nature of the letter
(22:28:40) Evirea seems unaware that Dannae is even present. She's muttering more things under her breath, constant ramblings that don't really make any sense to anyone but her. "Can't let him win. No. No. Got to regain control of the situation. Think. Find evidence. Can't panic. Don't panic. Panic locks the system, sends you into sympathetic, locks down your capacity to think clearly. Don't panic, don't panic..."
(22:29:53) Dannae says: "Vire!" she says with a bit more urgency, "Let me help... what is it... please"
(22:29:58) Evirea's letter simply falls to the ground and lands on a cobblestone, in plain view. Evirea's wide eyes still contain a glassy blank appeal, and she is unaware of this.
(22:31:10) Dannae kneels and after giving Evirea a look and noting she appears comatose in a sense reaches slowly for the letter
(22:31:29) Timil approaches Dannae and Evirea from around the fountain, his beard dripping slightly, looking newly washed. He looks with concern at the two before him. "I heard you talking. What has happened? Are you alright Vire?"
(22:31:41) Ylia stares unsure of what is real and what is illusion.
(22:32:01) Travosh says: That's a new knife all right...
(22:32:07) Travosh says: Body disappear already?
(22:32:08) Dannae's eyes flash to Ylia a moment then back to reading
(22:32:13) Ylia looks at the approaching Klyros and recoils speaking to herself
(22:32:22) Ylia says: ahmmm ddmmd godddamm it..
(22:32:28) Evirea makes no move to stop Dannae from claiming the letter. She is still on the ground, her face in her hands, but has been reduced to swearing softly under her breath, over and over and over again.
(22:32:37) Travosh says: ill be taking that as a yes.
(22:32:59) Dannae says: It's a threat... someone's threatening Vire
(22:33:24) Travosh says: I'm aware he has been for some time.
(22:33:29) Timil grimaces, at a loss for words, and looks to Travosh.
(22:33:38) Travosh prods Evirea with his foot. "You alright?"
(22:33:42) Ylia stares at all the winged creatures and rubs her eyes again, muttering to herself
(22:34:42) Dannae looks up from her kneeling position noticing Travosh then turns her attention back to Evirea, "I'll help... " she glances around at the gathered, "We'll all help"
(22:34:47) Ylia tries to understand the scene before her, but soon thinks it is all about her. Then looking to Travosh, she speaks out." Have you come through for me??"
(22:34:53) Evirea jumps at the prodding, her face coming up, her expression carefully rendered into one of absolute calm.
(22:35:39) Travosh says: Why in Dakkru's trousers would I be here for you?
(22:36:10) Travosh scans the note on the ground. "So... it worked."
(22:36:16) Ylia looks stunned at the smartassed answer from what she thought was a remnant of the beyond
(22:37:21) Ylia fearfully yet, curiously approaches the Klyros unbelieving
(22:37:55) Ylia reaches out to test if it is real or not, to touch
(22:37:59) Evirea grunts in her characteristic way. She holds out her hand to Dannae. "Letter."
(22:37:59) Travosh points one claw at Ylia, the tip beginning ot gather a red charge
(22:38:06) Travosh says: Touch me and learn what pain means
(22:38:41) Ylia squints still in disbelief, muttering that nightmares are not real
(22:38:50) Ylia steps closer
(22:39:00) Travosh releases a rather powerful burst of concussive air
(22:39:30) Ylia is knocked down in total shock
(22:39:30) Timil addresses Ylia. "Madam, I'd listen to him and take heed, if I were you."
(22:39:35) Evirea gets somewhat buffeted by this, but other than being slightly annoyed she is simply staring at Dannae and awaiting the letter. "Who has read this. Tell me everyone who has read this."
(22:40:24) Dannae looks puzzled by Evirea's request, "Just Eardstapa and me... I think"
(22:40:30) Ylia seems very red eyed for a nolthrir and a bit disoriented
(22:40:55) Travosh motions towards the letter. "This means it worked didn't it?"
(22:41:19) Evirea's voice is gratingly low. "As intended, I got a response," she replies, simply.
(22:41:25) Travosh says: And he's angered.
(22:41:46) Evirea says: "...I believe that would appear to be an over estimation, judging by the contents."
(22:42:16) Travosh says: Its called covering.
(22:42:26) Travosh says: He's after you in particular now. Hastened his approach.
(22:42:32) Dannae says: "So you expected this?" she looks astonished from Evirea to Travosh
(22:43:07) Evirea narrows her eyes slightly. "In part," she replies. "I wasn't expecting..." She pauses for a moment, and redoubles her efforts in earnest. "Give me the letter, Dannae."
(22:43:08) Travosh nods. "hoped for it."
(22:43:27) Dannae hands it back
(22:43:42) Waesed whispers to Timil, "What happened?"
(22:43:52) Evirea snatches the thing and conceals it in the palm of her hand. "But we've lost another person."
(22:44:03) Ylia listens but seems to loose track of it all, reaching for something in her pack, she retrieves a small vile, and opens it, leaning her head back , she allows a drop of golden liquid to fall upon her tongue
(22:44:16) Timil whispers back to Waesed, "They found another body with a knife in it, and a letter from the killer , addressed to Vire."
(22:44:19) Dannae says: It was a xacha
(22:44:20) Travosh says: Quite unfortunate, yes.
(22:44:31) Travosh says: But mourning his loss doesn’t avenge it.
(22:44:35) Dannae says: I didn't know him
(22:45:19) Ylia begins to slightly , almost glow in an unatural way, and a calm comes over her and her eyes seem to focus
(22:45:22) Evirea moves to shove the letter forcefully into her travelsack, growling softly to herself. "Oh, I damn sure am going to avenge it," she snaps.
(22:45:41) Waesed continues to whisper, "How many does that make now?"
(22:45:44) Dannae says: Are you.... alright now Vire?
(22:45:53) Ylia stands up, brushing herself off
(22:46:15) Evirea shakes her head. "No. But I will be."
(22:46:31) Dannae nods but looks doubtful
(22:46:45) Ylia now seems as a very different person than before and looks to Travosh with a slight smile
(22:46:46) Timil whispers back, "I'm not certain.. at least three, I think."
(22:46:58) Dannae looks to Travosh for his assurance
(22:46:59) Travosh says: Calm yourself. Anger leads to the mistake we've gotten him to make
(22:47:51) Dannae says: Oh, I got it now... this .... this is about that ylian you were asking about
(22:48:21) Ylia appearing to have calm control and strength she snaps her fingers and her rivnak appears.
(22:49:48) Ylia says: Allow me to express my sorrows for my previous behavior, I am recovering from an illness and my medication had simple worn off, please be well and I hope you solve this , problem
(22:50:00) Dannae looks past Evirea at Ylia
(22:50:28) Travosh is under the general impression that most nolthir have kelp between the ears, and barley pays attention
(22:52:36) Waesed looks at Timil. "I was headed to Kada-El's for a drink. guess I'll go on up."
(22:52:52) Evirea pinches her lips into a tight, shut line. "Damnit," she mutters beneath her breath.
(22:52:55) Timil nods to Waesed. "I'll see you later."
(22:53:14) Dannae's eyes shift to Travosh wondering why no one answered her question and thinks about eating kelp
(22:53:35) Evirea nods at Dannae. "It is," she replies.
(22:54:07) Travosh says: Ylian?
(22:54:35) Dannae nods, "I guessed it.... I might be slow, but I'm not stupid"
(22:54:38) Evirea says: "The Ylian we inquired about with the injury upon his arm."
(22:55:21) Travosh says: Ahh. Why, did you find one?
(22:55:43) Dannae nods one more time, "WHat does he have against you anyway.... why's he killing folks if he's got something against you?"
(22:56:18) Dannae turns to Travosh, "I saw him.... at Kada's"
(22:56:22) Evirea shakes her head. "I am uncertain. Most likely I'm not the inspiration for the killing, simply a target he has selected due to my...background and association with him."
(22:56:34) Travosh's eyes widen. "Did he give a name? Physical features? ANything?"
(22:57:44) Dannae frowns at the onslaught of questions, "I.. I wasn't paying so much attention at the time.... and no, he didn't say much.... but there was something cold about him.. I'll say that"
(22:58:04) Travosh says: Well at least you confirmed the race...
(22:58:23) Evirea sighs softly. "It is a possibility and little else, but we can hope that it's an accurate assumption."
(22:58:45) Dannae says: I only know now it was him 'cause I saw his arms... they were how Vire described to me after
(22:59:40) Travosh says: Better than nothing.
(23:00:05) Evirea nods agreement. She still seems to be very shaken by the contents of that letter, and unwilling to talk on the subject.
(23:00:08) Dannae says: He was sort of creepy... stared at me and Narthen, then mentioned so when he overheard me ask Narthen if she knew him
(23:01:50) Dannae shrugs, "I'd recognize him if I see him again"
(23:01:59) Evirea nods once more. "Yes, thank you Dannae. If you'll excuse me, I should be going." Her voice is a calm level sound that borders on monotone.
(23:02:14) Travosh says: If you see him, please send word to me or Vire.
(23:02:57) Dannae swings an arm in an attempt to catch Evirea's "You're sure you'll be ok... I mean, for now?"
(23:03:28) Dannae says: I saw the look on your face you know
(23:03:41) Evirea's arm is caught, but she moves to jerk it instantly back out of Dannae's grasp. "Nuance," she says.
(23:03:46) Dannae says: This guy... he scares you
(23:04:15) Evirea says: "Nothing frightens me, especially not demented psychopaths. I make a habit of hunting them down."
(23:04:18) Dannae sighs pulling back her hand
(23:04:29) Travosh says: He's hitting too close to home, you need to calm down.
(23:04:46) Evirea says: "I am perfectly calm."
(23:04:48) Dannae says: It wouldn't hurt to have some help would it?
(23:04:55) Travosh says: You aren't.
(23:06:05) Evirea turns slightly, and her voice becomes somewhat hoarse. "I have already accepted help," she says, and gestures vaguely in Travosh's direction. "Which is far more than I usually allow."
(23:06:15) Dannae says: You're putting up a good facade, certainly better than I could ever imagine doing, but I'm worried for you Vire.
(23:06:58) Dannae says: I don't think you should be alone
(23:07:17) Evirea says: "I am not alone. As I stated, I am working on this case with Travosh."
(23:07:29) Dannae glances once more to Travosh
(23:07:33) Travosh nods. "But you are still scared at the moment, as is perfectly natural."
(23:07:49) Dannae says: He's staying with you then?
(23:08:04) Dannae says: Are you Travosh?
(23:08:30) Travosh says: I do plan on it.
(23:08:42) Evirea makes no expression. "He has no need to be my constant guardian, no. I am able to carry on as I usually do. As for fear, what I do or do not feel has nothing relevant to do with capturing the killer, and so I do not see why it is a topic of conversation."
(23:08:44) Dannae says: Well, I feel better about that then
(23:08:48) Timil says: I want to help too, if I can.
(23:09:47) Travosh says: Fear has everything relevant with catching a killer
(23:09:49) Dannae rolls her eyes so only Travosh sees at Vire's explanation
(23:09:55) Timil says: Fear can impair judgement.
(23:10:05) Travosh says: we're dealing with a man who especially uses fear, as well as breaking into the minds of his victims
(23:10:14) Travosh says: He will shatter you like an egg if you fear him.
(23:10:33) Evirea says: "I can assure you my mind is nowhere near broken, Travosh. I have dealt with individuals like this Ylian many times before."
(23:11:10) Evirea doesn't notice the eye rolling, but she appears to want to leave as soon as she possibly can. "Now, I should be going. I need to test the dagger to see if there is anything new, and search the letter for clues."
(23:11:13) Travosh says: And this one knows your family and your past, and is hunting you.
(23:11:28) Timil mumbles softly, mostly to himself, "Pride goes before a fall."
(23:11:54) Evirea's eye twitches at Travosh's statement, though he can't possibly know what it invokes. "This is also irrelevant," she says, with false conviction.
(23:12:25) Dannae says: Look Vire, I know you think you have everything under control.... but just the same..... if you feel your place is unsafe or becomes so, you're welcome to stay at the Daughters guild house
(23:12:42) Travosh catches it as easily as he catches stupidity exuding from an enki. "Just calm your mind. Spend some time in meditation."
(23:14:38) Evirea shifts the weight of her travelsack on her shoulder. "I am planning to, if you would simply excuse me from this needless cross-examination." She nods at Dannae's offer. "Kind of you, but I think I shall decline. I am neither Xiosian nor fond of being locked behind bolted doors."
(23:15:57) Travosh says: The temple is open if you'd prefer a religion-less place, and the doors there would take a daemon to pry open from the outside.
(23:17:09) Dannae steels her courage to give Vire one more attempt with kindness, She turns giving the klyros a direct concerned look, "You'd be free to come and go as you please, but no matter... just... well, I wish you quick success in the matter... and I'll pray for your continued safety"
(23:17:39) Evirea narrows her eyes, seeing that obviously she isn't going to get away terribly easily. "No thank you," she says, and begins to back up subtly. "Thank you, Dannae. Mr. Travosh. We'll speak later. I really need to be going."
(23:18:18) Timil looks up. "Vire. I see know what you were saying about welcoming a diversion from troubling matters. I want you to know that I, like Dannae, am at your service. I know I'm not at your 'intellectual caliber', but if I you can use my help, just call."
(23:18:47) Dannae sighs and turns to excuse herself as well with a fleeting wave to the others
(23:18:51) Travosh makes no attempt to stop her. "Just think about what I said. Remain calm."
(23:19:34) Evirea's chest heaves a breath, but she nods once at Travosh before staring directly at Timil. "You get involved, you'll likely die. Stay out of it, and stay safe." With that, she turns on her heel, and takes off.
-
here's the missing piece:
Barsidious hops up onto the balustrade and instantly he takes a loop of rope from his belt. Working rapidly, he begins to tie Finnis to the protruding structure, forst once around his torso, then once around his waist. He removes the blanket and folds this neatly.
Barsidious fixes the blanket behind Finnis' head like a malformed pillow. He smiles beneath his mask as he removes a letter and places it, rolled tightly, by the dead man's feet.
Finnis's corpse remains passive and dead.
Barsidious quickly steps back from the podium and moves towards one of the many shadowed alleyways of Hydlaa, leaving the corpse out for morbid viewing.
Finnis's corpse stands tied to the balustrade by a rope around the waist and torso. It stares blankly ahead, dried blood in the corners of it's mouth, a dagger plunged deep within its chest, blood staining the front of its shirt.
Dannae shouts: AAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH! He's Dead... He's dead!
Dannae shouts: There's a dead xacha at the fountain!
Sesp shouts: ohhh nooooo
Eardstapa draws Wyndhover up to Dannae, stunned. "Wha -" She stares at the corpse.
Finnis really truly is dead. no kidding.
Dannae says: What happened to him... he's ..he's oh, goddess, he's permanent dead
Dannae turns to Eardstapa not wanting to look any more
Finnis's eyes seem to stare directly at dannae beneath the brim of his straw hat
Eardstapa looks at Dannae and, dismounting, approaches the corpse. She notices the note at its feet.
Dannae wraps her arms tightly around herself, "S..someone left him here like this"
Dannae says: Don't...don't touch it Eardstapa
Eardstapa picks up the note, scanning the contents with a furrowed brow. She moves to put an arm around Dannae consolingly. "By the gods, sister, how - who - wert thou first to discover - it - him?"
Dannae nods still unable to lift her head to look
Finnis's corpse doesn't mind how you refer to it. It's beyond caring.
Dannae says: I, I think so. I didn't see anyone else here
Dannae says: What kind of being would do this?
Eardstapa's face is ashen but her hands quite steady as she returns the letter to its position very carefully. "Who is this Miss Pomolle? by the gods, then the rumours are true - this is not the first...
Dannae lifts her eyes venturing another look at Finnis' body but turns away quickly with an urge to retch as she notices his eyes seemed to look at her
Dannae shakes her head, "I don't know that name"
Finnis is indeed not the first, and most likely not the last, unless something is done to stop these killings
Dannae says: Could this be a relative?
Eardstapa says: [lol - stop talking, corpse! XD]
Finnis says: [XD i'm bored]
Dannae coughs and covers her mouth stepping back further, "What did the letter say Eardstapa?"
Eardstapa's eyes narrow as she looks from the corpse to Dannae. "I heard the other victims were different races... " She shakes her head at the question, "Dannae, it is some manner of taunt, addressed to a Miss Pomolle."
Dannae says: What..ummm, what do you mean ..others?
Eardstapa says: If the murderer wrote it ..." She shudders and continues, "... then I warrant 'tis a threat against Miss Pomolle. A death threat."
Eardstapa says: I have but lately returned from the Far Ground, to news that Waesed and Celizan brought - of murders in the plaza.
Dannae says: "You don't know her either then... no, course not.... but other's here too... like...like that?" she points to the corpse, "Perma dead too?"
Dannae says: I wonder...
Dannae says: There's a klyros woman I met... she was investigating some things... maybe these killings?
Eardstapa nods grimly, her lips grown white. "So I heard. They had not seen the corpses. Oh Dannae, it seemeth ... wrong to leave him here like this, poor soul, made a grisly message." Her ears twitch. "A klyros woman? Thinkst thou that could be this Miss Pomolle?"
Finnis's straw hat bends and flutters in a strong breeze that blows across the plaza. The murtique poison coating the dagger in his chest renders its final reaction, destroying the flesh at a cellular and molecular level. His chest cavity collapses inwards first, then head and limbs, until there is nothing left but a pile of dust, drifting away in the wind, leaving behind the dagger
Dannae steels her courage and covering her mouth and nose with a cloth ventures closer then steps up next to the corpse
Eardstapa steps backwards, disgusted by the collapsing flesh and trying to avoid breathing in any vapours.
Eardstapa says: I ride to find the klyros then. And she shall have some explaining to do, for clearly she is as much involved as the killer. What beastly game they play I know not.
Dannae also steps away and nearly retches again at the transformation hearing the dagger hit the stone
Dannae says: Her name was Vire, Eardstapa... are you going to give these things to her?
Timil Deeps takes a seat.
Eardstapa wraps the dagger gingerly in a clean handkerchief and slips it into her satchel. "Aye, either to find the klyros woman, or some other who can investigate. The dagger shall be my bargaining tool. "
Dannae says: Uh, wait, that's her now
Dannae points toward Evirea
Evirea frowns. Deeply. Her eyes flit between the two, the elf and the nolrthrir, eyeing the dagger in the former's hand. "Don't tell me."
Eardstapa turns Wyndhover towards Evirea. "Miss Pomolle, I presume?"
-
He was honestly depressed about how easy it'd been. No lying on the topic, the fact that he could simply saunter right up to the plaza with a dead and bleeding body slung over his shoulder and plant it without even the slightest amount of resistance from any bystander...
Pathetic, really.
He could hear in the distance the hammering of iron workers as he went about his task, his hands making quick work of the rope and tying it into a steady knot that would hold Finnis Shelnut upright so that he could meet onlookers with a sense of dignity. As usual, he did not bother to close those eyes, and he did not make any attempt to hide any of the atrocities the scarlet of his blood-stained shirt attested to. He wanted the people to stare fear directly in the face and cope with it as they would. He wanted them to be rooted to the ground, and to be forced to gaze upon this enigma of their own mortality, while diving into a serious session of introspective soul-searching.
For his part, he simply made his way without incident towards one of the shadowed alleyways, wedging himself easily in one of the rather uncomfortable crannies by the houses. He had a view of the plaza from this vantage, though not of the expressions his primal artwork would evoke. With a resigned sort of sigh, he leaned against the craggy wall beside him and contented himself with simply watching the events, however they should unfold. Still cloaked and cowled, he really had no reason to hide his face, already shrouded in anonymity as he was. But he hardly wanted to test his run of luck, if one could call it that. Using his gloved hand, he turned slightly in his cramped space so that he could pick away at some of the moss that had accumulated on the wall. The grim came off in miniscule tidbits, and the menial labor did something to at least keep him from going stark raving mad.
Then again, most would probably contend that he'd thrown himself headfirst and tumbling over that cliff long, long ago.
An admirable pile of ivy and green-tinted dust had accumulated between his boots by the time someone looked up at Finnis and actually realized what it was they were looking upon. Tearing his gaze away from the gray words he'd dug out of the foliage, he watched with a sense of self-satisfaction as a nolthrir found his humble gift to Hydlaa, and began to scream as such a situation would merit. It did not take long for this racket she raised to summon another woman, a dermorian if he could deduce accurately without being able to see the finger details of her pointed ears. They spoke in animated whispers, their hands flying, and of course he could not actually make out a single utterance. He did, however, like to think that he felt their coming panic as one feels a gentle, friendly breeze, infecting the air with the intricate strands of terror and fright.
It did not take long for his precious corpse to disintegrate. He waited until the body could fully dematerialize, and then, summoning a strong and steady current of wind, he brought what remained: the fleshy powdery tidbits that his employer was so eager to get his hands on, over towards himself. Forming into a pointed spiral, he opened a small leather pouch for the contents to fall in to, and then canceled the spell suspending the ashy substance in the air. It fell down in a collective, dusty thump, some of the white powder making a soft puff as though the bag was breathing. Tying this tightly shut, Barsidious tucked it safely away for future delivery, and turned delighted eyes back to the scene as a familiar klyros finally made her appearance.
Oh, how he wished he could see the look on her face as she read the letter. His heart burned with longing as he watched her stand there, though he had no way of knowing the impact just yet. She was immobile and lifeless as any dead body, except that she stood upright on stiffened legs. Her wings were drooping, he could see that much at least and revel in it, enjoying the sight further as she slowly sunk down to her knees in defeat.
Do you feel that, my lovely Miss Pomolle? Do you feel that fear and despair, feel it clawing at you with relentless fervor? You were ruffled before, but you're frightened now, I can almost feel that fear upon my tongue. Taste it, and the flavor is heavenly. Embrace that fear, let the first cracks and fissures of your mind take hold, allow them to plague you body and soul.
They were trying to comfort her, two nolthrir that he could see and another klyros, male if he could tell the bloody difference. Come to think of it he'd seen that one before. Have to make note of that, he surmised. Have to keep an eye out for that.
After some lengthy discussion between those in that sparse group, he watched, giddy, as Evirea stood up and bounded off, fleeing from aid as he was assured she eventually would. But what happened next he had not expected, and it left him entirely breathless.
She made a bee-line straight towards him. Unintentional to be certain, she had no way of knowing about his presence. He was well hidden from her, even as she turned and used the same small space as her own sanctuary. Balanced with his legs between the wooden overhang and the wall between, he observed her with morbid curiosity, watching this unraveling that he had caused. That he was certain would follow.
But she did not fall apart. Quite the contrary, she seemed collected. Seemed being the important variable here, as she sat herself down and placed her hands on her knees. And she feel silent, her breathing steady. It took only a moment for him to figure out that she was attempting to meditate herself into a trace. To figure out that she had in fact been successful.
She was now as good as asleep. Asleep, and completely vulnerable to him, sitting right there where all he had to do was give the slightest nudge, and he'd be inside her thoughts, that subtle whisper that preludes the coming of a nightmare.
A smile crept along and cracked the Ylians face, and his fingers began to emit the softest Azure glow...
-
[WARNING. THIS ENTRY CONTAINS SOME FAIRLY GRAPHIC CONTENT. If violence in any way offends or disturbs you, I advise you not to read any further.]
Peace. Tranquility. All the things that told of a stable mind. She allowed herself to fall into a deep meditation, and to let those words which burned in the back of her mind disappear. Their limps lop't off, the note had said. Simple words, and funny, if you were into macabre humor. Not so funny when you were the one to personally witness the slaughter, and when you yourself recognized and loved those gore-smeared faces.
Banishing that from her mind, she settled herself into a trance. There were trees, reacting to a pleasantly warm breeze that toyed at their leafy branches. Their rustling was like a warm balm to her soul, and she opened her eyes to smile at the crystal-clear surface of the water in front of her. A tiny, delightfully clean pond reflected the canopy above, where the flit of birds could be detected by the flashes of vibrant color. Lapping at the surface in steady and measured waves, Evirea counted the quiet sounds the water made against the shore, standing up and in her own mind's eye moving towards it. Looking down, she found her own placid face staring back at her, and her erratic heartbeat slowed in time with her measured breathing. She felt the tension flee from her shoulders, the tightened knots loosening to a much more comfortable state, and a tangible smile appeared on her face as she continued the practice of settling her troubled thoughts.
She was about to dip a single claw into the water to create a nice little ripple, when the surface began to change. It grew cloudy and dark. Blackness shifted beneath the water, and her own reflection shifted from showing her face to that of another, familiar woman. Decapitated. Floating disembodied and staring at her with the blood dripping down from her neck. The water began to bubble as if heated, but the air around her grew cold, a chill that dug its claws right down into her bones. She felt a horrible sense of duality, between trying to grasp that the situation was out of hand and that she should remain calm, and the other part of her that screamed in horror at this sight of her long dead mother.
Something is wrong. This is wrong. Focus. Remain calm. Do not panic...
Turning away from the image, she observed casually that the rest of her surroundings had darkened as well. The tree's leaves had fallen off, leaving their branches as bones stretched up against a black and inky sky. The creatures that had inhabited them moments ago lay upon the ground at her feet, peppering the grass and filling the air with the stench of decay, their flesh covered in boils and infected lesions. Tugging a cloth from her pocket, Evirea reacted to this merely by covering her nose to relieve the smell, and to keep it from layering her nostrils and further disorienting her.
Moving towards one of the corpses left on the forest's floor, she was about to stoop to examine it when movement caught her eye. She turned just in time to see the water rise up out of the pond in the form of a hand, fingers spread, moving towards her rapidly and colliding with her to form a fist around her fragile body. It chocked the breath out of her as it soaked through her clothing, and without the ground beneath her feet to hold her stable, she felt the vestiges of panic begin to win the battle. The surface of the pond, and the image of her mother's face came flying up to meet her even as she was forcibly pulled down into it. As if passing through a barrier, she fell, the water filling her lungs so that she was certain she would drown even as her head began to feel crushed by the incredible pressure.
And just as she thought she would die from either a bursting of her ribs or her skull, suddenly she broke through the other side, followed by the cascade of polluted water all around her, flooding the grass below her hands. It took a moment for her to actually be able to raise her head because of the torrent, and to blink the water from her eyes. Coughing harshly, she ejected the water from her lungs and took several ragged, frantic breaths. She recovered slowly by moving first her fingers, and then her feet, finally unfurling and furling her wings to make sure that none of the tiny, delicate bones had been broken.
Rising to her feet, she tried to gain a grip. Tried to force herself to live out this strange dream, knowing that her presence was not corporeal, and that in no way could she possibly harm herself in experiencing it. Besides, perhaps it would reveal something, her subconscious trying to tell her something that the higher workings of her brain had not yet comprehended...
Oh gods.
Like a flower wilting under the rays of a harsh sun, all of her careful deliberating and confidence simply shattered. It was all she could do to keep from hyperventilating as she stared at the tiny, humble cottage in front of her.
Oh gods, no no. Get me out of here. Get me...
Her feet began moving. She wasn't telling them to. The autonomic parts of her brain stem had not sent signals, triggered by desires residing in her cerebral cortex, to move forward. But she was moving forward, her limbs shifting lazily, and she felt her lips pucker and heard the sound of her own whistling ringing in the air, cheery and joyous at having been dismissed from classes early due to her studious habits.
She wasn't being forced back into these shoes. She was reliving it, in every excruciating little detail.
The door to the house was ajar, the darkness beyond speaking of hidden things. Horrible things that she could not see in the half light. Blissfully and blessedly unaware...except that she was all too aware. She was so aware of what lay beyond that door, and she didn't want to see it. The idea of plunging her claws into her eyes and wrenching them out of her sockets presented itself as a better alternative. Instead, she attempted to drive those claws into the archway, letting splinters dig into her skin and feeling the blood trickle beneath her nails.
Her legs kept moving, and the force they could produce greatly outdid what her arms could do. Her claws scratched at the wood, leaving thin, pale lines in her wake as she continued to fight this coming vision. A sob bubbled up in her throat, but no tears were produced, and her fingers were torn forcefully from their residence in the paneling. Her hand shifted to the lamp upon the wall, and she reached with the other to grapple desperately at her wrist, trying in vain to pull it away before a light could be struck.
“No!” She shrieked, planting her feet and wrenching backwards with all her might. “Not the light! Don't turn on the light! Don't turn on...”
That traitorous wick burst into a lively flame, spilling the small interior with a golden, warm sort of glow. It illuminated the remains she was expecting, and for the first time she was aware of the wet feeling beneath her boots, sloshing, staining them. Her hands trembled, and her eyes stared widely at the wall.
Don't turn around. Don't look. Don't look Don't look Don't...
She whirled, the motion forced upon her. And she was forced to stare directly at them, sprawled all across the floor, floating in their own scarlet blood. She could not close her eyes. She tried, but something held her lids back, pinned them that way so that she could not even allow herself such a small mercy.
Their limbs were scattered every which way. Only their torsos were left intact, the rest had been severed and duly cauterized, but not before they were exsanguinated fully, leaving their once blue skin ashy and pale. Bright white eyes, just like her own, stared at her from opposite corners of the room, a length of rope fastened to a hook that pierced through their headfins and left them hanging suspended before her. She could taste the blood on her tongue, coppery and salty, as she took in large open-mouthed gulps of air, trying to gain a grip on the situation, trying to recover enough to either flee or fight, trying to break this down into a formulated equation she could solve and understand with ease.
Instead, her eyes fell to the letters written in sanguine ink, caked and dried to the wall. She remembered what they should have said. Originally the words had read, Regards, the Butcher. Simple. Short and concise. The writing had been etched with a shaking manic hand and hardly legible.
But now it was written in a looping cursive, illustrated with beautiful flourishes. The message was longer, wordier, and had an air of comedy to it that stood out starkly amidst the nightmarish scenery.
Not to worry Miss Pomolle.
I know the state of your tortured soul.
Soon your anguished life shall end.
I promise this to you my friend.
Very soon you shall all meet.
Your family you shall once more greet.
I shall steal away your very breath.
I shall aid you in meeting death.
And as my poison takes its course.
You shall no longer have remorse.
She hadn't realized she was screaming until the raw sensation in her throat alerted her to it. Her mouth hung loosely ajar and the high-pitched sound rang in her ears, echoed off the walls, and further scattered her thoughts until all traces of logic and practicality was evicted from her. And she simply kept screaming, the words glowing fiery red in her vision, prompting her terror to grow and grow and grow until she thought she might implode from the sheer...
Jerking awake with the sound of her own shouting, Evirea smacked her head into the stone wall in front of her. The blessed pain that followed assured her of two things: one, that she was alive, and two, that she had escaped from the morbid dream. Or memory. Frankly it had felt like a combination of both, but the words from it were what stuck most, even as her scrambled thoughts recollected themselves. As she realized what they were, she quickly made a terrible deduction, and instantly she was on her feet and running out of the alleyway as though someone had lit a fire beneath her heels.
Those words hadn't been concocted by herself. They had been planted there as a message. The killer wasn't just close, he was upon her, ready to sink his teeth into her flesh and tear her apart. As it was, she was helpless and vulnerable.
She could no longer be left alone.
-
*Travosh whiteknights
-
The Xacha stranger’s eyes stare unseeing. A hilt protrudes from the blood-soaked clothes covering his chest, and he has been propped up — hatted and stiff like a scare-kikiri. What macabre tableau is this? with even a rolled up scroll by the corpse, as if explaining an exhibit? Her stomach turns, but, drawn to comfort Dannae and make sense of the death, Eardstapa picks up the scroll and scans its contents, drawing quick conclusions.
In rhyming lines … to a miss Pomolle … ‘tis the game of a sick imagination, to leave a calling card that mocketh the sanctity of life thus! —
A sudden movement interrupts Eardstapa’s thoughts — the corpse is alive! No — with a disembodied sigh it collapses in on itself, crumbling to a pile of dust that the wind soon sweeps across the plaza.
What sorcery, this?
Waesed and Celizan have mentioned previous murders in the plaza, and attacks on Ketta, Sanrai and others! Eardstapa’s hand closes around her pendant. To think her return to the Dome had been full of pleasant expectations only moments before! Now, seeking out the jeweller Ametes for that commission would have to wait. She stares at the dagger lying unencumbered on the cold stone. Dannae is saying that someone — a klyros woman — is investigating.
Well, miss Pomolle, if thou art the investigator, I pity thee ... This killer's connection with thee is loathsome – the details of that letter – I am almost sorry that eyes other than thine should have read it. But o, thine hands look steep’d in bloodguilt as deep as the killer’s … if indeed thou playst his – or her – foul game. Tread carefully, thou art in mortal danger. Perhaps thou wilt not heed any of my questions – unless I hold an item of worth – Ah –
Gingerly she wraps the dagger in a clean handkerchief without touching blade or hilt. She needs answers, before talks are convened and the guilds gather. Confound the business, and Dakkru take the Stillwater rabble! How conveniently they have gone into hiding, when lives are at stake. Perhaps it is no coincidence. If any of the generals' ranks are involved this time in the shedding of innocent blood … she vows to sidestep the ineffectual octarchy through deft politics and bring the damnable House to its knees under the might of armed citizen combat, so help her Vodùl!
-
Eardstapa, yer the coolest. :thumbup:
-
:thumbup: I concur with Aramara. Awesome.
-
:-[ Too kind! It was you all who first made it fun - thanks for doing that - looking forward to more.
-
[Was just too much fun, I had to post it.]
(21:03:23) Barsidious glances up from the candle flame and at Moiregawna. "Hm? Oh, most assuredly. Perhaps somewhere more...private, though?"
(21:04:26) Moiregawna shrugs to Shiyara for approval,
(21:04:50) Shiyara looks around briefly and nods to Moiregawna, then replies to Barsidious herself. "If you have any suggestions."
(21:05:32) Barsidious gives a faint shrugging of his shoulders. He stands, and makes a motion with his hand, moving towards the exit of the tavern and out, angling for one of the alleyways.
(21:06:21) Barsidious makes a polite bow, and gestures into the small enclosure. "Ladies first."
(21:07:13) Moiregawna looks to the stranger, "what shall we call you?"
(21:07:43) Shiyara inspects the area for a moment, then discreetly grazes her pocket from outside and finally takes a relaxed stance against the wall.
(21:08:25) Barsidious smiles in a sense of self-satisfaction. He takes a seat and crosses his arms over his chest, relaxing himself, it seems, and enjoying it greatly. There is something strangely arrogant in his mannerisms. "You can call me Barsidious," he says. "Now, what were your questions hm?"
(21:10:44) Moiregawna shakes her head moves a bit closer to Barsidious, and extends her hand out with grace, "pleased to meet you, I am Moiregawna and my companion is Shiyara, we are just new to this city so are very obliged to you for speaking with us"
(21:11:27) Shiyara takes a sip from her wine, her eyes staring at Barsidious and beyond. As she withdraws the glass, she proceeds to examine the ylian as well. "Well met, Barsidious." She says politely, then her eyes narrow a tad. "My first question would be why does this have to be done out of any others sight. A group of priestesses... one would say it's nothing to hide from."
(21:14:01) Barsidious reaches up to clasp Moiregawna's hand warmly in his own. He then leans his head down to gently kiss the top of it, strangely, though it contains an air of total politeness, rather than one that could be taken as flirtatious. Releasing her hand, he leans back casually and nods towards Shiyara. "I'm a traveling merchant, and while my knowledge is not incredible, I do know that the Daughters are well loved. I was uncertain if you were going to...speak ill of them, and wished to spare you further..." He gestures towards Moiregawna's eye. "Painful and physical incidents regarding their particular sect." He smiles pleasantly, his eyes crinkling in the expression to further highlight his twinkling brown eyes. "So, tell me, what shall I address you both by?"
(21:17:39) Shiyara's right eye goes into a quick and brief blinking tic just for a second at the question. "As my friend said, my name is Shiyara." She replies, seeming just for an instant, very impatient. Soon enough her expression goes back to the regular and she gives a tiny smile. "It does sound, by your words, that they have an affinity to trouble."
(21:18:51) Moiregawna smiles to Barsidious, holding her hand to her chest, "and I am Moiregawna, I agree with Shiyara, I believe you are saying there is some concern on the topic of these Daughters?"
(21:20:37) Barsidious shakes his head. "Actually, miss Shiyara, I'm rather surprised by your story. Except, of course, that you were dealing with Ixi. I do not know of her personally...it would seem that she herself is a strange one, not the best representation of her sect. Dannae is a nolthrir, not unlike yourselves, if I may be so bold, and she is quite well loved amongst the people." He waves his hand indicatively, a chuckle rumbling warmly in his chest. "Please, ladies, take a seat. These cobbles are not the warmest cushions, but you're making me feel quite short. I assure you if my aging bones can take it, so can yours." He clears his throat. "I am curious though...what DID you say to the woman to garner such a....violent reaction?"
(21:25:17) Moiregawna settles down and leans on the wall, takes a sip of her beverage then sets the empty glass aside, looks to Shiyara to explain
(21:26:30) Shiyara gives in to the petition and sits down a little closer, legs crossed. "I swear to the Gods I do not know. We had a deal with this woman, she seemed eager to show us around. Was quick, too. Soon as she met us, she engaged in conversation and very honestly exposed some of her most personal issues." She takes a sip of the wine. "She was friendly, and somewhat flirtatious I'd say. We were walking out of the town, continuing our tour and all of a sudden it was like... a complete personality switch."
(21:28:20) Barsidious frowns, the corners of his mouth tugging downward definitively, as he sits listening. He nods periodically as Shiyara explains, looking for the most part rather surprised by her reply, as though he'd been expecting that particularly venomous words had triggered the fight rather than an abrupt shift in well-being on Ixi's part. "That's...interesting." He runs his fingers on the amulet around his neck, and taps it, thoughtful. "You said she mentioned having issues with her...personal life? Can you elaborate? Did she seem particularly distraught?"
(21:32:11) Moiregawna smirks at the mention of Ixi's behavior, "she was quite a mess, blabbering about her history and being enslaved by Dakkru lords, I do believe she had us confused, as well we were rather friendly and very clear about our intentions, she then lost her manners and I woke up after being unconscious for sometime..."
(21:34:24) Barsidious dips his head slowly, nodding to show that he understands, though he makes a show of furrowing his brow like a concerned father figure. His fingers again touch the amulet on his neck, hidden by the deep scarlet robes he wears, and a soft, almost imperceptible blue glow begins to emanate at its center. He continues to speak. "It's possible that with a history like that....she could be prone to boughts of madness."
(21:38:48) Shiyara gives a small nod to the assertion. "Certainly. Although she assured she is reformed and faithful to her Goddess. Everything was very quick, we were sitting by a lake and the next thing I know I’m taking care of my friend who's unconscious on the grass."
(21:40:47) Shiyara continues with wrinkled brows, slowly raising her gaze up to Barsidious. "She did shout something when she left, too, but I couldn't understand."
(21:43:10) Barsidious turns his attention back to Shiyara, and arches a curious brow at her, certainly wondering at what that something might be. The glow gets a bit brighter, and it seems he's attempting to weave a spell of some strange sort, though in the soft half-light of the crystal, the working of it is hardly obvious. It seems as though he's trying to cast a modified version of sleep, one that would invoke heavy lids...the urge to just curl up, and lie down for a while..."I see," he says, his voice ringing still with a genuine, paternal concern. "And tell me, won't you, what could you make about about whatever phrase Ixi shouted?"
(21:50:02) Shiyara's usually most open eyes seem to come down a bit. She gives her wine a brief glance and casually stands up, obviously unaware of the action but wanting to keep herself. The glass is left resting on the floor. "Something about 'She' being... onto us? Or... into us? I do not really recall. I believe she was in a state."
(21:51:11) Moiregawna rubs her bruised head and watches the glaze, uncomfortable in her state she shifts a bit and sits up, pulls a small flask from her jacket and drinks a hearty amount, a bit of thick red liquid appears on her chin she wipes it quickly as to not draw attention, her eyes come into clear focus, she taps the silver flask loudly on the floor as to get Shiyaras attention, before turning to Barsidious, "I was hoping byou might answer some questions for us, or have you forgotten why we came out to this horrid stable?'
(21:54:57) Barsidious gives his head a curious sort of skew, and the spell continues to hum in the air, though he himself remains seated. "I do believe I have been answering your questions...unless, of course, there was something I have missed..." He gives a pause, reflecting, it would appear, though he may just be channeling more power into the small waves of his spell. "Do, though, please, continue in your inquiry. What else is it that you would like to know of Ixi? She's wed to Dannae...that much I believe I know, but considering what she revealed to you on such a personal level I've been lead to suspect that you are already aware of this." He raises both of his brows, and waits in silence, expecting the duo to continue their impromptu interrogation.
(21:54:59) Shiyara spurts out a chuckle at the last words, still though blinking a few times and obviously trying to hide her momentary confusion.
(22:06:54) Moiregawna raises her chin, in dignified restraint, an acute awareness about her gaze upon Barsidious, she speaks direct and with serene grace as she rises slowly and moves towards the seated Barsidious, "I do so enjoy the art of your seduction from a personal fetish I have for such a thing, we unfortunately shall not be the prey this evening" she leans forward and places a clawed hand on his heart, the nails just grazing his chest, "I do also believe that your art form will never be as quick as how I may open your flesh and expose your most vital organ, how I do so wish to taste your blood I shall refrain, seeing as you have showed us you have manners" she peers into his eyes waiting his move
(22:08:14) Shiyara's chin raises a little bit with each of Moiregawna's words, her eyes telling evidently that she's found herself back again. She takes a step closer too, accompanying her cohort in the gesture.
(22:11:58) Barsidious's expression shifts, though it does not fill with the fear one might expect as a response to being threatened in such a fashion. The claw tears through his shirt and some of his blood trickles slowly down, starkly red against pale skin, his veins seeming outlined in a way that defies the healthy norm. His smile is crooked, and it appears as though the idea of death does not come as a fearful thing to him, but instead of simply retaliating, he first gives a verbal dismissal. "Such an interesting pair, and yet such a shame to have to give up the chance to teach a lesson to you both. You would have enjoyed it, I imagine...I can see the lack of fear for all things macabre in your eyes, though I think we utilize these tactics for...vastly different reasons. Yours is a passion...mine, more controlled concise, with a well-developed point." He stops his dialogue, and makes a show as if he's merely going to rub at his chest. But, at the last instant, he summons a powerful, galeful wind, surrounding himself with it and causing it to kick up the dust. Hoping that this will be enough to distract the two, he stands, and makes as though to bolt, leaving them to chock on the debris.
(22:17:30) Shiyara , who had already a hand in her pocket, of course to grab some sort of weapon or device in it, bounces backwards at the spray of dust in her eyes. She scoots and covers her face with her forearm, glaring at Barsidious above it. Still keeping her guard up, she manages to throw a tiny dagger, almost handle less, into his direction, although it's admittedly not excessively accurate.
(22:20:11) Barsidious turns around the corner of the building just in time to let it clang with the wood. It splinters out towards him, but not enough to harm him, simply getting caught in the confines of his billowing robes. The man keeps running, out of sight, laughter bursting from his lips as he does. What was once warm now holds a manic tone to it, and it's clear the man is quite off his rocker, though in present company, that probably just means he fits in well. "Perhaps next time, I'll show you a bit of Truth," he calls, before disappearing from sight, his spell leaving with his absence.
-
Poor Barsidious, no murder for him =C
-
[Oh look. Travosh being a softie. <.< >.>]
(20:38:46) Evirea tilts her head at Aramara, listening to the conversation for a brief moment, before lowering her head into her hands.
(20:39:54) Travosh says: You look like you need to sleep
(20:39:55) Travosh says: badly.
(20:40:00) Aramara eases back into her normally relaxed state and offers Chraz a smile, "Think nothing of it... whether or not Miomo and I are wed, we are certainly bound together."
(20:40:47) Chraz grins "just asking cause I would need to restrain a certain guild mate, who chases every fenki's tails
(20:41:18) Travosh blinks a few times. "Every menki?"
(20:41:32) Travosh says: I can't very well say Caraick, as you aren't an Adani...
(20:41:34) Evirea mutters something beneath her breath, rather softly, so it's not particularly easy to hear. "Can't," is all she mumbles, but she does chuckle softly at Travosh's quip.
(20:42:36) Travosh looks over. "Can't you say? I'm pretty sure I could make you sleep. By blowing you over if not by magic."
(20:43:16) Aramara nods to Chraz, "Thank you, but of course I can handle myself just fine."
(20:43:37) Evirea removes her hands from her face and gives Travosh a withering look. "You wouldn't dare," she says, her tone indicating a rather pointed threat. Not that she could probably carry it out, but....it's the thought that counts, right?
(20:43:50) Travosh says: I dare quite a bit.
(20:44:06) Travosh says: You're in no condition to investigate anything if you're delirious
(20:44:20) Evirea scoffs. "I am hardly delirious."
(20:45:04) Travosh says: lack of sleep will lead to it.
(20:45:13) Travosh says: Hallucinations, Delirium,fatigue, then death.
(20:45:34) Evirea narrows her bloodshot eyes at Travosh. "I'm fairly certain I'll just pass out before lack of sleep actually kills me."
(20:47:31) Travosh gives Evirea a suspicious look. "can't be too sure."
(20:48:25) Evirea sighs loudly, shakes her head, and then lets it fall to the table with an audible thud.
(20:49:29) Travosh considers sending Evirea to sleep right now, hesitantly lifting an arm
(20:49:56) Aramara nods, "There's some nice pillows and blankets at the top of the stairs behind me"
(20:50:22) Evirea hardly notices Travosh's movement, as she's one, got her eyes closed, and two, is pointedly ignoring him.
(20:52:37) Travosh holds a hand above Evirea's hand, slowly gathering a charge of Brown way
(20:54:13) Evirea mutters something at Travosh, but she's not aware of what he is doing. If she was, she might smack him, or reach up and bend his fingers back the wrong way until he squeals. Sadly, she does neither, and only clenches her eyes shut tigther.
(20:54:19) Aramara says: but she's welcome to sleep on them, they're still very soft and plush, quite comfortable
(20:55:40) Travosh uses his spell, a small smattering of sand and other assorted particles appearing to fall from his hand and onto Evirea, carrying a potent sleep.
(20:55:40) Travosh did just use a dirt nap.
(20:57:39) Evirea gets very tense, as of course her first reaction is to fight the spell. Unfortunately for her, she has little to no experience in this, and she loses the battle rather abruptly. She mumbles something about 'regret that,' before her shoulders relax, and she slumps in her chair, her head perched just on the edge of the table and ready to fall right off.
(20:58:06) Travosh says: Problem solved.
(20:58:35) Aramara sighs, "Now I gotta get a dustpan and broom..."
(20:59:09) Travosh laughs as the dust itself dissapated shortly after falling
(20:59:14) Travosh says: It's magic, Aramara.
(20:59:16) Aramara rummages around for said cleaning devices
(20:59:46) Aramara says: what's that?.... oh
(20:59:56) Aramara quits her search
(21:00:42) Aramara says: well, carry her upstairs, it wouldn't do her good to wake up with a stiff neck and sore back from sleeping on a table
(21:01:33) Evirea would giggle, but she's unconscious.
(21:02:05) Travosh does a quick strength on himself to prepare
(21:02:22) Travosh says: Wonder if this will work on a person...
(21:02:22) Travosh snaps his fingers, trying to cast Ant Weight on Evirea
(21:03:40) Evirea gets a bit lighter, but I have no idea how else to describe this action with words.
(21:03:47) Travosh carefully attempts to pick up Evirea from under her arms
(21:04:22) Evirea doesn't react, as she's in a nice little sleep coma, and is lifted quite easily. After all, she didn't weigh much to begin with.
(21:04:57) Travosh uses his spell improved strength along with Evirea's little weight to begin moving her
(21:06:06) Travosh unceremoniously dumps Evirea down
(21:06:17) Travosh says: There, happy now Ara?
(21:06:25) Evirea just sort of plops down with a rather loud thud.
(21:06:50) Aramara says: Yes, thank you Travosh
(21:07:19) Evirea begins to twitch in her sleep, muttering something beneath her breath.
(21:07:46) Travosh isn't a dream-reader, but snaps his fingers and dims the lights inside the weird pillow nest thing
(21:09:15) Evirea continues to twitch, wracked with tiny spasms. Her brow furrows, and her mouth appears to be forming words, sentences, though she doesn't actually give voice to them. A hissing sound issues from her teeth, distressing, and she curls up tighter on the pillows.
(21:10:03) Travosh can't really do much about dreams, and just watches
(21:10:21) Aramara takes up the mug and drops it in a bin full of dirtys, for the next bartender to clean
(21:13:00) Evirea clenches her teeth, showing her anguish further, her claws curling up and digging into her palms as she lets out another hissing sound. Then the face falls, showing a pained sorrow, her brows arching upwards and her lips parting to utter a soft and rasping, "Nooooooo..."
(21:14:14) Travosh says: Bah, girl needs to learn to stop dreaming.
(21:15:23) Aramara speaks in a hushed whisper, "Everything alright up here?"
(21:16:15) Evirea appears to have been reduces to a soft trembling and a subtle crying, her chest jerking in quite sobs.
(21:16:20) Travosh says: Yeah yeah, girl's just having a nightmare.
(21:17:29) Aramara kneels beside Evirea but does not touch her in fear of waking her, "The poor soul.... who is she Travosh? A friend of yours?"
(21:18:17) Travosh says: Somewhat I suppose.
(21:19:45) Aramara gives Travosh a quick astonished look, surprised he'd admit to even that much, "She looks like she's been having a rough time, would she take anything to help her relax?"
(21:20:15) Evirea lets off a rapidfire sentence, far too fast to actually be decipherable, and probably mostly gibberish. She remains totally oblivious of the two people watching her sleep, but if she were aware of it, she might question Hydlaa's entertainment venues if this is more interesting to do than partaking in any other activity.
(21:20:47) Travosh grumbles, standing and moving over to sit closer. "Fine fine fine, I'll make her be quiet."
(21:21:05) Travosh reaches out, trying to find the chain around Evirea's neck
(21:21:21) Evirea obviously doesn't not draw away, and the chain he seeks is quite easy to find.
(21:21:53) Aramara watches with her telltale curious tilt of her head, "What's that?"
(21:22:04) Travosh grasps ahold of it and draws out the amulet, touching it with his finger and muttering something, likely a charm, as the edges of the jewelry begins giving off a faint azure light
(21:23:11) Evirea makes no reaction to this yet, other than to continue her mumbling, and to furrow her brow in a show of either confusion or consternation. She'll probably yell at Travosh for this later.
(21:26:27) Travosh closes his eyes, furrowing his brow as the light from the amulet envelops his hand
(21:26:49) Aramara recognizes the use of Azure Way and can only guess at what Travosh is doing if he does not feel the need to answer her
(21:35:40) Aramara sits in awkward quietness as Travosh does whatever mindmeld he's doing to Evirea, "Ummm.. I'll go lock up... leave you two alone... watch over her Travosh."
(21:36:01) Travosh can nod, that is about it.
Evirea's mind is as organized as can be, except for the fact that at the moment there appears to be a whirlwind at the center tearing this careful order apart. Separate area convey a deep knowledge of both the arts and the sciences, are categorized in different sections, as though the woman has acute obsessive compulsive disorder, even within her own mind. One strand of thought, presumably the nightmare, and the cause of the chaos at her mind's center, glows a fiery and angry red.
Travosh manifests himself within Evirea's mind, his form a representation of himself, though it is made of a shimmering blue light. He alternative strides and floats through the femros' mind, approaching the nightmarish thought. Upon getting close enough, he grasps ahold of it. Rather than squelching it out however, he disappears from sight. entering the memory.
The nightmare is indeed more memory than it is dream, composed of both, which is probably what makes it so effectively terrifying. Evirea, having no way to be aware of Travosh's presence, does nothing, and the hallucination she is experiencing caves to him without resistance. Once inside, the distinct scent of blood can be detected. Presumably this is some kind of building, there is no light, the windows and shutters have been locked shut, and there is nothing but darkness. Something wet is on the floor, covering it, and the sound of bone-rattling, mournful sobs can be heard roughly from the center of this enclosure.
Travosh strides through, unperturbed by the blood, this is not his first time in a puddle of it. He flicks his wrist, a flameless light appearing in his hand, casting a shadow upon himself but illuminating the rest of the room.
Evirea is sitting in the midst of the room. Travosh's light illuminates scattered parts of two klyros' bodies, their decapitated heads strung from the ceiling like someone went fishing and wants to boast their prize catch. Judging by their features, it can probably be easily ascertained who these people actually are. Upon the wall opposite the weeping klyros, who is a young rendition of Evirea just coming out of adolescence, are words written in blood: "Regards, the butcher."
Travosh grunts, but holds his unseen composure. He moves himself over towards Evirea, the light glowing brighter as he makes his presence within the memory known to the girl. "Oi, you, time to get up."
Evirea's head jerks up, and she opens her mouth to say something, but confusion renders her speechless. She scrambles to her feet, stumbling backwards more out of a reaction to being startled than anything else, and trips over an arm, toppling back down again and splashing herself with the remnants on the ground. She makes a gagging sound, and presses herself against the wall, showing the wide-eyed panic of someone in debilitating shock.
Travosh stays where he is, perhaps to prevent frightening her. "Not the Butcher. He's dead now."
Evirea purses her lips into a flat line. "I'm not afraid of you," she grates out, the usual defiance of a teenager. Nevermind that she's sitting in a pool of her parent's blood and talking to some strange glowing enigma.
Travosh gives a wry grin, which more or less just looks like his head moving somewhat in his personal shadow. "If you are not afraid of me, then why are you afraid of this?" He gestures around the illuminated room.
Evirea glances around at the scenery, then back at the figure in front of her. To her, she's just figured out that both of her parents were brutally murdered. Her chest heaves as she glares at Travosh's shadowy image, thinking no doubt that the question is stupid, and cruel. She lowers her head back into her hands and starts to sob anew.
Travosh looks down, and reaches out an arm towards the girl, attempting to grasp her chin lightly. "Evirea, Look at me."
Evirea puts up no fight against this, and she does look up at Travosh through bleary eyes. Her hands grip her knees tightly, and her chin quivers, but she doesn't pull away, and she doesn't say anything.
Travosh draws the girl to her feet, before reaching out his free arm. It appears to reach 'past' the backdrop and into nothingness. When he pulls back his hand, he drags out a fragment of a memory, a dead Butcher.
Evirea shudders, probably a combination of having a memory drawn out of her, and also of having a non-corporeal slice through the dream. The memory that dances on his fingers is real, very real, depicting the torture and slow death of the so-dubbed butcher, by the klyros' claws, which drip with his blood.
Travosh holds the orb of memory close. "Look at this, Evirea. See your future. Your parents lay still in the well, avenged. There is nothing to fear here but for this mans soul."
Evirea's brow furrows again, as she watches the image. An eerie smile briefly flashes on her lips, then subsides, watching this prophesied retribution with joy rather than with chagrin. She draws her gaze away from the image, and looks at Travosh once more. She does not recognize this entity. "Who are you."
Travosh stands closer to Evirea, snapping his fingers and creating a glowing red circle around the two. "I'm... A memory. One you'll forget." The circle gives off a brief fountain of sparks, before exploding outward in a wall of flames, dissolving not the house but the dream itself, as well as all evidence of Travosh's presence besides him settling her mind. His flames are not a scorching heat, but rather benevolent feeling, as if a campfire.
Evirea opens her mouth to offer a retort, or to protest, but clearly is outmatched in this particular situation. She blinks at the burst, and her own image fades into nothing, the state of her mind returning to a calm and restful one, like the steady ebbing and flowing of a tide. Her fingers unclench, the furrows in her brow disappear, and her erratic breathing becomes more steady and controlled as she slips into a deep, recuperative sleep.
(22:05:08) Travosh releases his hold on the amulet, slipping it back under the garment and letting the Azure glow fade away.
(22:05:34) Travosh gives a small chuckle. "Sleep well."
-
YOU DIDN'T SEE ANYTHING.
-
Getting closer now.
The steady breathing of his newly captured Ylian friend kept a certain tempo as he threaded and looped his way around the tiny pouch of dust, sealing it firmly shut. Tiny particles hovered in the air as he pulled it taut, and he marveled at them, even now still shocked that they had once been part of a full and functioning sentient being. Now they were so much dust in the empty space above his head, hovering as an insignificant reminder of an ultimately insignificant life. Exhaled from the leather like the final breath of a body long dead.
He would have three packages to deliver when the time came. His employers would be pleased. Already he sensed soon they would be chomping at the bit, demanding that he provide the compensation they were due in exchange for the valuable...lessons he'd been taught regarding this intricate form of alchemy. What they wanted with this disintegrated collection of dust, he had no idea. He himself had never met the one in charge, supposedly pulling the strings of the people who came by now and then and opened their eager hands to accept his meager offerings. Nor did he care to know what their goals and ambitions consisted of.
He knew his purpose as sure as the waxing and waning of the crystal at dawn and dusk. There was no reason to concern himself with such nit picky details as these.
Enjoying the solid feel of the stone beneath him, Barsidious turned his attention towards where Timil Deeps, his newest companion, was sleeping soundly upon the ground. For some reason the man had struck him as a pertinent one to take, and so he had, and it had been quite simple, inebriated as he had appeared to be. Something told him that the level of intoxication he'd displayed had been a guise, however. In truth, most likely this man had been trying to find him out, had been sticking his nose where it should not have been. Not that it truly mattered. Soon enough he would pay the price for those actions, and soon enough he would join the victims he'd sought to avenge upon the balustrade by the fountain.
He settled his back against the firmness of the ruined tower's wall and pulled out a strip of parchment. Quickly, he scribed a short and simple note upon it, much less flowery than his usual pieces of literature and considerably less enjoyable to entertain, but nonetheless, it had to be done.
Additional deliveries are ready.
A meeting is required for discussion.
B.
His fingers worked to tear off the corner of the paper he'd used to write the note, and he sent it quickly off with his groffel. Folding what was left of the paper, he set this bit down and placed a rock on top of it, to assure that it would not be coaxed away by a stray wind that stretched its fingers down into the roofless abode. I'll use it later to write Evirea another letter, he thought, laughing internally as already his mind began formulating the words he would use. He wanted to invoke sheer terror, and to do that in someone like the klyran detective took...talent. Tact.
Barsidious left the paper in the tower. He turned and walked out into the open air, taking a deep breath, stretching his legs to work the kinks out of his muscles. For once in his careful planning he'd made a mistake, one that he was oblivious to, but one that could lead to considerable issue for him in the near future.
He'd left Timil inside, with his ring of familiar still firmly attached to his own hand.
And the Ylian was beginning to rouse.
-
:P Time to give people a chance for a knock down drag-out fight. Just the lead up to an RP I'm planning to try to do this weekend. Well, planning loosely anyway, who knows how it shall end! Dun dun dun.
-
Took the idea to heart eh? Should prove entertaining.
-
(22:30:40) Barsidious dips his head towards Timil. "Where are you running to this evening?"
(22:32:02) Timil nods to Barsidious. "Oh, jusht heading home. I had a little too much in Daka el's, I think. Gonnasleepitioff...
(22:33:21) Barsidious chuckles softly, moving towards Timil and trying to offer the man his arm as if to steady him. "Perhaps I could accompany you and make sure you get there safely, you hardly look like you could handle the treacherous streets in this state, I'd wager."
(22:35:30) Barsidious tilts his head. "So, which way are we going, my good fellow? I'm afraid I don't know the way to your home."
(22:36:38) Barsidious glances down at Timil. "Having that much trouble, friend?"
(22:36:40) Timil staggers.
(22:37:17) Barsidious laughs quietly again. He moves to allow more weight to be shifted from Timmil to his own shoulders, and continues walking, one arm firmly around the other ylian's waist.
(22:37:43) Teshia glances at the two men, finding that very unusual, and certainly not expected of Timil.
(22:37:49) Timil looks over to Barsidious. "Would you believe I never drunk a red in my life?"
(22:38:33) Barsidious lets out a hearty laugh, looking over to nod in Teshia's direction, the twinkle of humor clear in his eyes. "I'd believe it, friend," he replies.
(22:39:18) Teshia blinks, taking a closer look at her guildmate, peering curiously at him.
(22:40:01) Timil is either unaware of Teshia's presence, or is ignoring her. It is unclear which.
(22:42:26) Barsidious laughs once more, but this time it seems decidedly false and plastic. The tips of his fingers begin to glow a dull, soft azure, as he waves a subtle spell of sleep in the air. "Of that I'm certain," he replies. "Now, what does your house look like, precisely?"
(22:44:15) Timil glances around, trying to keep up his ruse. "It.... It looks... Wait... What're you?...."
(22:44:44) Timil starts to breathe more heavily, oxygen not helping.
(22:45:03) Barsidious smirks slightly as he reaches to plant his fingertips right at the base of Timil's skull, trying the channel the spell directly into his mind. "Time to sleep, good sir," he says. "I believe you could use the rest, you do so look very tired."
(22:45:58) Barsidious picks Timil up and slings him over his shoulder, turning to walk off with his prize.
(22:59:46) Barsidious chains Timil to the wall, cuffing him tightly, and then placing a blanket around his prone form to keep him from getting too terribly cold.
(22:56:54) Timil regains consciousness, but is still dizzy... not unlike waking from sleepwalking.
(22:56:57) Barsidious breaths steadily though his mask, before turning on his heel and taking a brief step outside. He leaves the bit of parchment and the charcoal beside it near Timil, within reach of the other Ylian's feet.
(22:58:59) Timil eyes Barsidioius as things come into focus. Timil briefly turns his attention to do a mental check of his own body for any damage, and to see what is mobile. Hands and feet bound. Mouth not so. Laying prone on his back. Hmm. Timil glances down at the charcoal and paper at his feet.
(23:00:48) Barsidious appears to be adjusting his robes, rolling his shoulders. He tilts his head back and takes a deep breath of the fresh air, enjoying the feel, it seems. To him, it's going to be another rather momentous day, and he doesn't want to miss a bit of it.
(23:02:01) Timil remains silent, continuing to do an inventory of his resources. Weapons gone. Glyphs gone. Damn....
(23:04:27) Barsidious takes a seat on the edge of the tower, his hands playing at the amulet wound round his neck. He stoops to pick up a snow bud and twirls it between his fingers, chuckling to himself. "Soon, soon, a lesson I'll teach. Soon soon, your ears I will reach."
(23:06:54) Timil eyes the charcoal and paper suspiciously, trying to see if anything is written on it.
(23:09:07) Barsidious's paper has nothing written on it. whatever was written has been torn off, and taken with him.
(23:10:57) Timil grabs at the coal with his feet, awkwardly trying to scribble something on the paper.
(23:12:18) Barsidious doesn't appear to notice this move, his attention oddly fixated on this flower. He's still muttering rhymes beneath his breath as he waits for a sound to indicate Timil is awake.
(23:12:58) Timil says: the coal drops from Timil's boots with a clink on the paving stones.
(23:14:31) Barsidious raises his head slightly, chuckling softly. "Good morning, Mr. Deeps."
(23:15:35) Timil looks up, heart thudding in his chest. "H... How do you know my name?"
(23:16:45) Barsidious turns around and strides up into the tower. His robes are dark, and dusty, his hood concealing his hair, and his eyes and mouth barely visible behind the ragged slits wrended into his mask. "Oh, I've been listening around a bit. This and that. A good heart-ed person in general. Well loved. Admirable, some might even say."
(23:18:43) Timil frowns. "And foolhardy at times." He says this mostly to himself.
(23:20:49) Barsidious laughs softly, in a shockingly gentle fashion, and sits down. "I like you, Mr. Deeps. I truly do. You are...not like most. I think perhaps you do truly believe that deep down, you have a good heart. Like most, you're deluded into it by good deeds. Well...nothing to be ashamed of...thus is the state of most of us."
(23:22:37) Timil looks up again, squinting at Barsidious. "And you. A murderer, terrorist. Committing seemingly random murders, but all centered around one Klyros. Why?"
(23:23:39) Barsidious snorts softly. "Not centered, no. She's just..." He waves his hand, rotating it slowly. "A finale. A final statement, if you will." He leans forward. "As for my intentions, well. They are mostly philosophical, but don't think I'm unemployed." He laughs quietly to himself.
(23:26:47) Timil thinks back to something Barsidious said. "I won't claim to have a good heart. I struggle with evil impulses just like anyone. You apparently have given up struggling.
(23:27:36) Timil tries to hide the bit of charcoal behind one of his heels.
(23:28:11) Barsidious shakes his head. "Oh, no no, my dear man. That's hardly it, hardly it at all," he replies. "For you see...well, hmhmhm. Timil, tell me, would you leave a blind man stumbling in his own darkness, or attempt to guide him towards the light? To...better himself?" He does not seem to notice the charcoal.
(23:29:22) Timil says: I would attempt to guide him... but how if I were blind, myself?
(23:30:07) Timil says: Or worse, insane.
(23:30:29) Barsidious laughs. "Ah, but there's the thing. I'm not blind, Mr. Deeps. My eyes are very much open, and now I simply seek to spread that openness to others. Everything else is simply a...means to an end." He stands up, crossing to a table, and begins to work with some of the tools there, chopping up some kind of dark, inky root.
(23:31:30) Timil pushes the charcoal with his heel, back towards his hands, and then reaches again for the paper with his toes.
(23:33:47) Timil remains quiet, hoping Barsidious will remain distracted by whatever he's doing.
(23:35:17) Barsidious indeed does, whistling softly to himself, stirring up ingredients after mashing them with mortar and pestle.
(23:42:43) Timil surreptitiously writes the note, then, looking up once more at Barsidious, tries to summon his groffel as quietly as possible.
(23:43:20) Barsidious turns slightly and reaches for a bowl of paste, removing a teaspoon of this and pouring it lightly into the pestle, where the crushed root awaits. He stirs it dutifully, still whistling to himself.
(23:51:15) Apricot obediently picks up the note and poofs away.
(23:55:59) Barsidious turns back to Timil, holding a dagger. This, he begins to sharpen against a stone, as he carefully sets his dark potion beside his thigh upon the ground. "I trust you are comfortable, Mr. Deeps."
(23:57:33) Timil shivers slightly, jaw clenching involuntarily. "I... thought you said you liked me," he says grimly.
(23:58:42) Barsidious sets the knife at his side. "I do, Mr. Deeps. I like you very much, which is why I've taken the time to bring you hear, and teach you the truth about yourself."
(00:00:22) Timil eyes the dagger, and looks down at his own free hand. "And what truth is that?"
(00:01:02) Barsidious leans forward slightly, the tips of his fingers beginning to glow a soft blue light. "I'll show you," he replies.
(00:02:22) Caraick walks quietly towards the ruined tower, staff held loosely, but warily at his side. He steps up a bit nearer, still remaining at a comfortable distance, and speaks. "I suppose this would be the murderer, would it not, TImil?" he asks, slowly, announcing his presence.
(00:02:37) Timil glances past Barsidious
(00:03:09) Timil says: "Aye, sir."
(00:03:53) Caraick allows a ghost of a wary, dangerous smile to cross his lips, as he looks from Timil to Barsidious. "I don't suppose you'd be willing to let me friend go, would you?"
(00:03:54) Timil says: Be wary.
(00:04:48) Barsidious slowly raises his brows, which obviously cannot be quite glimpsed beneath his mask. "Well well well, Mr. Deeps," he says. "You've proven resourceful, have you?" He carefully and gently begins to dip the dagger into the poison, not looking back at Caraick. "Now, good sir. We both know you've no intention of willingly letting me leave here, so..." His hand flashes, as he makes a slashing motion at Timil's left bicep, trying to cut him.
(00:05:35) Teshia drifts up slowly, looking over to Thidin and nodding once.
(00:06:32) Thidin pulls back on Arnou's reins looking around
(00:06:37) Caraick tries to move a half-step nearer, the end of his staff pulsing brightly as a small beam emerges from the end noiselessly, aimed for Barsidious' torso. It doesn't carry an exceptional amount of force, merely enough to knock the man off balance
(00:07:28) Teshia drifts nearer to Thidin, seeming a bit on edge. She glances over the scene in the ruined tower, and gives Caraick more than a passing once-over to be sure he's alright.
(00:07:39) Timil yelps as the dagger makes momentary contact, but it's enough. Blood oozes from the wound, as the poison also starts to sink in.
(00:08:47) Barsidious spins to the side in reaction to Caraick's spell, rising to his feet, Timil's trace amount of blood weeping from its crevices and dripping off the edge. He stands, and backs up to the wall, tilting his head. "I'd bind that injury tightly. If you want him to live, that is...and good luck discovering the antidote, you have a few hours at best."
(00:08:59) Timil summons his rivnak in desperation.
(00:09:03) Teshia dismounts, slapping her drifter to send him out of harms way.
(00:09:35) Teshia says: Thidin... was this figure anywhere near you? Did he have anything to do with what happened?
(00:10:00) Caraick takes another step nearer, re-angling his staff towards Barsidious' new position, the bright end of the length of wood humming and crackling loudly with an odd Azure light. "Tesh, we get him away from Timil, then you heal that poison."
(00:10:13) Barsidious swings his dagger loosely in his hand, and makes no move to advance. Oddly enough. He appears to be waiting.
(00:10:26) Thidin says: I don't remember
(00:10:33) Teshia backs away suddenly at the magic humming from the wand "Uh...."
(00:11:02) Barsidious lets out a laugh. "I wouldn't try that, dear, it won't help." He nods towards the Ylian. "We've met before...haven't we? Perhaps you remember."
(00:11:58) Teshia bites out a retort "I recall vividly. Tell me, does your bravado in the dream world make up for your shortcomings in reality?"
(00:12:56) Caraick continues to eye the Ylian warily, the color on the end of his staff changing from a pure Crystal, to a more definitive Azure. Thin tendrils of smoke begin to drift from the light on the staff's end.
(00:13:30) Teshia moves steadily closer to Thidin's drifter, glancing away periodically from the staff as if it pains her even to look at the magic.
(00:13:50) Barsidious only laughs once more. "I quite like you you know. Your mind was delightfully easy to mold. You're so very...uncertain. Base. And you know this. Fascinating combination really." He glances at the clamod, his breath wheezing past his mask. "I promised you an hour, IF you bound the wound, menki. Mind it quickly, or you lose that one."
(00:14:41) Thidin doesn't really move or do anything, to shaking from previous events
(00:17:46) Timil summons his Groffel again.
(00:18:23) Caraick glances briefly over his shoulder, as though noting Teshia and Thidin's positions. Noting the effect the light appears to be having on Teshia, the Azure whisps of smoke fade, to be replaced by the brilliant glow of pure Crystal energy. Crackling sounds, and a loud humming eminates from the staff's tip.
(00:19:07) Timil tries to make eye contact with Caraick.
(00:19:10) Barsidious chuckles. "Boy, you really want this one to die, don't you?" He laughs more loudly. "More illustration, is it! I hold this lovely blade, and you are too afraid to move. Tut tut." He turns...and slams the thing into the table beside him. "There you are...nice and sound. Now...which of you is brave enough to take a shot, hm?" He smirks beneath his mask at Caraick. "Smart move, clamod."
(00:19:40) Teshia relaxes almost immediately, and steps closer, trusting Thidin not to let herself be harmed in her slightly less-that-tip-top-shape. She begins to roll her hands before her in a complex series of hand and finger gestures, slwoly building a concentration of very cold air before her. "Caraick... distract him please."
(00:20:46) Timil shouts: Ah.... Allow ME!
(00:21:20) Timil's sends a mental command to Apricot to go and attempt to bite or claw Barsidious on the leg.
(00:21:44) Thidin looks to Caraick's wand as her eyes grow grim and black, her shaking seeming to stop as she gets off her rivnak.
(00:22:44) Caraick flicks his gaze briefly to Timil's action of summoning the Rivnak, then steps back a half-pace, angling his wand towards a spot above Barsidious' head. A brilliant, blinding light bursts into existence, burning brightly enough to blind someone looking directly at it for the few seconds that it remains in existence, before the spell is terminated by its caster.
(00:23:35) Barsidious is rather distracted by the groffel now trying to tear at his leg. He raises it and moves to kick the creature away from him, and as such isn't looking directly at Caraick's light, but is still at least momentarily distracted by the animal.
(00:23:40) Teshia darts over to the side behind Caraick, gripping the walls of the ruins tightly, and sending a rush of powerful magics into them. if effective, the spell would send a layer of ice coating the stones.
(00:25:38) Barsidious's eyes widen slightly as the floor suddenly becomes quite painfully slippery. The man curses loudly, falling, managing to catch himself on his hands and scrambling awkwardly on the sheet of ice. He summons a powerful spell and begins to weave it in the air, attempting to distract the part as gusts of wind begin to tear around angrily. "You've got minutes, boys and girls!" He shouts over the wind. "Choose wisely!"
(00:26:38) Timil passes out, and his groffel disappears.
(00:27:04) Teshia narrows her eyes, utterly unconcerned with Barsidious, strongly believing that Caraick and Thidin can take care of that. She takes advantage of the slick stones, and the glyphs in her boots to step into the ruin, sliding over to Timil, to try and look him over quickly.
(00:27:46) Caraick slashes his staff through the air, meaning to counteract Barsidious' wind spell with a curious sort of Defensive wind spell. He follows with a quick burst of three small, rounded beams towards the fallen Ylian.
(00:27:55) Timil hangs limply, one arm chained to the wall, and feet chained together.
(00:28:43) Barsidious appears to still be chuckling at the situation. The entire thing is funny to him, clearly. A bit of an issue with sadistic tendency. He slides his way towards the exit and hops just clear of it, away from the ice, Caraick's beams managing to catch his sleeve and sear through it to his arm. He cries out, but manages to catch his feet, still aiming to run.
(00:29:26) Teshia frowns, knowing first hand how dastardly the poison is, and knowing full well that she cannot counteract it on her own. She furrows her brow in concentration and begins to murmur, tracing a rune over Timil's body, trying to first slow the spread of the poison with spells, and secondly, to lower his body temperature, to almost put him in a catatonic state, until help can arrive.
(00:30:44) Caraick moves to his left, narrowing the angle between himself at Barsidious, as the man begins to flee on his feet. A slower moving, compared to the beams, spell bursts silently from the end of his staff, moving in large, pulsating waves focused on the Ylian as he flees. If connected, a powerful Ray of Faith spell awaits the man.
(00:34:37) Barsidious is running mid-step, when the ray strikes him. He looks down in surprise to see a rather interesting array of pretty lights bursting a hole straight through his chest, carrying his heart and various other internal organs out with it. Shocked, he manages to mutter out a few syllables, something like, "Oh...bugger," before falling flat on the ground, quite dead, and vanishing into the realm, leaving not much more than the smell of singed skin and clothing left lingering behind him.
-
(00:35:44) Teshia is paying no attention at all to the fight, more focused on the Ylian before her, trying to keep him alive.
(00:36:04) Caraick quickly turns his staff in a half-spin, returning it to rest across the front of his shoulder, as he darts over nearer to Teshia, and Timil, taking a knee near the man. "How is he?"
(00:36:31) Caraick calls out as he looks over Timil quickly. "Thidin! Watch our backs, if he comes back!"
(00:36:44) Teshia says: No, Thidin! come here, quickly... please.
(00:37:18) Thidin blinks, her names being called for many things, but follows Teshia and comes over by them
(00:37:19) Timil breathes in ragged gasps, still unconscious, though.
(00:38:03) Teshia looks up at Thidin "Do you know anything of poisons? Anything of how to hold them at bay?"
(00:39:10) Thidin starts shaking a bit more, her eyes turning normal again "Tie off the limb."
(00:39:13) Caraick glances back ,and stands, allowing room for Timil.
(00:40:07) Teshia nods, using the ties from her hair to make a tourniquet.
(00:40:22) Teshia says: Caraick... send word to Vire, please. She will know what to do.
(00:41:28) Thidin seems to stutter when she talks, not dealing with the situation well and she stumbles back against the wall "You have to cut below the injection sit an suck out the most amount of the poison as possible..."
(00:42:03) Caraick steps out of the small tower, dispatching a groffel to the klyros in question.
(00:42:42) Teshia nods jerkily, and looks to Caraick "I've lost my dagger... do you have one?"
(00:44:09) Thidin says: Don't.. don’t swallow it.
(00:44:27) Caraick glances back towards Teshia, and spins a dagger out of a sheath on his belt, sliding it across the stone to her.
(00:45:24) Teshia takes a deep breath, closing her hand around the hilt of the dagger, before turning back to Timil. She winces, and tries to make a slit below the poisoned cut, all the while silently praying that Evirea is on the way.
(00:47:44) Timil reflexively winces as the dagger cuts the skin, almost bringing him awake again.
(00:47:53) Timil says: uhnn...
(00:49:06) Teshia frowns "Caraick... can you put him to sleep again? I can't chill him much more."
(00:50:10) Caraick sends off his groffel, then turns as Teshia bids. He walks over, and immediately casts a Magical Sleep spell on the wounded Ylian ,strong enough to knock him out for any amount of pain, but not quite enough to kill the man in his weakened state.
(00:53:48) Timil's breathing slows to a deep, even cadence.
(00:54:10) Teshia frowns and makes a face, before dipping her head to try and suck some of the poisoned blood out.
(00:56:27) Timil continues sleeping under Caraick's magical influence, nearly snoring.
(00:56:53) Evirea pulls up short, panting slightly, and hops up into the tower. She eyes Timil and strides towards him, her hand already in her bags, already groping for her antidote. She finds it, filed neatly as it is in there, and jerks the cork out with her finely pointed teeth, grasps and Timil's arm, and douses the small injury thoroughly.
(00:56:49) Evirea pulls up short, panting slightly, and hops up into the tower. She eyes Timil and strides towards him, her hand already in her bags, already groping for her antidote. She finds it, filed neatly as it is in there, and jerks the cork out with her finely pointed teeth, grasps and Timil's arm, and douses the small injury thoroughly.
(00:56:54) Teshia spits repeatedly, her mouth numbing with the taste of the poison, overall growing a bit queasy "oh thank the gods."
(00:57:51) Evirea tosses what is left to Teshia. "Drink it, now," she says, and begins working her
fingers into Timil's arm, drawing out the venom as it bubbles and foams in response to her antidote.
(00:58:19) Teshia makes a face, but downs the remaining contents, unsure of what it will do when taken orally.
(00:59:22) Evirea removes a strip of clean cloth and wipes at the seeping poison. "It'll make sure you aren't contaminated," she replies, to Teshia's silent query. "You should not have come without me," she adds. "Where is the killer."
(01:00:21) Teshia stands up, and brushes her legs off, looking about for Thidin "When someone is dying, I do not have the convenience of waiting for you to be found. Same as you do not have the luxury of waiting for guards."
(01:01:59) Thidin is just looking down, shaking
(01:02:13) Evirea hisses quietly to herself. "Yes, yes nevermind that," she says hastily, clearly not wanting to discuss this. "WHERE is the killer, and did you get a look at him? Can you identify him?" She finishes wiping the venom from Timil's arm, before leaning forward and pressing her face close to his, checking his breathing.
(01:02:36) Teshia tosses the empty bottle down, and steps closer to Thidin "Hey... you ok?"
(01:02:51) Teshia seems to be ignoring Evirea for the time being.
(01:04:10) Evirea rolls her eyes and returns the favor, at least for now. Despite her callous behavior and apparent obsessiveness, she seems to be very much concerned about Timil, perhaps more concerned than she was for Teshia. She places her fingers against this neck and checks his pulse, nodding once. "Good job keeping him alive," she says gruffly. A compliment if there ever was one. "I think he'll pull through."
(01:04:53) Thidin says: I'm fine...
(01:05:48) Teshia murmurs quietly "It's lucky you arrived when you did." It's certainly not unusual for the people around her to be more concerned about others, and even the gruffness is so commonplace, that she merely takes it in stride. She nods to Thidin "You look like you could use a drink."
(01:06:20) Thidin nods to Teshia
(01:06:22) Thidin says: Please.
(01:07:10) Evirea pulls a blanket out of her travelsack and begins to wrap it tightly around Timil's unconscious form. Then, rubbing her ring, she summons her rivnak and stoops low, trying to heft some of the dead weight up. To no avail. A heavyweight lifter a klyros does not make.
(01:07:48) Teshia glances to Evirea "Move." She nods and motions for Thidin to go ahead and mount up.
(01:08:30) Evirea gives her eyes another roll, but obliges the command well enough, stepping to the side.
(01:08:53) Thidin walks out of the enclosure, hoping on Arnou
(01:09:21) Teshia carries around three cubs, one that weighs almost as much as his daddy, so one Ylian isn't too much for her to move. She bends over and tries to lift the unconscious man up.
(01:09:51) Evirea steps aside, holding the reigns of her Rivnak.
(01:10:07) Teshia then moves outside, trying to lift the man atop one of the waiting mounts.
(01:10:42) Evirea slowly arches a brow and then runs the ring on her own finger. She strides after Teshia, following the other woman.
(01:11:44) Teshia says: Let's get you both to the Stonehead. A fire and ale should help.
(01:11:52) Thidin heads off
(01:12:07) Evirea silently follows
(01:18:58) Rizula wanders back in and looks surprised at the crowd.
(01:19:05) Emmara glances to the bottle of milk, "that's it right now. I might have some water in my pack if you want me to check."
(01:19:06) Atagal snickers "Find drinks behind the counter."
(01:19:48) Teshia looks to Evirea "Can you check him while I go look for something back there?"
(01:19:55) Emmara's head snaps around to the entrance. She stands suddenly and growls outright at the familiar figure.
(01:20:25) Rigwyn wanders into the stonehead wearing a long black riding cloak. A cowl hands over his head casting a shadow over his eyes and nose. Quietly, he takes a seat in the corner.
(01:20:31) Thidin shakes her head "i don't need anything! I'm fine!'
(01:20:41) Thidin looks down at the table, still shaking.
(01:20:53) Evirea walks closer to Timil, hands already wrapping round the strap on her shoulder, and flings the parcel onto the table. She rummages through it, pulling out a needle and thread, searching for the injury on Timil's arm.
(01:20:59) Rizula's gaze turns toward the cloaked figure. She approaches him, giving a little smile. "Hiya."
(01:21:12) Atagal whispers to Emmara
(01:21:51) Teshia heads around behind the bar, smiling to Rizula on the way. She digs around, producing a very dirty bottle of some unknown vintage.. "this will have to do."
(01:22:27) Rigwyn shifts in his seat as if uncomfortable - cursing the metal pants.
(01:23:12) Teshia moves back to the table and thunks the bottle down. She looks back over at Rigwyn and smiles "Fraid there's not a barmaid here right now. But the fires warm, and there's plenty of room."
(01:23:33) Emmara watches the figure in the back of the stonehead.
(01:23:34) Evirea finds the injury and quickly moves to douse it with alcohol. She doesn't notice the commotion from the fenki beside her, nor Rigwyn's presence, since he is wearing a disguise. She takes the needle after dipping it into the sanitizing solution, and begins to work it back and forth over the knife wound to stitch it shut. "I told you not to get involved, Mr. Deeps."
(01:23:38) Rizula moves closer to the table. "This seat taken sah?"
(01:23:48) Thidin sets her cheek on the cold table, looking at the fire.
(01:23:49) Rigwyn keeps his head down and waves dismissively at Teshia.. "I'm fine"
(01:24:20) Rigwyn peers at Rizula and nods, "Please.. feel free"
(01:24:57) Teshia surreptitiously begins to observe Thidin, completely unphased by the two behind her. She obviously doesn't recognize Rigwyn through his disguise, but she knows Rizula, and is rather fond of the girl, so she assumes all is well.
(01:25:43) Thidin begins to trace the table with her finger
(01:25:51) Rizula unbuckles a shortsword from her belt and lays it on the table in front of her. She can barely lift the thing.
(01:25:58) Atagal looks at Emmara
(01:26:07) Timil's eyes start to focus, and he sees Evirea working on his arm. He winces as the needle punctures his skin, despite the lack of any serious pain, and more because of the Klyan's words.
(01:27:02) Rigwyn quietly looks up at Rizula as if studying her face for a moment, the glances at her sword and comments, "That's one hell of a bread knife there... I take it you're not a chef?"
(01:27:05) Rigwyn smirks
(01:27:26) Evirea finishes the stitching and begins to wrap the arm tightly in swaths of gauze. This finished, she tucks one end neatly into the other and then pulls the blanket tightly around the Ylian's shoulders. She keeps her hand pressed unwittingly against his back, between his shoulders, and studies him. "It is not meant as offense, Mr. Deeps. You could have gotten yourself killed."
(01:27:39) Rizula giggles. "No sah, but I a'int a swordswoman eithah. I found this lyin' around."
(01:28:05) Rigwyn says: Oh, Mind if I take a look?
(01:28:08) Teshia looks Timil over, frowning softly "Does it pain you? I can numb it some..."
(01:28:32) Thidin suddenly stops moving her finger and stops shaking, recognizing Rigwyn's voice.
(01:28:32) Timil shakes his head. "No, thanks Teshia... I'm numb enough."
(01:28:40) Rizula unsheathes the sword and pushes it towards Rigwyn a little.
(01:29:29) Emmara nods and speaks lot into Atagal's ear. "I know, Ata."
(01:29:52) Evirea frowns at Timil and moves her hand up, trying to massage gently the muscles present on the back of his neck. "How is your sense of feel? If you cannot feel that could have lingering effects and I'll need to administer something more. Can you feel?"
(01:29:59) Rigwyn touches the sword, then looks into Rizula's eyes. After a second, he lifts it up to examine the blade. "Thats a fine fenki skinner miss."
(01:30:22) Rigwyn chuckles - peeking at Rizula from under his cowl.
(01:30:24) Atagal sighs
(01:30:48) Teshia frowns softly, watching Evirea, and trusting the klyros to know what is best.
(01:30:53) Rizula smirks. "S'menkies I'd skin, if I could swing it. Not all of 'um, mind ya, I just...got some enemies."
(01:30:56) Timil nods. "Yes, thank you Evirea... I'm just... cold." Timil takes a deep breath.
(01:31:44) Evirea frowns once more. She digs to the bottom of her travelsack and pulls out a thick woolen fleece. Using this, she wraps it around the blanket already present, very tightly.
(01:31:45) Rigwyn nods, then puts it down and slides it back towards Rizula - pomel first. "Don't get me wrong... got nothing against 'em just one or two.."
(01:31:56) Teshia tisks softly, unable to ignore someone talking about skinning the glorious creations that are menkis. "for shame!"
(01:32:33) Thidin seems to be just listening, still looking into the fire
(01:32:56) Emmara watches the exchange but stays still.
(01:33:42) Rigwyn says: Faking a caught, Rigwyn mumbles, "Say eh ... My back is killin me, and my throat's a bit hoarse.. Got a bit of a cold. I’d offer ta buy ya a drink, but I'm too lazy to get up or shout... Mind orderin if I pay?
(01:34:24) Rizula tilts her head. "Heard the stuff was free here."
(01:34:34) Timil mumbles, "He said something about the truth... What..." Timil looks into Evirea's eyes, with an expression he's never worn before. "What was he going to show me?"
(01:34:49) Rigwyn says: Oh? Heh heh .. even better
(01:35:38) Emmara moves away with a soft comment to Atagal. "Elady, wouldn't want the customers to go unattended. I'll get some things from the pantry."
(01:35:41) Rizula says: I know where they keep it, too. Be right back sah.
(01:36:00) Emmara steps off the bench, "Does anyone else need anything to drink or eat. I can open the pantry."
(01:36:03) Teshia's eyes glaze over a bit, and her expression darkens as she watches Timil and Evirea. The tips of her fingers even begin to frost over just a tad as he frowns deeply. She listens to see what manner of explanation Evirea will give for the lies spun by Barsidious.
(01:36:08) Atagal looks to Emmara "Take the bundle with?"
(01:36:35) Teshia shakes her head to Emmara "no thank you."
(01:36:48) Thidin mocks Rizula saying "Sah." softly.
(01:37:14) Emmara looks back to Atagal and shakes her head slightly.
(01:37:31) Rizula sets a red liquor in front of Rigwyn and a water pouch in front of herself. "Always liked this place for it. That and how far away the guards are."
(01:37:33) Evirea's face flickers with a wide array of emotions: anger, resentment, bitterness. Sorrow. These pass by quickly, replaced by a calm, serene expression. Her hand moves to try and take Timil's chin gently as she raises his face towards hers. "Listen very carefully to me now, Mr. Deeps. It does not matter what he told you, you only need know that it was false. The man is insane, he's a killer, and he is evil. There is nothing more you need to know. I've dealt with psychopaths like him numerous times. Whatever 'truth' he wanted to teach you is only tainted, you should disregard it, and banish it from your mind. Do you understand me?" She looks him straight in the eye and awaits affirmation.
(01:38:44) Teshia snorts quietly, knowing first hand of these truths, and how invariably they hold some degree of certainty, despite what the klyros would try to tell the wounded man.
(01:39:19) Rigwyn sinks slightly, then glances over at Thidin. Looking back at Rizula he takes the mug and raises it with a grin. "I know what you mean. Sometimes its nice to just get away for a while..though that can be hard at times. " Slowly, he begins to draw from his mug.
(01:39:39) Timil gazes into Evirea's eyes, expression hardening, then softening with acquiescent nods. "Okay. I understand.... Thank you."
(01:40:16) Emmara slides past Atagal and moves toward the far side of the tavern.
(01:40:47) Evirea sighs. "You need to get some rest, Mr. Deeps," she says. "You should find a bed." She keeps her hand against the man's back as it shifts away from his face, a strangely protective gesture, and finally, she turns her attention to the other commotion in the room, centered around the cloaked figure in the back.
(01:41:56) Timil looks around the room for a bed, still not thinking entirely logically.
(01:42:02) Teshia gives Evirea a strangely hard look, golden eyes narrowed at the crystalline orbs. She murmurs in an unobtrusive enough voice "our temple is not far, Timil can rest there until he is recovered."
(01:42:09) Rizula says, a little too loudly, "I mean, a'int like they got no reason to give me trouble," she lowers it to a normal volume again, "but them guards back in Oja all thought I was a crook just 'cause Mama worked our street."
(01:42:19) Emmara walks up to the table with the nolthrir and the cloaked figure. "Can I get either of you something to eat?"
(01:42:40) Rigwyn looks down and shakes his head as if to gesture no.
(01:42:44) Rizula looks back at Emmara and nods. "Yeah...a fish, sliced real thin. Raw, please."
(01:43:01) Evirea returns the look right to Teshia. She may not know why she's receiving it, but she can take a gander. "Better to be cautions and let a weary mind settle before flinging other ordeals upon it," she says, her tone firm.
(01:43:14) Emmara smiles to Rizula, "A fine choice. I'll see if we have any in stock."
(01:43:25) Thidin looks back at Rizula and Rigwyn and the conversation get louder.
(01:43:51) Teshia replies coolly "I see your wisdom and kindness knows so few bounds. he is quite lucky to have been entrusted to your care."
(01:43:51) Emmara heads to the pantry.
(01:43:58) Rigwyn slides his hand into a pouch and pulls out a quill and a small scrap of paper... then begins to write a single word.
(01:44:23) Rigwyn slides it towards Emmara with his left hand.
(01:44:30) Timil nods, agreeing genuinely with Teshia's words, if not her tone.
(01:45:00) Teshia forces a smile to Timil, looking on the man with kindness, if not tenderness. "You're safe now."
(01:45:05) Thidin raises a brow as she watches them but soon looks back away, putting her head down
(01:45:07) Evirea smirks slightly at Teshia's reply, as though she finds it amusing. "Oh, but no more lucky to have been entrusted to yours, Mrs. Dastrid," she replies. Strangely her tone is considerably less cold, or sarcastic, as she adds, "He would have died without your assistance, rest assured."
(01:45:31) Teshia narrows her eyes slightly "pray don't mock me. I was being genuine... for once."
(01:45:47) Emmara catches the motion as she starts to head for the pantry. She turns back and takes the paper. She opens it casually and looks at it. With a smile and nod to the stranger. "Ma'am I'll be back with something suitable, hopefully fish."
(01:46:59) Evirea winks an eye shut in one sluggish motion. "Ah, but there you see....so was I."
(01:47:40) Teshia tosses her hair dismissively, looking instead to Thidin "are you sure you don't need anything?"
(01:48:06) Evirea smirks in self-satisfaction and looks back to Timil, closely studying his vital signs.
(01:48:07) Rigwyn whispers rather loudly, "That fenki that took the note... Heh heh.. She's a sneaky one."
(01:48:39) Rizula tilts her head quizzically. "I allowed to know what was on it?"
(01:49:11) Thidin says rather bitterly "Something strong."
(01:49:13) Rigwyn whispers rather loudly again, "Trust me, you don't want to know."
(01:49:25) Teshia pushes the bottle over "try that."
(01:49:30) Rigwyn looks around suspiciously, then smirks.
(01:50:06) Atagal glances to Rigwyn "Stop disturbing the peace."
(01:50:32) Rizula nods and then turns to Atagal. "He a'int causin' no trouble. We's just talkin'."
(01:51:09) Thidin picks her head up to look at the bottle "What is it?"
(01:51:26) Teshia shrugs "strong. Should get the job done."
(01:51:55) Evirea seems to take note of Thidin suddenly, and tilts her head at the clamod fenki, studying her condition with pursed lips and tightened eyes.
(01:52:57) Teshia leans forwards and taps her fingers lightly on the table. She looks up from under her lashes at Evirea, a very solemn, almost wicked expression, one that is clearly protective in nature.
(01:53:51) Thidin pulls it towards her before throwing the bottle into the fire, a small explosion as a result as she sets her head back down.
(01:54:02) Emmara brings back some fish. "I found some fish in the pantry." She looks around confused, "Your friend left?"
(01:54:19) Evirea either doesn't notice this expression, or does not care about it. She seems to be pointedly ignoring or, perhaps due to her own lack of social graces, unaware of the tension coming from the ylian. "Have you cleaned all of those properly?"
(01:55:05) Teshia chuckles softly at Thidin's actions, her fierce expression never leaving Evirea.
(01:55:24) Thidin sighs "Not good enough."
(01:56:11) Evirea stands up, rotating her pack so that she can have easy access to her utensils. She studies the bandages on the fenki's arms. "Allow me," she says.
(01:56:35) Thidin suddenly sits up as she looks to Evirea "What?"
(01:57:06) Teshia makes absolutely no pretense about staring at the klyros as she's attending Thidin. Her demeanor is rigid, and tense, but she speaks quietly and with a forced calm to Thidin "She's quite skilled. it will help you."
(01:57:53) Evirea quirks a brow. "Wounds will not heal well if they are not properly cleaned. I am inquiring if you would allow me to clean your injuries to ensure that no infection is possible." She blinks at Teshia, this time not able to dismiss her obvious tension, though she clearly does not understand its source.
(01:58:21) Thidin points to Evirea "Shangshi caused this. No one touches them."
(01:58:41) Teshia says: Thidin... please...
(01:59:06) Emmara brings back some fish. "I found some fish in the pantry." She sets a piece of paper on the table and slides it back to the cloaked patron. "I'm sorry, I forgot to give you your paper back."
(01:59:17) Thidin seems rather strong about her answer.
(01:59:37) Rigwyn keeps his head down, then reaches out and takes the paper back.
(01:59:37) Rizula nods her approval at the raw fish that definitely isn't Carp Delight. "Thanks, miss."
(01:59:46) Emmara sets the fish dish on the table in front of the Nolthrir. "If you need anything else, I'm Emmara."
(02:00:06) Evirea tilts her head curiously. "I don't know who that is, but that does not dismiss the fact that infection could occur. I will not stitch them. I'll leave them open and bleeding to your heart's content. I want only to wash them. You can show them to your boyfriend if you want to."
(02:00:24) Teshia leans down and whispers something emphatically to Thidin, gesticulating rapidly with one hand.
(02:02:01) Rizula says: I'm alright, thanks, miss Emmara
(02:02:22) Thidin quickly looks to Teshia, obviously bothered by her words before she slams her head onto the table, covering it with her arms "leave me alone!"
(02:02:22) Emmara nods politely, "Enjoy." She moves away.
(02:03:05) Evirea blinks. Then, without warning, she plucks up her bottle of alcohol...and unceremoniously attempts to dump it directly onto the clamod's arms.
(02:03:07) Timil glances at Thidin with concern.
(02:03:18) Teshia gives a deadpan face and snaps "if you break that table with your hard head, you'll be buying a new one!"
(02:03:25) Rigwyn takes the note, reads it, then crumbles it into ball. Within seconds, the note is surrounded by a thick black shadow. From his lips fall a faint whisper, "Curse your home."
(02:04:05) Atagal looks over to Emmara "Ever noticed those who wish to cloak themselves seem to always stink?"
(02:04:49) Timil says: By the way.... Did anyone see my weapons and glyphs back at the ruins? Barsidious took them offa me.
(02:04:53) Emmara gives a casual smile to Atagal.
(02:05:05) Thidin screams as the alcohol burns her arms. She looks up to Evirea and in her rage goes to tackle her.
(02:05:07) Rigwyn leans to the side and pulls a flask from his sack. Looking at Rizula his whispers, "Sorry, I must go."
(02:05:20) Teshia frowns and reaches out, trying to grab Thidin from behind.
(02:05:24) Rizula nods. "Nice meetin' ya, sah," she says through a mouthful of fish.
(02:06:05) Rigwyn leaps from his seat, then splashes the contents of his flask at Emmara's nose as he darts past her.
(02:06:16) Thidin is stopped just in time by Teshia, screaming "Why would you do that you idiotic piece of flesh. You should go soak in the sewers with the rats!"
(02:06:52) Atagal lifts her paw so that a flame vaporizes the content
(02:07:11) Evirea shrugs once. "Madam, she says, looking at the clamod calmly. "You'll thank me for that later when you don't die of some nasty bacterium that locks you in tetany."
(02:07:37) Teshia tries to calm Thidin "shhh... I know it hurts, but it wont last long."
(02:07:48) Rizula turns around to watch the things going on behind her.
(02:08:11) Thidin looks back at Rigwyn, noticing his leaving "And where are you going?!"
(02:08:32) Emmara flinches away from the splash instinctively, but it is not enough to keep it from hitting her face.
(02:08:48) Rigwyn barrels out the door and down the ramp.
(02:08:56) Teshia smirks a bit, and steps back, figuring it's better to let Thidin tackle him than the frail klyros. she murmurs under her breath. "nice knowing you."
(02:09:10) Thidin runs after him
(02:09:11) Evirea turns back to Timil. "I've your weapons and glyphs," she explains to him, and moves towards him, depositing her load before him. One might wonder how that small fry manages to carry all of these things.
(02:09:27) Emmara's hears try to lay down but even with a soft hiss from some of it vaporizing. Her nose is dampened by some of the liquid.
(02:10:34) Timil smiles gratefully to the Klyros. "Thank you. I appreciate it very much."
(02:10:35) Rizula buckles her sword back on and picks up her water pouch. She walks towards Teshia. "What's with the fenki?"
(02:10:44) Evirea looks around. "Well!" She says, slightly animated. "It has been an interesting evening, has it not?" She turns her head, looking Timil over once more. "I don't suppose you got a look at the killer of have any idea who it was. No? Shocker."
(02:11:00) Teshia looks from Evirea to Timil, moving to sit tiredly down on the bench. She wipes some fo the puddle of alcohol away, letting the thin layer evaporate "My guess, man trouble."
(02:11:17) Atagal moves up to Emmara "Lurre?"
(02:11:25) Teshia winks to Rizula and pats the bench "come sit."
(02:11:55) Rizula sits. "She one of the fenkies he apparently wants to skin?"
(02:11:58) Atagal glances over to Teshia "You may wish to follow the fenki before she gets hurt more."
(02:11:59) Timil grimaces. "He was wearing a mask... but..." Timil smirks, "If he's the same man who had his arms healed at Kada El's, then I could recognize him again."
(02:12:11) Emmara lefts her face to look at Atagal. Her muzzle curls into a snarl. "Not here...not ever again."
(02:12:29) Teshia glances over to Atagal "I'd be more concerned with him coming back intact than her. My sister can fend for herself well enough."
(02:12:49) Atagal says: Yeah seems like it..
(02:13:11) Emmara turns to leave.
(02:13:14) Atagal looks to Emmara "Lurre sa." she pulls a cloth from her pack and rubs Emmara's nose with it (if she lets him)
(02:13:29) Evirea notes Teshia's term of endearment with a slight smile, one that fades upon hearing Timil's words and turning them over in her head. She reaches her fingers up to rub at her temples, and massages them, closing her blood shot eyes. "Thank you Timil, I will keep you posted," she replies, her voice slightly high and strained.
(02:14:09) Atagal reaches for Emmara's paw "Lurre we both saw you at the ulber furs."
(02:14:15) Teshia shrugs absently to Rizula, not really inclined to discuss Thidin's apparent love-life. She traces a design on the stone bench and gives Evirea a wicked grin "Oh, but I saw him leading you across the plaza, Timil"
(02:16:56) Timil glances over to Teshia, looking awkward and slightly embarrassed. "You saw that? How was my drunk act?"
(02:16:58) Emmara's paw is caught by Atagal's. She turns back as she feels the restraining force on her arm. Her voice is tense but not loud, "Let me go, Ata. I just want to make sure is out of the area."
(02:17:18) Teshia says: Quite convincing. *She winks*
(02:17:36) Timil is not sure how to take that. "Uh... thanks?"
(02:17:38) Evirea laughs softly to herself, observing for a moment longer. Then, the seemingly exhausted klyros gets up without a word, and makes her way out of the tavern.
(02:17:57) Atagal hisses lightly "So some one can get you with a arrow?"
(02:17:59) Timil calls after Evirea "Thanks again!"
-
Being dead was really quite bothersome. For one, there was the whole process of having died, which in this case had been wholly unpleasant. Not that dying was ever a particularly enjoyable experience, but having an incinerating ray shot directly through your chest had to at least be up there somewhere on the list of unfortunate demises.
Shouldn't have forgotten the ring of familiar, he thought, turning his head and listening to the silent echoes throughout the death realm. Always remove the rings. I'm getting sloppy; it was my own fault, really.
Glancing down at his ankle, he tore off a section of his robe and wrapped it around the shallow scratches the blasted groffel had left there. He was certain that they were sitting up there in self-satisfaction at the moment, quite proud at having saved their friend from this dastardly villain. In truth they'd only denied Timil the chance to have the most valuable, soul-searching lesson he ever had...but, he supposed he would simply have to live with this failure. He had a few more slots to fill before his pièce de résistance. Another target would have to be selected, and he merely needed turn his attention to that endeavor.
Once he found his way out of this damnable place, at any rate.
Now the true loss here was the loss of his anonymity. He had no doubt that they would succeed in stopping the poison from doing its work. Which meant that, unless they were the most incompetant lot imaginable, (not wholly impossible but sadly rather unlikely,) they could peg down who he was. He needed a new face, as it were. He could create that illusion well enough. With a bit of spell application he could weave himself a new body, even, in the eyes of anyone without the expertise to see through the guise. Unforunately, there were those who could peer through the facade and see the truth behind it. So he needed something to throw this off, somehow. To create something behind this new mask that would make them instantly turn their eyes away with guilt, chagrin at having tried to search him out.
He sighed. This was going to be more of a bother than the actual dying, sadly. And would hurt a great deal. Such a pity. He really rather liked his face, too. He was not the most handsome man, no, but he did think it had kindly enough qualities. Good for his deception. Ah, but there was yet some hilarious irony in what he now had to do. The insides coming to bear on the outside, some might say.
But first the clothing. He imagined such notable robes as these would be noteworthy in one's description of him. So, without too much thought, he removed them, and tossed them over the metal grating to hover in the air briefly before floating down into the empty abyss.
Finding a change of clothing was not difficult in this place. Quickly enough he found a corpse, which provided a ragged ensemble to be certain, but it would suit his needs. He stripped the deceased of its sparse wares and observed as the desicated husk crumpled into so much fine, white powder. Shaking the threadbare tunic, he relieved it of most of the remnants of its previous owner before pulling it over his own head. The pants came next, patched nearly beyond recognition and tattered at the ends. Luckily the shoes weren't an issue; his boots were common enough not to be notable. Grasping his ruby amulet in his hand, he dropped it beneath the newly found shirt and was comforted by the cold feel of metal agains his skin.
Now wearing peasant's garb, Barsidious turned to his next task. One that would more most...distasteful. And yet it was necesary. He would not stop, could not stop, in his pursuit of Truth. He would do anything to enlighten those around him to its persistence, to its presence. It was his calling, after all. His duty to the world.
Down in the bowels of the Death Realm, the crazed Ylian worked quickly. He had precious little time. His employer would be making demands soon, sending messangers to seek him out. He could hardly meet them at specified locations, found out as he was. First, he had to secure a certain secrecy.
Sitting down on the rusted bars and grimy grating, he pulled a bottle of acid from his travelsack. He soaked a length of cloth in a combative agent so that his eyes would not be devestated, and tied it tightly around them, blinding himself. His fingers groped until they found a bit of twisted metal, and this he wrapped with yet more fabric, before thrusting it between his teeth and biting down harshly, the muscles in his jaw evident in the exercise, making sure that no part of his mouth was open.
He tilted his head back. And he poured the acid over his face, his screams echoing so loudly that the nearby carakas shuddered and warily drew back in fear. It made quick work of his skin, tearing the cells apart, leaving bloody rivulets dripping from his chin as it bit down deep into muscle and sinew. Finally, when the pain was beyond bearing, he grappled at what was left of the more basic liquid and splashed it over his face. His hands glittered with inexpert Crystal Way, not enough to remove this manic self-mutilation, but enough to hasten the process to its inevitable scarring.
For a long while he sat there, his hands covering his throbbing face, sobbing in the overwhelming agony. Dakkru would surely have enjoyed such a display, had she been privy to it. The act of masochism was like a final declaration of mania. Perhaps not in his own mind, yet it was nevertheless a truth.
When finally he found the courage, Barsidious removed his fingers, the white glimmer of magic dispersing as he stopped channeling the spell. He ran his hands over what was left; feeling the exposed muscle along his left cheek, the tiny gap left there where the flesh had been thoroughly eaten through. His skin felt dead, numb, the feeling ebbing away as the nerve endings responded to his healing by becoming necrotic faster and quickly dying off. The shape of his face had been lost entirely, leaving this amorphous, hideous mask, one that he could never remove.
His breathing ragged and hoarse, the ylian began to crawl on his hands and knees, feeling his way along the grating, the blindfold still present. He reached back to loosen the tie when he bumped into some object or other, and it fell away easily. Between his hands was a battered remnant of a breastplate, rusted and dusty. Feeling suddenly desperate, he began to claw away at the erosion, wiping at it with his sullied sleeves, until he could use it as a reflective surface.
The pale-white palor of his skin unsettled him. He truly looked as though he were walking dead. The wrinkles that he'd gained over the years were gone, replaced by an unnatural smoothness, except where the ruddy fingers of the acid had left furrows and deep, painful crevices in his skin. The exposed muscle was darkened and had been covered by scar tissue, appearing as though he had suffered this accident long, long ago.
It took a moment to connect this face with his own. When he did, he could not help but laugh at the thought of it. Yes, he would still use a shaky illusion to try and cover himself, when he could. And when people suspected him because of it, they would force him to drop the spell and expose what was behind it.
And they would wail in astonishment and disgust at what they saw.
But they would certainly not know him for who he was. And that was what he had needed in the end, was it not?
The man stumbled, still deranged, to his feet. He began to shuffle along the grating, searching for a cloak among he skeletons and bones, something to cover himself with. He found one; black in color, strangely in good condition as though it had recently passed on with the wearer. Snatching his up, Barsidious swung it over his shoulders and tied the string round his throat, still chuckling softly, still breathing as though every lungful would be his last. He had traversed this realm before, and he knew that it would not take him long to find his way back to the surface.
It was all only a matter of time, and everything would be as he had ordained.
-
Poor Barsidious, don'tcha know anyone competent would expect a disguise after that?
oh wait, competence. Nevermind, good idea! ;D
-
The halls were filled with an incredible amount of splendor. Riches that would make even the most affluent of hearts palpate with envy. Old money, one might say, laced with a classical air that lent the already monumental building a feeling of nearly oppressive power. Rippling red tapestries lined the polished rock walls, smooth and soft as silk, reminiscent of water flowing down the side of a mountain. Expensive paintings, detailed with an expert brush, seemed to watch and follow the passerby with eyes that nearly jumped off the canvas with their own life. They depicted a family line, or so one might deduce, for their noble features were nearly identical in every portrait, the family resemblance rarely deviating in their finely boned elven faces. Crystalline chandeliers hung low from high-vaulted ceilings, catching the light in their mirroring shards and scattering it in iridescent streaks down to the royal blue carpet below. Wide windows, punctuated with stained glass depictions of soaring Pterosaurs and various effigies of the gods, interspersed the stone to make the Gothic masonry somewhat lighter.
It was into these halls that Ariletar wandered. The massive oaken doors opened wide before him with a resounding thud, echoing down through the many cavernous passageways in a way that almost seemed sacrilegiously disruptive of the usual silence. The carvings upon the surface of those doors had bothered him at first; people being mauled by various assortments of animals and battles being fought, all immortalized in varnished wood. Not the brightest nor cheeriest things to recall to be certain, yet one could not help but note the talent of the sculptor whose hands had crafted this piece of functional artwork.
Shifting his leather satchel, the messenger cast wary glances towards the many acrylic visages that followed his traversing the regal carpet. He'd polished his shoes to shining as bidden before even entering, but here in the midst of this copious material wealth, even though he could nearly see his own reflection in the polished boots, it still did not feel enough. He sullied even the floor with his presence.
Deciding it was best to avoid these eternal sentinels, Ariletar moved faster, focusing on the beating of his own loyal heart, drawing ever closer to his destination. His footsteps were muffled by the thick carpeting, but that hardly stopped it from being overly audible in the otherwise empty and seemingly abandoned space. The feeling of intrusion was intense, almost palpable, as though the entire building wanted to heave and retch him from its bowels before he could do any more disgraceful damage. The Ylian's hands were slicked with sweat, especially where one rested on top of the sack that contained his goods, his delivery. Unconsciously his fingers slipped inside to touch the small pouch contained therein, to reassure himself simply of its presence. This calmed him, at least some, though the hair on the back of his neck still prickled in the sensation of being avidly watched with haughty condemnation.
It would not be difficult to lose oneself in this place. The halls were spacious, yes, but they were labyrinthine in design. Door after door lead into varied parlors and bedrooms and dining areas, with little indication on their surface as to what precisely lay behind them. And though each the twin of the other, they still proclaimed loudly the wealth of the owner, for the wood was polished to a dull glow, and the knobs all resembled purest gold.
Luckily this was not the messenger's first time in this place. It had at first tempted his urge to pocket one artifact or other, if only to carry it around with him as a memento of this manor. He no longer had any such urge. In fact, he had a strange and superstitious notion that the proprietor of this establishment would find him out, and that the consequence would be considerably more extreme than simply handing back the looted goods.
Time seemed halted here, and that fact only made his haste more desperate. He counted in his mind the many golden circles he would receive for the delivery of his package, and that alleviated his worry, even as he rounded a corner and stopped before a second set of massive doors. These were wrought painstakingly in cast iron, and upon the surface was rendered images of a monstrous megaras, their wings out at full span, tiny rubies glistening in the carved eye sockets, red as blood. The claws seemed the extend out towards those wishing entrance, coming to a cruel point, and Ariletar had the strangest sensation that at any moment they could rip free of their metal prison and eviscerate him where he stood gawking before he even had the chance to turn tail and flee. Their fangs were three-dimensional and menacing, and if he stepped closer to get a better view, he swore he could see what appeared to be human bones stuck between their teeth.
That was ridiculous of course. Who would want such a grotesque scene emblazoned as a part of their décor?
Nodding to the guard stationed before this last barrier between him and his prize, Ariletar strode through with forced confidence as the doors creaked their way open, inward, allowing access to the dimly lit study that they superimposed themselves before. The pungent aroma of jasmine and other assorted herbs assaulted him instantly, smoke wafting about from jars of incense set inconspicuously in the corners of the room. Bookshelves lined the walls, leaving no spaces between them, thickly bound tomes crowded so closely one wondered how they could even be pulled out and examined. The only light came from a fire place set at the center, the mantle hung with a vast array of dead and conquered game, ranging from trepor heads to ulbernaut arms, so carefully preserved that not even the slightest indication of rot could be seen upon them. Before this generous hearth was a desk, the legs carved into intricate carakas' feet and made from the flesh of ancient pine. In a high-backed chair behind the desk sat one man, a dermorian. His hair was black, which was strange in and of itself, especially for his race. Reaching his shoulders at least, it was bound back out of his pale face, smoothed and gleaming with oil. Bright green eyes peered up over the rims of his glasses, gazing at Ariletar in a dismissive way that left no question as to his personal value in this instance.
“You have what I need,” the man said, his pointed gaze returning to the book opened before him. It was a statement, and not a question, a blatant way to express his impatience in the matter. Occasionally his hand, fingers wrapped lightly around a carakas-feather quill, moved to fill in another line of text. The sound of his writing was the only one to be heard, save for the Ylian's breathing.
“Yes, sir,” Ariletar replied. He meant to sound confident, but instead his voice reminded him of the squeak of a startled mouse or a thoroughly cowed puppy. He cleared his throat and repeated the statement, adding “M'lord” to the end of it to make the title more praising, before he bowed low, his torso bending fully in half.
The elf stood, setting aside his work, moving around the desk. His clothing was bright in color, the tunic he wore stained with a violent red and set with polished brass buttons, his pants as black as his hair and completely wrinkle-free. As he straightened, the Ylian was struck as usual by the man's face: high arching cheekbones and the usual delicate features one would expect of a dermorian, and yet something stretched about them, something off, as though he wore a perfectly fitted mask that could only be noticed through repeated observation. It was so similar to the faces on the paintings in the hall that one had to wonder just how direct this lineage was, for certainly the genetic heritage was unmistakable.
“Well,” he pressed, his tone bored. He looked as though he wanted to swat the messenger away like a pesky and ambitious fly. Already he held a bag of jingling tria in his palm, and though the sum was generous, to him it was like tossing change down a well in the hope of having one's wish granted.
Earnestly, Ariletar dug around in his bags and drew forth his prize: the disintegrated remains of the fenki bard Barsidious had provided him with. He moved to laid this beside the tria and then grab it for himself, but the elf drew his hand back with a hiss of disapproval, lest he be touched by this inferior being.
“I imagine the floor is cleaner than you. Set it there, if you would be so kind, and you shall have your reward.”
Instantly, like a hound well trained to respond to a whistle of command, the Ylian stooped towards the center of the room and placed this tiny pouch upon the ground, backing away from it so quickly that he nearly tripped over the copious carpet. He again opened his hand to accept his payment, and this time the elf dropped the agreed upon sum into his open palms, his nose wrinkled in derision.
“There you are, you have your money. Now take it and go, and bring me the next before the month is up, or you will be deducted starkly on your next installment.”
With that statement made, the elf turned away from his guest, making his way for the tiny bundle of ashes that held his interest with a rapt attention. He stooped and scooped it into his own hands, his long thin fingers cradling it, his eyes shining with a greed that far surpassed a simple love of gold. The expression was akin to the look of a man dying of thirst, stumbling upon a fount of pure water in the midst of an arid desert. But then it was gone, quickly as it had appeared, and the impassive facade that he frequently wore followed to take its place.
Ariletar was more than happy to oblige the request, and had already angled for the door, one foot pressed upon the threshold, when the elf barked at him to stop. The order was nearly physical, the man might as well have tightened a vice around his chest, and a shock of cold shot down his spine. In his head he was carefully reviewing every exchange that had occurred during their simple interaction, and, finding no grievous breech in conduct, he dipped his head once more in a sign of submission.
“My Lord Teeleh,” he murmured, not meeting his eyes as the dermorian strode closer, a letter produced from a pocket in his vest, held lightly between his fingers. He offered it to the Ylian, and he accepted, careful not to actually touch Teeleh's skin in a way that would surely be taken as demeaning.
“You will deliver this to Barsidious,” he said. “I am in need of additional supplies, and expect a larger harvest when next you come to my door.”
Although he was nearly a full head taller than the elf, Ariletar could not help but feel small as the man managed to look down at him, despite the height difference. Indeed, he felt much like a worm, an inconsequential, slimy grub that could be squished quite efficiently with the tip of his boot. The only sad thing about his demise would be the cleaning of the dermorian's souls.
“As usual, your sum will be deducted further if my command is not carried out,” Teeleh stated, his eyes boring into his skull. The contact lasted only for a moment. The effect was profound. Ariletar's heart rate sped up to nearly twice what it had been, and a shudder of sheer and inexplicable terror traveled up and down his spine.
His only response was to clear his head and nod, and Teeleh was already on the other side of the room and studying the display above the fire by the time he recovered. Again, he felt the relief of nearly being free of this place, and was fully outside the doorway when the elf made one final declaration, his eyes still fixed upon the dead and mounted heads that lined the wall.
“I do not need to remind you of the consequences, should you decide to inform others of our arrangement, I trust.”
The thought of those lifeless eyes staring collectively at his back induced another shudder, and his voice was high-pitched in his ears as he replied in the affirmative. No longer able to stand the tangible tension in the air, the ylian scurried off like a frightened rat back down the hall, longing for the entrance, the iron doors slamming shut behind him with a ringing finality.
-
In order to make this work I'm probably going to need some serious help. Those of you who enjoy playing a dastardly devious villain, please send me a quick message. I can assure you Teeleh is about as dastardly and devious as they come...if you don't believe me, google the name and see where I got it. At any rate, enjoy the massive amount of wordiness! ;D
-
<.< Teeleh, eh? ;D I look forward to seeing how the rest of this plays out, and as always, I love the fictitious bits you treat us with.
-
Looks interesting. Any man with a taste refined enough to collect enki pelts has my approval.
-
Barsidious, a mere cloaked figure in his current state, anonymous to all, approached the billboard. His fist was curled tightly around a small, innocent looking piece of parchment. He glanced around to make sure that nobody was present, before pasting the paper up to a smooth section of the wall. Turning quickly, he darted away, leaving the threatening letters glaring at his back as he retreated:
Oh lovely citizens of picturesque and thriving Hydlaa
With walls washed white and hearts stained black
Now's the time for my lessons to extend further
Illusions of safety, deluded security, I attack
One small victory your numbers had attained
A stroke of luck, fate's eternal bane
But here I am, returned, still whole
Your effort was in fact, in vain
Before was merely a setting of the stage
Upon which my final scene will play
A puppet master, wielder of strings am I
Tugging and pulling and leading you astray
Now comes the time for a final assertion of prowess!
Now is the time for fear and unsettling
Now to break free of all pretense and politeness!
Now to claim lives, set corpses to fest'ring
Oh dear and wonderful citizens
Eyes wide and innocent and unaware
Are you ready to play my game?
He repeated this again and again, dodging past passersby, secure in his secrecy. He placed them everywhere they would be in view of the masses, anywhere where someone could easily find them, and easily become afraid. For that was what he wanted. It was a rather...general letter, he had to admit, but it encompassed countless people with its all inclusive air, and that was precisely the sort of thing he was looking for.
-
As Barsidious began to make plans to play the people's emotions like harp strings, Teeleh reaped the benefit of his nefarious designs...
><><
The smell was cloying in there. It permeated, so much so that his skin nearly felt permeable, as though it were nothing more than a paper-thin barrier between himself and the outside world. Then again, for all intents and purposes that's exactly what it was, especially in his case. No matter. It served its intention well enough, even down in that soggy, vaporous place.
Hefting his torch higher, Teeleh cast one glance back at his clean, dry study. A sigh heaved from his lungs. He would love to simply carry through with his procedure here, but sadly no amount of money could probably keep the guards outside from entering to check on him following the din he was about to create. A pity, really. He supposed he could have them executed easily enough. Money might not make a suitable muzzle for gabbing mouths, but it did hold a certain sway over the hang-man's noose. Depressingly, though, that would risk drawing attention to himself, and he loathed that far more than he loathed the considerable inconvenience of withstanding the irriguous sod below.
Stooping to roll up his pant legs so that they would not be sullied by the damp earth, the elf strode purposefully into the tunnel. His hand groped along the grimy dirt-carved wall until he found a protruding handle, and to this he gave a definitive tug. Behind him, the book case gave a soft rumbling, muted by careful oiling and tedious design, and closed him entirely in darkness.
Unperturbed, a quick motion with the torch ignited a line of sconces that traveled deep, deep down into the concealed passageway. Connected by tiny filamentous strings, they burst to life one after the other, bringing into sharp contrast the many statues lining the walls, encrusted in mud. Teeleh thrust the now useless torch into the ground by his feet and left it there, moving slowly, following the slope of this cavern. The sloshing sounds his feet made sickened him to his core, as did the gritty condition of the macabre artwork. Gargoyles grinned menacingly at him, emaciated forms punctuated by visible spinal columns and long, groping, gangly fingers, marked by sharpened claws. It was all for show, really. Not that he ever suspected that someone would actually have the intellectual capacity to find this place, but precaution was always wise.
And fear was an incredibly potent weapon.
Downwards he spiraled, for some undisclosed amount of time or other. Time immeasurable, retarded by the absence of the waning and waxing crystal light to define it. He knew of course that most of this was illusion, and traversing this less than illustrious hall only took a quarter of an hour. That, of course, was a disorientation he was used to. So much time he had lived in, over so many countless years. Like clockwork, the never-ending mechanism, it would continue on and on. The rising of civilizations and the falling of kings. Inevitable and utterly pointless, it all was. Often he pondered if he was missing some greater complexity, but in the end was always confronted with the realization that the only thing that would ever hold any real value was his own neck, the rest be damned. When push came to shove, the rest of society was always forced to agree. Dust in the wind, as it were, and in his dealings this became much more than an obscure metaphor.
Eventually, like the uncoiling of a tightly bound string, he reached the end of the passage. Here the muck and grime have way to a polished hardwood floor, clean and shimmering. Glancing downwards, he smiled as his blurry reflection looked back at him, removing his boots so that he would not grievously stain the soft golden hue. The floor was cool against his feet, a testimony to how deeply he had traveled, a reminder that he was now in the bowels of his impressive manor.
Striding across the room, Teeleh wound his way past shelves of neatly organized belongings: tightly bound leather tomes, alchemical paraphernalia, scrolls upon scrolls of documents written in his own hand. All of this he ignored, for it was not relevant in his current task. His movements assured and practiced as though he'd been through them countless times, he moved swiftly for the center of the room. Marked by a strangely archaic design that was depicted in a thick, ruddy, scarlet ink, the wood was marred by the image of a single circle, linked with countless outwardly spiraling loops. On one half, these vine-like pictures were shriveled and dead, their leaves crumpled from dehydration, the buds hanging desiccated and limp. Upon the other, flowers were bursting to new life, rejoicing in the coming of spring.
Removing the small parcel of ashes from his belt, he began to sprinkle the remains amongst the dead, decaying foliage, a smile of eagerness touching his lips. Round and round he went, pouring it out thoroughly, ensuring that the area was covered in the cremated deceased. With steps nearly faltering in anticipation, he stumbled backwards into the center of the living flora, his bare feet nestled among the painted leaves and petals. Again, the same smile cracked across his face, and he raises his arms slowly, intoning, the light in the room seeming to grow dimmer as his words echoed throughout. Simplistic, the incantation nevertheless held its own eerie foreboding:
“Dó tlexe ri dén”
I consume your life
He took a shuddering breath, and the fire shuddered with it, hinged upon his actions as though he were in perfect control of even his environment. The tips of his fingers twitched slightly, giving off their own faint glow, so subtle and hesitant a light that it was imperceptible to all but those who were trained to see it. He opened his mouth a second time, his heartbeat accelerating, eyes entranced by the image of the ashes spread upon the ground before him.
“Xup, ni dó drem dénee.”
Die, so I might live.
Slowly, ever so slowly, with a lethargy that was infuriating, the dust began to shift. Moving upward in a manner that crept rather than billowed, like dozens of tiny insects coming together to make a single coherent form, the ashes rose. If his heart was beating faster before, it exploded now, his excitement making the beat entirely irregular. He closed his eyes and continued his chanting, his tone monotone and low, soft, yet commanding.
“ Dó tlexe ri dén. Xup, ni dó drem dénee.”
“ Dó tlexe ri dén. Xup, ni dó drem dénee.”
“ Dó tlexe ri dén. Xup, ni dó drem dénee.”
Up to the empty ceiling, spotted with hanging stalagmites, the verbal charm echoed. The firelight in the sconces around him fell to a dull, dying glow, and then spontaneously burst to life again, a flickering sickly green. Reflected in his eyes, he was rendered pupil-less, his corneas entirely consumed by the nauseating color. Not like the living green of trees or grass, but a squeamish green, reminiscent of bile, of rotting things. The smile grew wider, until he looked like one of the grinning gargoyles that lined the tunnels. The ashes finished their shifting, taking on their final, humanoid form, completely with a slowly swaying tail and feline ears. Arms moving up further, fingers groping towards the malformed, gray impersonation of the fenki victim Barsidious had killed. He spoke directly to it, whispered as though conveying a sense of intimacy with it, his quivering tongue coming out to deliver moisture to his now dry lips.
“Dó tlexe ri dén.” He rasped, rattling breath, heaved from desperate lungs. Fingers twitched, eyes widened to their limit, lips parted to show gritted teeth as spittle hissed out, as though the process was taking a physical toll upon him, causing him pain.
The powdery, eyeless face jerked towards him, muzzle raised as if to sniff the air. Its movements were animated by particles following in its wake, giving the feel that it was in slow motion. Beneath its malformed paws, the deadened vines began to pulsate softly, dull-green sheen, pounding to the rhythm of the fire and moving upwards into the insubstantial wraith like an infection. Soon the glow had completely encompassed the undead creature, and an expression of panic, muted by the lack of brows, was unmistakable. The mouth opened wide to reveal a black, hollow interior, agonized enough to give the impression of a scream even when there was none.
Water flowing from an aquifer and into irrigation channels, the green, nearly tangible light poured past the painted lines, following dutifully to wrap themselves up Teeleh's ankles, travel up his legs. Centering itself on his left breast, hovering over his heart, it made his body quake with the power. His fists now clenched at his sides, nails digging into his palms, the elf spat out the final words in an animal-like shriek. “Xup, ni dó drem dénee!”
The fenki came apart at the seams. Dissolved, revealing a detailed skeleton complete with vertebral column and tiny, multitudinous fangs. It collapsed and was absorbed into the convoluted pattern, spirited away along its length, where it became one with the light that hurtled itself towards the dermorian and bowled him over with a force that sent him flying back into the wall.
The fire snuffed out and left the room in pitch darkness. Minutes ticked by, an hour. There was total silence, the sort that is so encompassing it's nearly deafening in its emptiness.
Finally, rustling belied the presence of life. Teeleh groaned, unable to make out any details, and stumbled towards the wall. He cursed beneath his breath and repeated a simple red way spell many times before he managed to get a spark, but when he did, the wall-hung torches re-lit. Groggy, taxed from his efforts, he made his way towards a long narrow mirror that was affixed to the wall and studied his appearance.
A young face looked back at him, surely not any older than forty cycles. At least thirty had been knocked off of his physical body. Turning his head left and right to examine the rosy pallor of is cheeks and youthful prominence in his fully fleshed face, a satisfied smile of contentment now graced his lips. It faltered as he felt something coarse and gritty against his tongue, and he scowled as he reached lithe fingers inside to pull out a clump of soft white fur.
Ah, side effects, he thought, casting the thing into one of the torches.
And he simply stood to watch it burn.
-
That would be dermorian you're reading. Yes, legit dermorian, though I took some liberties with the words "might" and "so." They weren't listed on the wiki. ;D
-
[Insert by Sserp, that lovely and nosey reporter we all love (or love to hate) :love:]
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.
====================================================================
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."
====================================================================
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."
====================================================================
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."
====================================================================
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]
-
[Part one of two, co-authored with the wonderful Rigwyn. Enjoy.]
He was looking for his prey. It had become methodical for him, falling into a steady routine. He was accustomed to this atmosphere now, he knew how to blend in, how to not be noticed. Two lose ends, Icerra and Cruse, had given him some hassle. But with one now functioning with delusions of her goddess, courtesy of his mind-bending prowess, and the other locked in a blackmail stalemate that would be enough to keep any mouth from flapping, all he needed now was to turn his attention to the task at hand.
The tavern was an excellent hunting ground. A place for the morally superior and the morally base to convene. It was time for him to select a most delectable treat, someone truly loved, someone whose death would rock the very foundations of the society's self-confidence. He needed someone whose life shone brightly, someone who, when their sins and transgressions were drug to the light and made to kill them, the shock of it would bring the masses to their knees.
It did not take long. The moment he had stepped into the room, veiled in a heavy cloak and holding his illusion steady, he had seen him. The blind dwarf, sitting merrily in the corner and tapping a stubby finger upon a table's surface. A large grin split his face, and despite the gruesome stitching that held his eyelids shut, there was an air of satisfaction and contentment around him that was stark and notable in his apparent circumstances. A mug sat in his hand, beaded with condensation, and his head was bobbing slowly to the soft percussion made between the tabletop and the tip of his finger.
Most excellent, Barsidious thought, shifting impatiently the bar. He tapped his foot, waiting, watching his target. When the bartender handed him his frothy drink, the ylian gladly took it, nodding once before crossing the room and taking a seat in the chair opposite the dwarf.
“Hello there,” the killer said, his voice slightly rasping but holding to it a falsely pleasant tone.
Sillamon tilted his head up upon hearing the approaching footsteps and then the slight dragging of the seat. He had begun to deduce the race of his visitor - eliminating kran due to the weight of his footsteps when he suddenly heard his voice. Given that the voice came from above, he quickly eliminated dwarves too. With a glowing smile, he shifted in his seat and replied eagerly, "Hello to you too! What a fine day for a drink in this wonderful pub. I just love meeting new people, don't you?"
Perfect. Already, beneath the table, Barsidious' hands had begun to twitch quietly, eager. His smile nearly split his face, cracking along his facade as though he were a snake preparing to unhinge its jaw and devour something whole. He studied the dwarf for another moment, his fingers tracing the worn wood at the top of the table. Then, forcing his tone into the deeper inclination of compassion, he reached a hand towards the dwarf as though to grip his fingers in a warm greeting. "Certainly," he replied, reaching over to try and grasp the dwarf's smaller fingers up in his own. "Especially one so amiable as yourself."
Sillamon tilted his head up and slightly to the side as the sensation of touch registered. He slid his hand out from the ylian's grasp after giving a short squeeze, then began to instinctively feel the top of Barsidious's hand - taking note of the texture of his skin, the presence of hair, its girth and muscularity. He almost blushed as he laughed, then replied, "Amiable? Do you really think so? That's rather nice of you to say." He wondered what exactly "amiable" meant, but assumed it must be a compliment of sorts given the tone of his voice.
Barsidious allowed the dwarf to continue his inspection completely unhindered. He glanced around the tavern, as if to affirm that there was in fact no one present in the room save for this new, rather excellent prey. Looking back at Sillamon, he observed the dwarf's actions with an expression of growing fondness, so that his voice registered a certain warmth that was not entirely fabricated. "You look hungry," he said. Somewhere deep inside of him, mostly destroyed and brutalized by some untold past, a pang of guilt tapped at his mind. It was subtle and soft, and easily squelched. A last piece of a sense of humanity long ago suppressed. I have no need of such things, he thought, amending the notion. I have a Truth to tell, and no sense of petty morality will stop me. The people must know themselves.
Sillamon homed in on Barsidious's face once more with keen accuracy, as he used to when he could see. It was an old habit - one that never did fade. "Hungry?" he laughed, "Are you kidding me? I'm starving. Last time I ate was...eh...well, lets see." He began to count on his fingers, then said with a broad, cheery smile, "Tuesday." Wrinkling his nose, he leaned in and covered the side of his mouth as he snickered, "I had a nice roasted kikiri that day...with gravy and stuffing!"
Barsidious slowly withdrew his hand. Standing with a soft scrape of his chair, the ylian headed towards the bar and ordered fresh meat and bread, quite loudly so that his request could be heard by the dwarf. He turned away from Allelia, his back to the bartender so that she could not see him as he drew a light powder out from his sleeve and sprinkled the food with the tasteless dust. "Then allow me, friend," he said, placing the food in front of Sillamon. He slid it closer so that the fumes could reach the beggar's nose. Now that he was closer, he could smell the stench of the street on him, could see the narrowness in his face and about his body. Though not quite emaciated, it was clear that Sillamon did not lie when he claimed he did not get regular meals. As Barsidious reclaimed his seat, the strange sensation of satisfaction overcame him for a moment as he offered food to a starving man. This, too, he quickly squashed, and resumed his vigil of this new, helpless victim.
Sillamon drew in the scent of the food deeply as memories flashed in his mind. He could see the steaming plate in the theater of his mind, he could feel its warmth as the seductive scent arose. His hands grazed the top of the food as he felt where everything was, he muttered as his fingertips touched and jerked from the heat, "Meat, a potato." as his finger sunk into the mush, he pulled it out and licked it clean as he corrected himself, "no, mashed."As if lead by impulse, he stuffed a small pared carrot into his mouth before remembering to say “Thank you.”
Barsidious smiled gently, leaning back in his chair as he watched the dwarf with quiet contemplation. "You've adapted to your disability well, dwarf," he said, his hands curling behind his own head to make himself more comfortable. "Don't mention it, friend. It would be cruel not to feed one who was starving." His eyes flickered with amusement. As it is cruel to let one wander in the dark, when you are capable of exposing them to the light. He reveled in the irony that this physically blind man was about to see something that most who had the clearest vision would never fully comprehend. A lucky man indeed, was this Sillamon.
Embarrassed by his overwhelming compulsion to eat, Sillamon managed to thank the man between grunts and gasps as he shoveled heaps of food into his mouth at an almost panicked pace. Upon shoveling in the last, he ran his folk along the plate and scraped every last trace of gravy from the bottom, then licked his fingers clean. Realizing that he had ignored the man once again, he apologized and pleaded, "Please forgive me, I don't mean to be so rude. So tell me...damn that good...my mother used to always say, 'hunger's the best sauce!'...but eh...where was I?"
Barsidious folded his arms on the table and leaned forward slowly, his chair giving a soft screech. He chuckled quietly as he waited for the sleeping residue to have its desired effect, his finger making circles on the tabletop. "Seemed like you enjoyed that," he said. "Though I wouldn't have eaten so fast. Sometimes it'll make you feel ill, get dizzy, if you haven't eaten for a while." He chuckled again, and shook his head. "Wise words,” he supplied. “On the part of your mother, that is.”
Ever conniving, the ylian spared Allelia a compassionate glance, flicking his eyes towards the dwarf where he seemed already to be floundering under the drug's effects. As the only one in the room, he needed to be certain that his losing consciousness would not alarm her. The woman smiled in response, nodding towards Sillamon with sorrowful eyes, and he could tell by her expression that she would be of no concern to him. I doubt she's really that stupid, he realized, returning his focus solely to his potential kill. She's seen so much now that she no longer cares about what occurs, so long as it does not interfere with her business.
The innate selfishness of people would never cease to amaze him. His only desire was to force them to see it, and to admit to it.
Sillamon nodded in agreement, before he held his sightless gaze still. His jaw opened slightly as if in thought. Already he was doubtless feeling something off, but his innate naivety kept him from feeling any suspicion towards this good Samaritan who had fed him out of his own kindness. Now speaking a bit slower, he continued, "I can't begin to tell you how grateful I am for nice folks like you...sir.”
Barsidious laughed quietly, his hand shifting forward as if to place it lightly on the dwarf's shoulder. "Certainly, good dwarf," he replied. "Certainly. It's the least I could do. And I'm certain that folks are very grateful for you, yes. Hm. Certain that they love you. Very much." You remind them of optimism. Your lack of bitterness despite your condition gives them hope for their own lives. They wander about in self-pity, but then they see you, and for a moment that pity is diverted to someone who deserves it more. The killer's brow furrowed for a moment, and he shook his head to dismiss the irrelevant thinking. Never mind that. All that matters is that they love you.
Sillamon began to sway at Barsidious's touch, unperturbed by the seemingly gentle and innocent touch upon his shoulder. To him, his new companion’s voice seemed to carry a bit of an echo - as if they were chatting in a hallway. He placed his hands on his belly as he let out a breath, then said quietly with words drawn out syllable by syllable, "Yes...yes I've been blessed with so many...Xiosia, I'm full...I
think I over...eh...what was your name again?"
A thrill traveled through the killer's body. Slowly, he stood, moving towards where Sillamon sat, wavering and struggling to stay awake. Soon he would claim another life. Soon, he would place another body upon the fountain, moving him one step closer to his ultimate victory. Just another step in a pre-ordained progression of events.
He moved to wrap his arms around the little man before he could fall over, and then leaned down towards him, whispering into his ear, "Barsidious." There was no more reason for pretense or caution now. The Xiosian dwarf was as good as his.
The name dripped off his lips as he repeated it. It was as if it had a color and a taste of its own - unlike anything he had ever experienced before. Feeling his strong hands at first, then the pressure of the man's shoulder against his stomach, he closed his eyes as he lets his arms drape over his back. His last thoughts before he was lost to darkness were still plagued with his own innocence, none the wiser. No one had thought to warn the helpless dwarf. No one had told him the meaning of that name, and in his state of physical and mental blindness, he had been doomed.
Barsidious gave a concerned nod to Allelia as he hoisted the unconscious dwarf up into his arms, the last touch on his facade as the scene played itself out precisely as he had hoped it would. Cradling Sillamon as one might a small child, he headed for the stairs, saying something about meaning to place the poor man in a bed and let him sleep it off. Once on the roof, however, he slid down the shingles, swung to the porch below, and finally made his way down towards the sewer entrance, thankful for the
small size of his prize.
Well, dear dwarf, he mused, walking quickly through the muck as his boots splattered the mossy, dirty walls. It is time for us to explore your darkness.
-
Should be hella dark inside a blind dwarfs head. Allelia needs like, a red way powered shotgun underneath her bar.
-
Earlier...
Barsidious turns his head in a most casual manner, and moves his fingers up along the railing slowly, calm and assured. "I d..d...d..don't understand w..w...why you have c..c..c...come to this c..c...c...conclusion."
Sserp tilts his head with curiosity at the gathering of people, wondering if there is something newsworthy going on.
Waesed the dwarf says, "I wish Timil was here. He could ID him for sure."
Cruse looks at Icerra
Icerra points her falchion blade at Barsidious, giving a quick glance at those who are now gathering around them on the stairs, she scowls as she doesn't want their help more less their presence, "This don't concern none of y'all, just move along."
Barsidious tilts his head at waesed. He cannot recognize the man, it seems, nor does he show any recognition of the name he mentions. "L...l...l...look," he says. "I d...d...d..do appologize for having a...a...a..arroused your su....suspicion, but I am n...n...not him."
Sserp steps forward. "I know the guards are lackadaisical, but I also know they don't tolerate brandished weapons in the city." Sserp looks purposfully toward Icerra and Waesed. "And I think Jefecra is just around the corner."
Cruse gives Sserp a look as if being extremely annoyed by his presence.
Waesed points out an ironic loophole in the laws as they are written, "My master's wand is not considered a weapon."
Barsidious sighs softly. "I a...a....appreciate your h...h...help, b...b...but I would l...l...like to s...s...settle this confusion to a simpe ag....g....greement." He looks to Icerra and Cruse. "I w....w...will speak to th...th...them."
Cruse grins showing his teeth "You heard the man, gentlemen. Now let us speak."
Waesed wonders if they are really in it together.
Icerra rolls her eyes at Sserp for poking his nose in their business, "Quiet unless you wanna taste my steel yerself klyros." She grins wickedly at Barsidious, "Now now.. that's more like it."
Sserp holds up his hands in a calming gesture. "Look this fellow wants to be civil, and we should respond in kind. I, myself would like to know his side of why he has drawn so much attention." Sserp glances at Barsidious with curiosity.
Cruse says to Sserp, "Our interest on this man is not your buisiness klyros. We simply want to discuss a bargain and you are getting in the way."
Barsidious looks at Icerra. He's about as phased by her malicious expression as a spider would be by a fly, a cat observing a rather bravado-infused mouse. "Hm," he mutters. "W...w...well, as I t...t...tried to e...e..explain. I was w...w...warning them. Th...th..the person I over h...h..heard them speaking about...they hired them to find the k...k...killer."
"Sh...sh...she's being too o...o...open about it. A...a...assuming they were somehow f....f...friends, I t..t.....tried to warn a....a...against such o....o.....overt actions."
Barsidious looks sagely between Icerra and Cruse. "I am c...c...certain their intentions are n...n...noble to b....b...bring down this scoundral."
Cruse nods his head a bit "Our intentions are noble indeed."
Icerra returns her blades blades to her belt, standing with her arms now crossed over her chest, her brow furrowed and an intense glare focused on Barsidious. She's not about to give away her true intent with all these gathered, "Yeah... maybe we should talk this over someplace else."
Waesed almost loses it with Cruse's comment.
Barsidious dips his head once to Sserp and to waesed. "I b...b...believe it w...w...would be best to s...s..settle this m...mm....misunderstanding, yes." He raises his hand and makes a motion to the klyros to step over, closer to himself.
Icerra watches Barsidious carefully, eyes flicking between he and the snoopy klyros
Sserp is not sure why, but he feels compelled to respond to the Ylian's beckoning. He moves closer, keeping his eyes on the stranger.
Cruse 's fingers grip around his staff
Barsidious leans towards the klyros, so that his lips hover presumably by where his "ear" would be. He whispers something softly to him, then moves to pat him on the back and looks to Icerra and Cruse once more, nodding. "V...v...very well," he says. "Wh....wh...where did you h...h...have in m...m..mind?"
Cruse frowns "Some place quiet."
"There are a lot fo alley and dead ends around here."
Barsidious spreads his hands and makes a vague gesture. "It i...i...is in your h...h...hands then. L...l...lead the w....w...way."
"You walk first."
Waesed gives Icerra a warning, "Icerra, I don't want to throw your body in the burial well. Be careful."
Icerra continues to watch the Ylian and Klyros closely, her eyes squinting in thought, "Fine then... follow me... Merri, watch him." she commands as she leads them down the stairs and towards the Laanx temple
Sserp nods to barsidious.
Cruse beckons to Waesed as he follows.
Waesed follows.
Barsidious only gives a simple shrug. He turns and follows, returning the nod to Sserp, a look of something like caution, warning, in his eyes, directed at the klyros. With that, he turns, and follows the duo wherever it is they may be leading.
Cruse leans and whispers to Waesed as they are walking "Can we cound on your help, stonehammer?"
"Indeed."
"It would be great to have a dome of protection around us if things go wrong." Cruse lifts his body again.
Barsidious seems to find the entire situation somewhat amusing, for some reason. He continues walking, right, then left, swaying his arms casually with his eyes fixed on Icerra.
Sserp stands and watches as the others walk away, apparantly mulling something over.
Icerra leads the group deep into the Laanx dungeon, until she is satisfied they are out of any public scrutiny. She stops in a quiet and dark spot, glaring momentarily at Waesed, "Why in Dakkru's name are you here?" she begins and shakes her head, "Forget it, why don't you make yerself useful," pointing at his rediculous staff, "Give us some light."
Cruse reassure's Icerra, "Sir Waesed doesn't mean any harm at all, sister."
Waesed increases the light from his staff, lighting the area.
Barsidious leans back against one of the dank, moist-riddled walls, and then jerks away from it, making a face and dusting himself off with an animated chill. "P...p...picked a sc....sc....scenic s...s...spot didn't you."
Icerra rolls her eyes, is this what she's been reduced to? relying on magic users? She shoots Barsidious a glare, not in the mood for any quick wit, "It's quiet.. ain't it?"
Barsidious raises and drops his shoulders. "As I h...h...have been saying, I am n...n..not the killer. N...n..now, if you w...w....will kindly explain your r...r...reason for believing o...o...otherwise, we can quickly move on and g....g...get back to somewhere w....w...warm and dry."
"Let us proceed, ylian. I believe Icerra has a favor to ask."
Icerra squints her eyes in thought, watching every little move Barsidious makes, she speaks to Cruse without taking her eye off the Ylian, "You said you can sense he's using magicks... you can tell what kind?"
"I don't think he is using anything right now."
Wased points out, "He is masking his face."
Cruse looks at Barsidious.
Icerra glances at Waesed, "How'dyou know?"
"I am well versed in Azure Way."
Barsidious stiffens at waesed. Without hesitation he replies, "Y...y...yes. I am m...m...masking my f...f...face. I h....h...have heavy s...s...scarring. R...r...result of a f...f...fire, long a...a...ago."
Cruse slowly lowers his hood revealing the scar ofer his eyebrow "We are all scared here. Perhaps you could stop masking yourself."
Yes, scarred quite badly.
Icerra approaches Barsidious, leaning close to him and lifting her face near his, trying to catch glimpse of the mask or whatever might be behind it, "Azure Way..." she speaks softly, "That's what he used on Teshia... that's what she scared of."
Barsidious glances at Cruse. "I d...d...do not s...s...see the p...p...point in this. B...b...but if it w....w...will forgo your p...p..paranoia, so b...b..be it." He draws his hood away from his bland face, his normal features. And he lets it drop away from his face, slowly letting the azure way facade fall.
Cruse shows his teeth and glances at Icerra "Much better. Let us talk now."
Barsidious 's face is a patchwork of scars, none of his features even discernable. His skin is a sickly pale pallor, and his muscles can be seen in various places, dead and necrotic. A hole has found its way clear through his cheek and appears to be quite sore, it reveals his teeth and gums.
Icerra steps back to get a good look at Barsidious's true form, she sneers mostly at it's appalling nature, "Why you use Azure Way ta hide? Why not Crystal and heal it all up?"
Cruse dips his head "You can't recreate flesh lost, even with crystal way."
Waesed says, "There are master's that will try."
Barsidious shakes his head. "I d...d...d...did not g...g...grow up n...n...near anyone s...s...so adept. Th...th..this cannot be r...r...repaired with m...m..magick." As he speaks, the flesh at his jaw moves in a strange, disgustingly painful motion.
Icerra walks a few paces away from Barsidious, her back still turned she says, "They's another way... greater than magicks." she turns and holds up her left paw, "How many fingers you count?"
"Icerra... I don't think we are here to fix his face."
Barsidious lets out a rasping, rattling sigh. "I th...th...thank you, b...b...but my f...f...face is n...n..not the issue. You are h...h..here to make a deal....because you b...b..believe me to be the k...k...killer." He pauses. "F..f...fenki, look at m...m...me."
Icerra glances over her shoulder at Cruse but only briefly before looking back at Barsidious, still holding up her paw, "What?" she demands between clenched teeth
Barsidious strides towards Icerra purposefully. He doesn't touch her, but he looms over her, looking down at her with a certain intensity in her expression. "D...d....do not m....m...make deals w...w...with demons," he says. "I h....h...have encountered e...e...enough of them t...t...to know that it n...n...never ends well. I am w...w...warning you, d...d...do not seek after th...th...this m...m....man."
"Ask him what you need to know. We have enough to offer in return.It doesn't matter whether he is Barsidious or not. If he is and wants to bargain he'll stop pretending."
Icerra stands on tiptoe to meet Barsidious face to face, holding a sneer on her face, "I already made a deal... with Death Herself... I need the poison... the key to true death... and I WILL get it."
Barsidious begins to circle the fenki slowly, studying the kore intently, watching her with quiet observation. "I s...s...see," he says, sensing the intensity in her statement. "P...perhaps it is a...a...an enemy you h...h..have then? A p...p..pact you have m...m...made with D...d...Dakkru herself, that you now must f...f...fullfill?"
Icerra stands where she is, her head now lowered but her ears turn to follow the hideous ylian as he circles her, her tail twitching when he is directly behind her, "What my goddess asked of me is between me and Her."
Barsidious halts just to the left of Icerra. "S...s....sadly, I d...d...do not kn....kn....know the k...k...killer. If I d...d...did he w...w...would be d..d...dead." Strangely, his eyes are fixed on Cruse and Waesed as he speaks.
Waesed shifts his staff to his left hand and draws a sabre, watching Barsidious closely
Barsidious folds his arms casually behind his back and shakes his head at waesed, as though to further show the stupidity in the dwarf's caution. "I am n...n..not armed, and h....h..have d...d..done you no h...h...harm," he says.
Cruse half closes his eyes "Even if you are not Barsidious you know more than you say."
Waesed warns the Ylian, "I will see that no harm comes to her."
Barsidious chuckles dryly. "It m...m..may seem that way. M...m...much wisdom comes from the listening of many gossiped t...t...tales."
Icerra tilts her head at an odd angle, her eyes fixed infront of her in a wide eyed stare. She slowly turns about, to look at Cruse first, then Waesed. She casually walks over to Cruse and leans towards him as if to whisper something
Cruse doesn't move as Icerra approaches "You know more than gossip."
Barsidious tilts his head in a way that almost mirrors Icerra. A smile curls on his lips, grotesque in fashion. For a moment, only a moment, he is silent, his eyes locked on Cruse. He continues to speak, then, quietly. "N...n...nothing more th...th...than that, I a...a...assure you."
Icerra places her left paw on Cruse's shoulder, tiptoeing up to whisper in his ear, "Say hello to our Mother, dear Brother." as her right paw slips a knife out of the waist of her shorts, she swings the weapon around while simultaneously pushing him forward with her left arm, to drive the knife into his heart.
Barsidious blinks rapidly at this turn of events. He watches Cruse fall, cutting off whatever contact he was trying to form with him.
Waesed runs
Cruse 's eyes shift the last moment as he takes the dagger to his chest falling on the ground, not quite sure if his own heard has been pierced
Barsidious simply watches the progression of events. He does nothing to help or hinder Icerra's actions. He only watches her, and waits for whatever might happen.
Waesed is out of the dungeon in record time!
Icerra kneels beside Cruse as he falls, leaving her knife plunged in his chest, she takes out a second, and before the light from Waesed's staff has completely dimmed, she slits his throat for good measure, "Don't hate me Brother... it's fer the greater good." and she places a kiss on his forehead
Cruse squirms on the ground bringing his hands to his chest and grabbing the knife. He seems to be still alive but with a stab there he soon won't be. Cruse coughs up blood. Cruse 's body soon disappears from the dungeon, leaving just a stain of blood on the floor
Barsidious steps towards Icerra slowly, his boot touching some of Cruse's blood. He observes the man dying, and then looks towards the kore. "W....w...w..well that w...w...was interesting," he says, before watching him fade.
Icerra stands and faces Barsidious, her face drawn and solemn as her brother in faith lay dying on the floor at her feet. Her feline eyes adjust to the darkness, "Now... I believe we had a deal."
Barsidious nods. "Oh yes, we very much did have a deal. But first a conversation, if you please." His stutter falls away like so much garbage, and he backs up a step, regarding Icerra, shame at his appearance completely gone. Out of his bags he draws a mask, wooden, slits for mouth and eyes. "I hope you don't mind...tradition's sake. This guise is not just for anyone."
Icerra remains unmoving, Cruse's blood dripping in ever coagulating drops from the tip of her knife blade. "Whatever," she says in a flat, emotionless tone.
Barsidious steps towards Icerra, raises his hand. Strangely, he tries to gently carress the side of her face, the manner of the action almost fatherly. He clicks his tongue softly against the roof of his mouth. "Icerra, Icerra," he says. "So lost in your own darkness. But you know the truth of it, don't you? No deluded fool are you. You know the blackness of your own heart."
Icerra does not flich at his touch, but remains unmoved other than lifting her eyes to the wooden mask on his face. She remains silent for now, as she's got nothing more really to say, and he's lucky enough that she has enough patience for him to finish his little speach before they get down to business
Barsidious lets out a quiet chuckle. "Of course, I cannot have you remembering who I am, miss Icerra. Nor do I want to kill such an incredible creation. You are a rare thing indeed...you are a blooming flower. The ideal creature that I am trying to create." He bends down to whisper near her ear, "You know the Truth, don't you?"
Icerra 's ear flicks as Barsidious draws near, but only as a nervous reflex. "I know," she says, her voice dronelike as if she's hypnotized by his voice, although her body remains tense, alert, and ready to drive her knife through his heart as well if need be
Barsidious 's hand suddenly flashes upwards, attempting to wrap tightly around the fenki's wrist. His other hand, still on the side of her face, emits a gentle azure glow, as he attempts to enter her mind. His eyes lock with hers, expression unreadable behind the mask. "Listen to me now, Icerra," he says. His voice is not in the air, but in the mind.
Icerra falls under Barsidious's spell almost instantaneously, as one who has abhored any sort of magic all her life, she is that susceptible. In her mind, she focuses only on his voice, facing him fearlessly, hungrily waiting the knowledge she seeks
Barsidious smiles externally, the expression cold. But it can be sensed a certain fondness from him. In Icerra's mind, he cultivates the image of her goddess, in all her radiance, her halo of many colors shimmering, her beautiful eyes and deathly pallor hypnotozing. He makes the hands reach for Icerra, offering her something.
Icerra's heart beats thunderously against her ribcage, her eyes wetten before the holy image of Dakkru. Finally, she feels worthy of her presence, she kneels before the Goddess, if only in the space of the mental world Barsidious has constructed for her, averting her eyes, "Mother Dakkru!" she cries out, actual inflection in her voice, "How may I serve you? How may I bring yer glory to the world?"
Barsidious causes the goddess to smile upon Icerra. There is a love in her voice, an adoration--perhaps the kindest thing the man has ever done. Her hand lowers, and in it is a vial, filled with a dark liquid. "I give to you that which you need to bring my glory, Icerra, my child," she croons. "I give to you that which you have sought. Take it from my very hand. Go out, and spread to Yliakum my Love." The image bends down to graze soft, cold lips against the prone fenki's brow.
Icerra weeps as she takes the precious vial, clutching it to her breast. She feels as if she will explode into a million pieces at the Goddess's touch and icy kiss. "Thank you... thank you for this honor oh Mother!" she remains prostrate, averting her eyes from Dakkru's image. 'I will do only as you say. I will show them your light. They ain't gonna fear you no more. They will know of yer love. I will show 'em."
Barsidious smiles as he leans back. Into her mind he reaches, the subtle touch of expert fingers, to try and wrest away from her the memory of having discovered his identity. "Forget," he intones softly, leaving her only with the beautiful image of her goddess. "Forget, and sleep. Dream." From his bags, he draws out a vial, and gently he places it in Icerra's paws."
Icerra falls easily into a deep sleep and dreams of a world in which she rules at Dakkru's side, where fear is the greatest sin of all and she is the punisher.
Barsidious gets up after gently helping the fenki slide to the ground, turns, removes his mask, and exits the dungeon. "Now to take care of that Cruse fellow," he muses beneath his breath, and is gone.
-
And much later ...
Daintywhisp shouts: Someone help! Is anyone around?!
Stellan says: What is it, what trouble are you in, miss?
Who could resist a cry for help, especially when the voice belonged to a lovely lemur of rarest pale blue variety? Younger than Stellan liked, but then deprivation from being cursed does increase a Diaboli's libido.
Daintywhisp says: There's a dwarf at the fountain - he's dead, there's a blood-soaked letter and I--
Daintywhisp stops and sobs, turning away.
Stellan says: What? At the fountain in the plaza?
Daintywhisp nods, wiping her eyes.
Stellan groans, exasperated. "You'll have to show me. And, very inconveniently, I can't touch anything."
Daintywhisp nods again, hands trembling. "Alright."
He followed Daintywhisp through East Hydlaa to the plaza fountain, savoring conflicting emotions of desire and dread, excitement and horror, longing and restraint, and so on. It was nice to have his feelings back. He'd just have to be careful not to actually touch anyone.
He was soon relieved on that score, for the trussed-up, dead dwarf at the fountain was beyond torture or being made depressed and suicidal by his touch. Looked like some sicko had already done that, and worse. Caked blood snaked from sockets that had been gouged empty and then had had diamonds stitched in place of the eyes. Stellan might have thrown up if he hadn't been wearing his best yellow suit.
Daintywhisp stares at the bottle, sniffling. "I-I didn't notice that before..."
Stellan stares at the dwarf.
Daintywhisp says: I guess the guards are busy; they didn't come when I shouted...
Stellan says: That's sick. Who'd do that to the poor fella?
Daintywhisp says: The same crazy person that's been leaving the other notes around, I guess. At least, th-that's what the letter *sniff* implies.
Stellan says: What didn't you notice before, lemur?
Daintywhisp points at the bottle in the water.
Stellan says: I don't remember hearing that the others had their eyes dug out.
Daintywhisp looks at the letter again, careful not to touch it. "Maybe there's some meaning to it..."
Stellan holds open the bloodstained note without lifting it off the stone.
Stellan says: And didn't the other bodies disintegrate. That's what I heard, anyway.
Daintywhisp says: I- I don't know. Perhaps the diamonds are cursed? I saw some notes pinned up about cursed scrolls lately.
Stellan does not touch the dead body. In fact, he seems to deliberately tuck his arms away, behind him.
Stellan says: Someone's overdoing the cursing.
Stellan laughs bitterly. "As if mine wasn't enough."
Daintywhisp says: What a problem to come back to Hydlaa to...I should've stayed in Ojaveda with the rogues and rats...
Stellan says: Well, the good news is, I can touch this one. Won't have to worry about making him suicidal.
Stellan says: However.
Daintywhisp's eyes widen. "That's your curse? But, we don't know if the killer's done anything to the corpse..."
Stellan throws his overalls on. "Wouldn't want any of that on our clothes now, would we."
Daintywhisp looks down at her fine clothing and buttons up her coat. "I suppose not."
Stellan says: Done anything? Like what? Cursed it? Think I might be immune to that, too, now...
Daintywhisp says: Maybe. Or...well, I mean, I saw a bunch of rat guts and stuff put in a fountain, too. Obviously someone's trying to mess with everybody's health.
Stellan climbs fastidiously out of the water to stand beside Daintywhisp when he hears about rat guts.
Daintywhisp takes a dagger out and slices through the rope tying the dead dwarf to the fountain.
[They have decided to move the body but before they can ...]
Sillamon's 's tiny body crumbles at the slightest touch - his remains spilling like sand through the ropes that held him to the fountain and onto the platform. Some of the sand spills into the water as a pair of diamonds bounce on the stone below. Some is carried off by a mild breeze.
Stellan bends over the corpse, unaware that his waistpouch of vials is open. A slim glass vial slides out, shattering onto what's left of the body.
Daintywhisp claps her free hand to her mouth and sobs once again, looking between the dust and her dagger.
Stellan looks dismayed at the shifting sand and the rolling diamonds.
Daintywhisp speaks in a more choked-up voice than before, "I-I guess that saves us some work, at least..."
Stellan also looks dismayed at having baptized it all in one of his finest perfumes. "Bugger it."
Stellan says: Quick, we should bag the ey - diamonds - for evidence, you know.
Daintywhisp says: Oh, yes, them and the letters. We should take them to to the guards.
Stellan says: Eh, don't get your fingerprints all over anything.
Stellan says: Do you have gloves, or a bag or a hanky?
Daintywhisp nods and takes a handkerchief out of her pocket, picking up the diamonds. She flips the hankie over and ties a knot, securing the gems, and uses the loose fabric left over to cautiously pick up the letter.
Daintywhisp turns and picks up the bottle as well. "This might mean something too...
Stellan demands, "So now, what are you going to do with all that ... evidence, miss - ah - what's your name?"
Daintywhisp says: Daintywhisp. I'm going to find a guard and hand it in, of course.
Daintywhisp naiively continues, "I'm sure they'll be much more efficient at investigating it than any civillians..."
Stellan looks at Daintywhisp like she's nuts. "You ... must be new around town."
Daintywhisp says: Well, um, yes. I am. Kind of. I mean, I've stopped by before but not for long...
Stellan eyes the lemur's delicate figure appreciatively, thumbs twiddling behind his back. "Well, when this kind of thing happened before, I think some people were investigating. But from what I hear, maybe they themselves did the killings. I wonder. But I should think turning the evidence in to the guards would be a bad idea, Daintywhisp.
Daintywhisp looks at Stellan, the distrust plain in her body language as she draws the handkerchief a little closer, tilting her head sideways a little with her eyes fixed on his. "Well. I guess...I guess you've been around here more than I have, but...who would know what to do with these?"
Stellan says: Well ... we could begin some investigations of our own ... Don't you rather fancy a drink to steady your nerves, my dear?
Daintywhisp says: I. Um. Yes, sure.
Stellan winks, adding afterthought-like, "I am Stellan. Stellan Aristo. And I would normally offer you my arm, but at present my body parts are off llimits, because of the curse.
Stellan says: It's a great shame, I know.
Daintywhisp smirks. "Well, that's fine, since mine are too. Because I'm a lady."
Stellan looks surprised. "How original. Strange no lady has put that to me before..."
Stellan says: But come, don't look so alarmed. You can trust me. Let's start our investigations at the tavern...
Daintywhisp nods. "Alright, alright."
-
[Second installment of Sillamon's death, and the final crazy cracking of our beloved killer's mind.]
Barsidious hummed softly to himself amidst the faint flickering light of the sewers. The reddish hue of the room he'd chosen seemed to fit his purposes well, and he quickly set about chaining Sillamon to the wall, stepping back to admire his handiwork. He considered for a moment, and carefully placed his mask over his face, rough-hewn wood, breathing softly so that it whistled like a merry tune through the jagged, narrow mouth. His eyes darted with anticipation, side to side, then honing in strictly on where his prey now hung trussed and ready for the slaughter. His fingers dug around in his bags, and he sprinkled powder beneath the dwarf's nose in an attempt to rouse him.
Sillamon could feel an ache in his wrists, but was too drowsy to wake up. He tried to fall back asleep but could not. Having resisted the urge to get up, he began to realize just how intense the pain was. Finally the realization that he was not horizontal set in. Swinging his head left and right as if he could see, he called out "Hey! What...what's going on!" He could feel the floor with his toes, and stretched them out so as if to push himself up to relieve the pain in his wrists.
Barsidious cleared his throat softly, pulling a small metal knife from his pocket. Unlike the daggers of his usual liking, he eyed the stitches that knit the dwarf's lids shut and contemplated for a moment. "Now, now," he said, reaching forward to pat his cheek lightly. "There's a good one. Wake up, now, nice and easy. We need to have ourselves a conversation, and I like my debate partners to be mostly coherent. So much more interesting that way.” Giving himself the grace to smile, his mouth twisted into a feral expression, hidden but for the glimmer of his teeth that was visible through the small, thin slit. As though he were bearing his teeth. “Welcome back to the land of the living.”
As Sillamon placed more weight on his toes they began to ache. He dreaded the thought of bending his knees and shifting his weight back to his wrists - which still howled with pain. He shouted, "Oh! I know your voice! Your that man who... "
Barsidious slowly slid down to his knees, so that he was at a face to face level with Sillamon's. "That's right," he said. "I gave you food. And you enjoyed it, I imagine. I'm curious, though," he tapped the knife lightly upon the dwarf's cheekbone. "Why this stitching? It seems a bit excessive, does it not? Why not simply...remove it?" Leaning back with another low chuckle, he observed the frantic actions with a sadistic glee.
With a loud cry the dwarf shifted his weight from his toes back to his wrist as they twitched beneath his feet, barely able to bear the brunt weight of his body. He could feel his back bumping and scraping the wall as he did. He threw his head back defensively at the mans words - accidentally smacking it against the unforgiving stone wall. The touch of the knife had sent him fully into a panic, and the chilling words of the killer even more so, as he threatened to do the unthinkable to him. In desperation, he cried out, his voice quaking with fear and hoping to evoke any sort of empathy:
"No! You fiend!" He shouted, "For Xiosia's sake! Please leave my eyes alone! I beg you!"
Barsidious reached out in an attempt to clasp the dwarf's chin, to hold him steady. "Now, now," he said, bringing the knife closer to one of the stitches. "Believe you me, this will be much better for the process. It's all about seeing, you see, and I think this is a very nice metaphor, I simply cannot pass it up." He made a move to shove Sillamon's head hard against the wall to assure his motions wouldn't cause damage, and began meticulously cutting through the wiring
Sillamon squirmed as he felt the calloused hand grasp his face. He kicked his legs as the metal cuffs tore into the flesh around his wrist. As bright streaks ran down his arms, he felt the cold steel graze the baggy flesh beneath his eye sockets, then the crisp edge of the blade as Barsidious positioned it. He whispered as he pleaded - careful not to move too much, "Please, sir no! I'll do anything for you!"
Barsidious let out a soft sigh. "Shhh," he said, the tips of his fingers giving of a soft, gentle glow. "Be at peace," he said, his words taking on a smooth inclination, dripping from his lips like honey. He gently tapped at Sillamon's temple and pressed feelings of rest and relaxation into him. "Be still," he commanded. Emotions were such easy things to manipulate for him. Such useful tools that could be exploited quite excellently in such situations. Fragile as a flower, the subtlest of taps could make them furl and writhe at his command. He liked to attribute this more to their innate fragility, than to his own expertise with magic.
He observed as the nervous shivering in the dwarf's fingers and toes stopped. His breathing slowed and his fingers loosened despite the cutting of the flesh around his wrists. He pressed the floor with his toes once more to relieve the pain once more. "Please sir,” he whispered in a relaxed, almost drowsy drawl, "Let me go in peace."
Barsidious held the side of Sillamon's face as he continued to cut through the stitching, keeping up the soft lingering spell. "Oh, I shall, in more peace than you could ever imagine, dwarf," he replied quietly, voice humming happily from his throat. "I've a lesson to teach you, and you shall see that you are lucky to have been selected. Lucky indeed. Lucky to learn the Truth." Lucky indeed, he thought. Lucky indeed to have been this particular sacrificial lamb. When I plant your body...this perfect, pitiable body, the masses will know just how deep the corruption flows...
Sillamon hung as the stitching was severed, wondering why this stranger had not said as much before, but knowing better than to ask. Feeling his toes knot with pain yet again, two thin streams began to flow from the inner corners of his eyes - clearing a darkly outlined trail of brown that passed his nose and ended at the edges of his lips. He could feel the pressure of the blade against his eye lids, then a feeling of looseness as each stitch was cut free. From each eye sockets something slipped and landed on the floor.
Barsidious glanced down towards the objects even as he began to collect some things from his travelsack. Observing them, he slid the bag towards Sillamon, and strangely in an act of mercy, he placed it beneath his aching toes to alleviate some of the strain. Raising his arms, he loosened the chain, adding precious inches so that less pressure would be applied to his wrists. Finished with that, he moved to touch the brown substance with the tip of one finger. He began to collect the items into his palm as he leaned back, studying them, a chortle echoing in his throat. "Well," he mused. "Well, this is quite interesting." Glancing back to the dwarf, he abruptly released the spell of relaxation.
The dwarf felt the tips of Barsidious' fingers, coarse like tree bark. He could feel it swiping the mud that ran down his cheeks. Before he could mumble another word, he heard his voice once more, and a new tingling sensation traveled through him before it completely disappeared. His heart began to pound in his chest like a tribal drum. The panic that had faded way returned like unwanted relative. As spasms ran up and down his arms he began to scream and shake his fists as he stood on the sack that was placed beneath him.
Barsidious leaned back silently, the trinkets jingling in his hand. "Xiosia, goddess of life," he murmured. "Ah. And the...hm...truly?" He chuckled quietly. "Now I do think I've seen one of these before...and its symbol, well, is of an entirely different nature, is it not?" He watched the dwarf's tantrum with flat, emotionless eyes. "That's it...you're angry, aren't you?" The effigy of the goddess of life, and a black bead, the symbol of the killing black flame. What a lovely thing to be at odds. What a fascinating conundrum we have here! He suppressed the urge to howl with joy at this revelation, and remained for the most part stoic, though a trembling began to take his fingers. This shall be the greatest Truth of all.
Sillamon howled as the metal cut and pinched his flesh with each jerk of his arms. The feelings of emotional hurt and fear overwhelmed him - reducing him to a screaming, crying mess. He was almost too upset to answer, but managed to shout, "What? How could you say that!"
Barsidious shook his head softly from side to side, clucking his tongue against the roof of his mouth. His hand twitched, realizing that it was pointless to keep the helpless dwarf chained, and reached up with a key to drive it home into the lock. Without warning he twisted, meaning to disengage it. "Now," he said. "No need for hysterics. I'd like to have a nice chat...don't you think it would be better without so much sobbing and carrying on?"
Red in the face, Sillamon shouted at the top of his lungs, "What you're doing is wrong! Let me go!" As he did, he could feel a trembling in his knees; they felt like they would fold under his weight. A moment passed, then regret for his outburst began to set in as he wondered how his captor would react. He flinched as is anticipating a blow. Being at the mercy of a brute was not a new concept for him, and in his mind, he was perfectly aware of how their mannerisms were supposed to work.
Barsidious sobered, his laughter dying in his throat. No blow did the ylian throw, he merely sat and watched, his fingers twitching as he observed the dwarf. A long silence passed, filled only by his whistled breathing, which rasped harshly in his throat. Then, with a light, eerily calm tone, he inquired, "What is your name?"
Sillamon paused. He had expected the worst, but was puzzled. "My name?" he thought to himself, "What the?" He began to speak as dread made him flinch once more. He stuttered, then said as clearly as he could. "Sillamon. Sillamon Sallow, and I believe in Xiosia. May she have mercy on you and show you whats right." Sillamon squeezed his eyes shut and pursed his lips shut - expecting a to feel his fist connect with his face. Surely, now the blow would come.
But instead, Barsidious merely began to play with the two objects in his hand, curiously winding them slowly between his fingers. "Yes, yes, words I have heard many times before. Hollow things, really. The gods don't do much for us down here now do they? Just whispers in the deep." He raised his eyes and laughed wryly at the dwarf's continued flinching. "Come now, I'm not a barbarian. I said let us talk, so let us speak cordially."
My sickness runs far deeper than physical brutality, dwarf. The thought startled him to silence for a moment, curled the corners of his mouth downwards. No, no. My Truth. This is about my Truth. The Truth that shall set you free.
Loosening his face from the fearful, painful grimace it was in, the dwarf sniffed, then asked, "What is there to talk about now that you've done this to me? I would have told you anything over supper. What do you want to know?"
Barsidious continued to weave the tokens between his fingers. Another silence passed, and he inquired, "Are you a good man, Sillamon?"
Sillamon placed his head back resting it against the stone wall. He breathed in deeply, then slowly exhaled as he thought. After a moment passed he replied, "Yes. I'm not perfect, but I'm good enough."
Barsidious tilted his head, gazing at the dwarf through slits in his mask. "You will of course forgive me if I question the statement," he replied. "You see none of us are truly good at the core. You're rot. A reeking refuse, you see. You...me. The same." He raised a finger and pushed it into Sillamon's chest to demonstrate. "Like this brown ooze in your eyes," he continued, moving his finger up and touching the lids softly.
As Sillamon felt his fingertip, he turned his head away. Expecting the worst, he then asked, "What if I told you that you were good deep down inside, would you believe me? Or would you reject my truth and bury it under a pile of lies?"
Truth, he says! He proclaims to know what Truth is! Barsidious let out a rasping laughter, one that echoed in the room and bounced back again. "Mmm," he said. "You propose to tell me about truth, do you, Sillamon Sallow?" Out of his sleeve he drew a dagger, tossing it aimlessly and lightly in the air. "I will hear your truth, Sillamon. Only fair. And I'm all about equal exchange." His voice dipped low, holding a gravelly menace. "But then, I shall introduce you to mine."
Unaware of the knife, Sillamon continued, "You can hide from my truth with your laughter, you can fool yourself with it, but you can't fool me. Everybody is good at the core. Over time, people get bruised and hurt as they stumble though life. They get scarred and learn to hide...but deep down inside, that goodness remains. You can try to cover it up, but its still there.”
Barsidious stopped tossing the knife up into the air. With his fingers wrapped around the handle, he smiled again, a crack in his face, so wide that it made a split in his lower lip. He touched his tongue against the blood that trickled out, savoring this moment, savoring this naivety that he was about to joyfully shatter. "Good, am I, Sillamon Sallow? I do not think you quite understand the...gravity, of your situation." His hand flashed forward, blue light glittering on the tips of his fingers, forming a connection with the dwarf.
Sillamon 's body shook as Barsidious's hand met his head. He could feel a surge rushing though his body as his jaw dropped and his mind seemed to go numb.
Barsidious tilted his head to the side with a crooked grin, euphoria on his face, as he channeled images of his own past into the dwarf's mind. Fuzzy and vague, there seemed a depiction of some abusive past or other, one that ended in the death of presumably the accosters. Quickly, he filtered through in precise detail each of the fourteen murders he had committed, the letters TRUTH flashing bright red as the undercurrent. He showed their faces thrown back in agony, their eyes wide in terror, and then their chests holding the knife. Finished, he withdrew from the connection and leaned back, laughter still rumbling in his chest.
Sillamon vomited as his hands and legs trembled. Overcome with fear he tried to speak but his jaw chattered so much, he could barely utter a sound. He bit down on his teeth as hard as he could to still the smashing, then began to wail as he thought about the fear and suffering that each individual must have felt. He threw up once again, then raised his dreary head. With lips glimmering with saliva and twine of gravy like substance, he stuttered violently as he spoke. "There's ss.. some..th ..thing.. good ... d d d deep down.. insss sside. "Sss..ss...sstop.. hh hhh hhiding."
Barsidious was unfazed by the vomit, and by the scent of it. He wiped gently at Sillamon's face and rubbed the sticky substance between his fingers before wiping it in the dust. "You say so, do you? And what makes you think that what I'm doing is evil hm?" He stretched and stood, letting the vomit that had landed in his lap slide to the floor. "Tell me, dwarf. Do you let a blind man walk in circles, or guide him to where he needs to be?"
Feeling the urge to puke again, Sillamon pursed his lips shut, then leaned forward to heave, but nothing came out aside from a slithering bead of spittle and a litany of coughs. He sniffed - unable to wipe his nose in his sleeve, then replied as clearly as he could, "Deep down inside, you are good...but something on the outside is not. I don't need to be fixed or changed...and its not your job to do it either.”
Barsidious leaned back away from where Sillamon sat on the floor, nothing more than a puddle of tears and slobber. He studied again the items in the palm of his hand, running his thumb over them slowly, unmindful of the rotted fluid that coated them from where they were inserted in the dwarf's eyes. "Now, are you going to continue your babbling about false assumptions, or are you going to make me teach you this lesson the hard way, Sallow?"
Growing frustrated, Sillamon took a deep breath and hollered, "How can you not see what I see? Are you more blind than me?"
Barsidious chuckled lowly in his throat, a rasping sound, a low sound that made his mask rattle softly against his face. "Blind..." he repeats. "Perhaps, as you see it, I am blind. But you see, Sillamon. I will show you the Truth, and you shall understand." He holds the black bead beneath the dwarf's nose, between thumb and index finger. "Shall we start with what this is, hmm?"
Confused by what he meant by “this,” Sillamon twisted his head from side to side, then asked, "Whats what?"
Barsidious slowly dragged the bead beneath the dwarf's nose, and then brought it towards his hand, to let him feel it between his fingers. "Feel out of your eyes," he said. "Care to talk about it?"
Sillamon felt something warm and hard touch his fingertip. He rolled it between his thumb and forefinger as a puzzled look came over his face. "Whats this? A pebble? a pea?"
Barsidious leans forward to whisper into Sillamon's ear, his rugged wooden mask rasping softly against the stone wall, and possibly against the dwarf's cheek. "A little black bead," he replies.
"A what?" Incredulous, the dwarf's tone grated along the killer's nerves, as he began to realize that perhaps the dwarf had no idea the gravity of the item his eye had housed. He leaned back a bit and nodded slowly, observing to see if there is any reaction in Sillamon. "That's correct," he replied. "This means nothing to you, does it?"
Sillamon shook his head slowly - clearly confused. "Why's that important?"
Barsidious gave his head a curious cant. "You had no idea what was contained, knitted inside your own eyes, is that it?"
Sillamon began to stutter as he wondered just how sane his captor really was. "N n .. no? What do you mean by 'in my eyes'? Am I missing something?"
Barsidious took the bead back and rolled it between his fingers. "So you honestly had no idea....how...intriguing."
Not sure what to say, Sillamon swallowed, then said quietly, "I'm sorry, I really don't have a clue what you're talking about. Do you think that perhaps you could let me go now?"
Barsidious observed the dwarf for a prolonged, silent moment. Beneath the mask, some tears were glistening in his eyes, and he reached out his fingers to brush lightly against the dwarf's temple. A faint blue light shimmered, and he began to expertly weave his way into Sillamon's mind, his touch feather-light and soft, experienced in such manipulation. He carefully sought for the information he needed, the information he craved. All are guilty, he told himself. All are guilty. All that is needed is to find the incident, the rotted part, the Truth. His own panic was growing, a fear that he himself did not fully understand.
Sillamon began to sway back and forth a little, then shook his head as he tried to resist - feeling the effects of the spell. With his will to resist fading his face softened and his head moved with Barsidious's touch.
Barsidious tilted his head slowly, humming something beneath his breath, a shockingly soothing melody. "There's a good dwarf," he cooed, probing, searching for anything that might have to do with the dwarf's life before his eyes were stitched shut. He looked specifically for that memory, driving softly over his mind like a cloud.
As if in a dream, Sillamon began to feel himself float - every muscle in his body fully relaxed. His lips began to move as if talking as a strong image of an old, noisy tavern appeared as clear as day. He saw himself sitting at the bar, sweet talking a pair of clamod fenkis, both in their prime, and apparently rather interested in the dwarf. As they giggled at his jokes, a lemur priest brushed by one of them and mumbled something about their lack of virtue.
As the lemur with his fancy red cloak walked away the images of the emerald and gold twist that was sewn into his back caught his eye - but only for a second. Thinking nothing of it, he turned his attention back to his shapely friends. As the one on the right began to stroke his head, the other had taken his mug and hers, then returned with two full mugs. The fine stream of tiny bubbles that rose from the bottom of his mug were far from noticeable - at least in comparison to the glimmer in the eyes of his new friends.
Barsidious felt a pang of inexplicable anger as he realized the fenki were drugging the dwarf. He contained this, ritualistically, methodically moving over Sillamon's mind and continuing to goad the image and memory into formation. He waited, wanting to see it all, wanting to see the truth of what happened to the blind dwarf. The incorporeal being that sat in the back of the audience, watching the evolution and eagerly awaiting the outcome.
As the memory progressed, Sillamon could see that which he had not noticed before. The view of the cackling fenkis from the floor as he looked up, the sensation of them holding him up as the three left the tavern, and the very sound of his own voice hollering and howling about how he was all the man that these women would ever need. Seeing though his eyes once again but with a sound and critical mind, he gasped as he saw the same lemur priest handing a small sack to two young, rough looking men.
Barsidious kept his fingertips pressed against Sillamon's temple. He nods slowly with understanding, and a tear found its way down his cheek where it hung off of his chin and then dripped to the floor. "Ah," he whispered, his voice echoing in the vision. "This is it, isn't it? The consequence of little things, such small mistakes." Disembodied, he coaxed the vision further, wanting to see every detail, every blow, every part.
Sillamon could feel a choking sensation as tears began to roll from his eyes. He saw for the first time, and instantly recognized what he saw. The fenki's handing him over to the two men in exchange for a few circles, the smell of day old beer and sweat as they grabbed his slumped body and dragged him into an alley, then sharp blows that landed on his eyes and cheeks as they beat his face until it was swollen and blue. He could hear their cackling as they held him down with a filthy hand over his mouth to stifle his cries. The pain that followed was like nothing he had ever felt before. The tearing, stabbing pain sent him into shock as they took two sharp sticks and jabbed them into his eyes.
Barsidious raised his other hand to gently stroke at Sillamon's cheek, nodding slowly. Instead of berating him, he offered and exuded a sense of comfort, slowly twining it with the horrible memory. As though trying to build up the dwarf's trust in the sensation, he whispered words of encouragement, speaking about injustice, and again, he prodded the memory into further formation. Yes, he encouraged. Feel the injustice of it. Feel how this needs revenge. Feel the wrongness, the horrible, horrible wrongness of it all...
The memory went black and for a moment, it was as if he was frozen in time. Moments later he could feel his eyelids being pulled, tugged and jerked, followed by a succession of sharp pains that peaked with each tied stitch. He could hear them talking, swearing as they pinched his eyelids shut...and in the distance, a third voice - laughing coldly at his demise. He nodded as Barsidious's prodding, repeating the word, "injustice."
Barsidious decided it was time to take control. He caused the world to spin, a dizzying spell, whirling rapidly. When the momentum ceased, he projected a new world, one where the mighty Sillamon stood, full and healthy, his eyes bright and working. In his hands he held a shimmering blade, and around him the men and the fenkis and the priest stood, helplessly. Into this illusion Barsidious poured white-hot rage, trying to influence the dwarf, to spur him to action. Barsidious "Justice," he whispered, leaning closer to his ear. "Justice."
The word "justice" fell from Sillamon's lips as he stood before the small crowd, clad in bright, gleaming armor. In his hand a blade - long and sharp. He could feel his heart pounding out of his chest, his nostril flaring as a rush of energy rain though his veins like thunder and lightning. And though some part his mind timidly shouted, "Oh please dear gods, no!” his body nonetheless began to charge at them as his arm raised up above his head. He could feel part of himself thirsting for vengeance, while he watched himself in sheer horror - unable to control his thoughts and emotions.
Barsidious smiled to himself, a sad, understanding smile. Into this hesitation he sent a whisper, a reassurance, like a father gently patting his child on the head. "Justice," he whispered again, his breath ghosting from his lips. He placed the fenki before him first, one soft furred clamod. Her eyes went wide as the shimmering blade sliced into her, and as it did, her fur fell out, leaving her a naked, pink sack of flesh. The shriek of the fenki caused the dwarf's heart to shatter as he maimed her further, cutting from her chest down to her cervix. With another impulsive sideways slash he watched as her stomach opened up and her innards spilled out as she wailed and begged for mercy. He wanted to vomit, he couldn't stop shaking inside. The second fenki fell just as quickly - her lobbed off arms hitting the floor first, then her head as he cleaved it clean off. With her blood jetting over his head he turned and saw a figure standing behind him, strange, amorphous. But as he looked, he realized that there was some other presence here, a watcher of this spectacle. He advanced upon it, staring at the garish mask, the tightly clenched hands. And Sillamon the blind dwarf did the unthinkable; he took up his shimmering sword, and sliced towards the mental image that was Barsidious Whiteni.
Barsidious stood in shock as the sword sliced through his phantom image. For a moment it flickered, though being all that it was, illusion, the man merely stood incorporeal for a few moments. It flickered again, and a young, cowering child stood in its place, shrunk into a corner, bleeding from wounds upon his back, before it morphed into the killer again. Slowly, he let the illusion melt away, and he leaned back from Sillamon, studying him with his head craned, not unlike a confused puppy. His past and present were struggling with one another. The synapses of his brain fired and misfired, trying to connect this turn of events with what he understood of reality. He had given the dwarf the chance to give in fully to his own darkness. But instead, he had turned upon the opportunity. Had denied his chance to see the Truth. He had struck out at his own visage, jerked him back into a past that he could hardly bear to recall...
“You're a sick boy,” the man leered, looming over his crumpled form. “A bad one, y'see. Shouldn'ta gone around poking your nose into my business.” A blow landed on his back, one of many, the glass-laced whip cracking smoothly through the air. “You want to take another look, do ye?” The man asked, grabbing the back of his neck, hoisting him into the air so that he was forced to stare at the woman hanging from the barn's rafters. Her neck slit, her eyes wide and lifeless, her beautiful hair unkempt and tossed as though wind-blown to the side. Her hands, his mother's beautiful hands, the fingers curled into rigor mortis, or perhaps as a result of the cold of winter. The rope that bound her like one might bind a deer to allow for the bloodletting...
“You're not gonna tell anybody, are ye, boy?” He was saying, lips by his ear, breath smelling of beer. He shook him till his vision was blurred, his fist slamming into his temple so that his world whirled and he struggled to stay conscious. “Cuz ye're just as bad as I am, you know that? Flesh and blood boy, flesh and blood. We're all sinners on the inside, all black and full of sickness. Ye're gonna learn that, son. Ye're gonna learn that, and I'm gonna teach you.”
The child whimpered, watching his mother's body as a wind blew through an open window and teased it, swinging it limply back and forth. His mouth opened and he let out a keening wail, low and mournful, incoherent and then evolving into a mixture of moaned, devastated words. Something was snapping, something was cracking...
“Why daddy, why daddy, why...”
The killer's head jerked back, eyes widening in shock, hands flapping at the air as if to tear the memory to pieces with his fingers. Slowly he settled into an eerie clam, hardly moving. His chest rose and fell slowly, and he turned sluggish eyes towards Sillamon. He noted with bewilderment that the dwarf held a blade in one hand, very real, not the stuff of a dream. He had a vague notion that he had handed the weapon to the victim, had slid it towards him, half hallucinating, but made no move to take it away. "You are good," he said quietly. There was something strange in his voice; reverence and hatred all at once. "You are good."
Sillamon grabbed the sword with both hands - then winced sharply as the blade cut into the palm of his hand. Touching it again, he began to realize that it was, in fact, a sword. Confused, he he asked, "This isn't...no...it can't be?"
Barsidious glanced towards the weapon. "You are good," he repeated, mechanically. "You cannot be good," he continued. Like a system that can't quite comprehend something out of the norm. He slowly removed his mask, his acid-scarred face became visible. He reached up to touch the shallow cut in his throat, just barely having grazed his skin. Pulling his hand away to glimpse the blood, he repeated, his voice a rasping whisper, "You cannot be here."
The word "justice" continued to throb in Sillamon's mind. Its meaning ran deep into his soul - touching the very root of his being. Gripping the sword he swallowed hard, then spoke. "And you cannot be here either. It's not just." Taking a deep breath he guessed at where Barsidious was, then charged forward with the tip of his sword leading the way.
Barsidious snapped, more than he ever had before. The blade sliced neatly through his shoulder, and he barely registered this pain. His eyes widened a hair, and he looked at Sillamon, watching the blind dwarf with parted lips. Fumblingly, his hand felt for something--a knife, the handle sticking inconspicuously out of the travelsack. He gripped it, pulled it out, and stared at the inky coating. "Evil," he whispered. "I am evil." The new Truth shattered him. He eyed the dwarf where he sat, his blade stuck in his shoulder. "Darkness swallows light," he whispered. Raising the blade above his head, the Ylian moved to bring the poisoned knife down, and drive it into the dwarf's back. As he did, he sobbed, a gut-wrenching sound, screaming unintelligibly. "Wicked! Wicked! The darkness in the soul!"
With a breath stealing cry, Sillamon fell to his knees as the dagger blade slid clean into his flesh and the weight of Barsidious's fist produced a loud thud as the knife slammed against his back.
Barsidious stared Sillamon in the face, the fingers on his still mobile hand trembling, raising up to touch against his cheek. "I'm sorry," he said, tears flowing freely from his eyes, catching in his craggy flesh. "I'm sorry," he repeated, a mantra, over and over. With the arm that was still mobile, he wrapped the dwarf in an embrace, and released an animalistic scream that echoes off of the walls of the sewers. The filamentous fissures in his mind cracked wide open as his Truth crumpled away, leaving only one reality in its wake. I am the evil, I am the darkness, I am the sin.
Sillmon began to scream in horror, but the sound was somewhat muted – as he was barely able to draw breath. He coughed painfully as a bloody, foamy trail slipped from his mouth and drizzled down his neck. With a gurgling, wet sound he howled in agony; he cried out to Xiosia for help, but none was found. Within seconds, his howling stopped and his body collapsed into his killer's warm embrace. As his life faded, his hands went limp - letting the sword drop to the floor with a sad, metallic clang.
Barsidious cradled the dying dwarf in his hands, unmindful of the wound in his own shoulder. His thumb caressed the dwarf's face as he spoke. "I will bring them to me," he said, and a smile curled his lips. "Bring them to me, kill me, kill me," he added, singing softly. "I'll plant you bright and beautiful on the fountain, and I'll take HER, and they will come. And kill me. Kill the evil."
Barsidious slowly drew the dagger from Sillamon's body. He began to care for him, pulling something out of his travelsack. Two crystal diamonds, beautiful, and shimmering, he placed them within the open sockets of the dwarf's eyes. “I killed the light,” he wailed, rising to his feet and limping out of the sewers. “I've killed the light, killed the light...”
-
And die you shall Bar, and die you shall.
-
Way to go Bar. :thumbup:
-
Grab the torches and pitchforks!
(http://www.barking-moonbat.com/images/uploads/Angry_Mob_by_Acwraith.jpg)
-
(http://img441.imageshack.us/img441/9205/pitchfork.gif)
-
;D Pooooor poor Barsidious. Gonna have a full out Frankenstein on our hands.
-
Id kill to have that pitchfork ingame
Then again I'd kill for a cupcake and some flattery.
-
@Phantomboy86: You've gained flattery from myself. But you're already a cupcake! :love:
-
/me carefully slides a flame retardant vest over Knightspark's shoulders. "You're...going to need that."
-
i would prefer to have a sickle over the pitch fork, and I know there is one! Just... now sure how to acquire it >.>
-
Things can't get any worse, can they?
Finding his wine bottle empty before he can slake his thirst, Stellan slams it against the guildhouse wall, cursing. A fit of coughing brings up bloody phlegm. He counts off the day's bad turns - 1. Rigwyn's tryst with Monala - the thought makes him nauseous with rage. 2. Rigwyn coughing the plague into his face - damn, should have seen it coming. 3. Losing control and punishing Rigwyn with the cursed touch before getting any answers - where is the Diaboli now? Depressed? Dead? 4. And falling out with his guild leader Aschatan - he should never have trusted the old Ynnwn with the evidence from the dwarf's murder. What if the trail is cold by now and Barsidious (if Herihi is right about the killer's name) is out doing more depraved things?
At least the evidence is all here. Wrapped in Daintywhisp's hanky, untouched: the potion bottle, the diamond 'eyes', and the letter smeared with blood and what look like tears:
I have killed the light.
I took one of your masses.
He challenged me this night.
I approached him, took his mind.
And instead of facing darkness.
I found a valorous kind.
That should not have existed.
Now I place this one before you.
Better than your numbers, twisted.
Your hero better than the rest.
Who with a blade my soul did wrest.
[The next lines are written jaggedly, as if by a shaking, unsteady hand.]
I am evil.
I am your darkness.
I am your wickedness.
I am your nightmares.
I am your fears.
Find me. Kill me. End me.
I AM COMING.
Troubled, pissed off and feeling sorry for himself, Stellan heads for the tavern, leaving the bundle in a crate on the guildhouse platform. In his haze, he simply lets the door swing shut behind him, forgetting to lock it.
Now things can't get any worse. Can they?
[Guildhouse 31 by Kisatol's tent in the Warehouse sector of Ojaveda has been left OPEN, and it's a baaad neighborhood. Feel free to RP. If no one's on, leave a book, or post in this thread to describe what we might find - or lose. ;D]
-
Daintywhisp returned to camp to find her mother, Erin, dancing naked under the darkened Crystal, the old woman's long, unkempt silver hair flying in all directions. It was a familiar sight to Dainty, and she just sighed. One day, she'd find a village where more people than herself would support the madwoman and keep her under control. For now, the Lemur was just glad that no harm had come to the only family she knew she had.
"Mom, you'll catch a cold or worse. They say there's a plague going around."
"My flower, I'm weaving protective magic into my dances!"
"You gave me all the glyphs, remember? I'm the one who does the spells now."
"This isn't the kind of magic you need glyphs for. I'm welcoming the day, speaking to the gods around us and the grass below our feet!"
"It's the middle of the night, mother."
"It's the beginning of the day, from my perspective."
"Well, you finish your ritual and then come in and dress while I start dinner," replied Daintywhisp, giving up. "I have news."
An hour later, the smell of roasting meat permeated the air, which seemed to bring Erin back to reality. Without dressing, the older woman sat down and opened a bottle of liquor, pouring two modest portions into the goblets that had been set out.
"What's the news?"
"I'm arranging to stay near Hydlaa, but not permanently. It's dangerous in the city - I found a truly dead dwarf and a written threat of more murders."
"You call me the crazy one, and you want to live in such a place."
Daintywhisp shook her head, smirking as Erin cackled at her own jest.
"Mom, there isn't a safe town in the Dome, but this one has the Winch. I can get in; I can bring us to another level. Somewhere better. I know the right place for us is out there."
"Did you know the dwarf?"
"No. He was old. Had diamonds in his eye sockets. Under the blood and ropes, I think I might have liked him had I met him alive."
"Diamond eyes. I used to want a doll with those, when I was little."
"Mother, please focus, there's more."
"I'm listening, sweetheart."
"I met this Diaboli fellow, he said the guards are useless. He wanted to keep the diamonds." Daintywhisp briefly considered adding that the dwarf had crumbled to dust, but it would only distract Mother once again. "I don't know who to trust, so it's imperative you don't enter town until we can get into the winch, alright? You're all I've got. The last thing we need is for either of us to face the true death."
"Alright. If you do meet the killer, though, tell him I prefer emeralds."
-
Rizula already knew she was in trouble before she even turned around to face the menkies. She knew the footfalls, the limp and drag of Peg, the heavy stomping of Brute, Slink’s unnerving presence – he made no noise at all unless you kicked him where it hurt. She was known to them as Goldie, not for any physical features – she didn’t know much about disguises when she knew these men – but for her position handling the entry fees of their fight club. Which was precisely what the group was ambushing her about. There was nobody to cry for help to – she was out of earshot of Camp Banished, and there was nobody in sight on the stretch of road between Hydlaa and the stalagmite that towered over the land.
“Where’s the money, kid?” Brute spat hatefully.
“Looks like ya spent it all a while ago.” the sharper Peg said smoothly, looking at the nolthrir’s tattered clothes.
Slink simply smacked his palm with his fist. His silence might have been intimidating, if Rizula handn’t known the menki refused to speak because of his lisp.
“Y’know, I could get it to ya’s all, but burnin’ down my old circus? That’s revenge enough, a’int it?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Peg.
“Yeah, that wasn’t us, we hired—“
Peg smacked Brute, but it was too late to bluff now.
“You already destroyed my first real job, killed several of my friends and offed all a’ my Velnishis! Ya know how hard it is to breed those things in captivity and train ‘em? That’s well over fifty thousand trias’ worth of damage.”
“And we still didn’t get no money out of it.”
“Well, I a’int givin’ you none now, you –“ Rizula made the mistake of carrying on with a string of profanity that was interrupted with a quick punch in the face from Slink. She stumbled backwards, faking being off-balance for a second longer than she truly was to “accidentally” step on Peg’s good foot. He caught her, digging his claws into her arms, and pushed her towards Brute, who was raising his club. Rizula was outnumbered and outmatched – she ducked between Brute’s legs and ran with all of her might. The men chased her.
She tried to lead them to the ‘Nauts, but the creatures were preoccupied and her screaming for help were ignored by the mages practising their arts on the creatures. Rizula darted past the consumers, who seemed more interested in her than the menkies, probably sensing that she was closer to death than her meatier predators. The nolthrir kept running, heart pounding in her throat, tongue parched, feeling like she’d faint if she took one more step. She knew the Irifon river was ahead, though. Maybe she could duck into it and swim away, down the current – but for all the time she used to spend in Ojaveda, she didn’t know where the river went. For all she knew, she might end up eaten by gobbles, not much better a fate than beaten to a pulp by her enemies. When she reached the river, she simply swam across, glad for the chance to get rid of some sweat and gulp down a few mouthfuls of clean water. She considered dropping her soaked bag as it thumped against her thigh, but pausing to take it off would only slow her down. The awkward splashing she heard behind her once she was up the hill across the Irifon indicated it would inconvenience the men a little at least. She thanked the gods that nobody ever thought to build a bridge there.
Suddenly there was a searing pain in her side. Peg’s knife-throwing had improved immensely since she’d last seen him. She nearly blacked out on the way, but made it to Ojaveda. She immediately turned right, ignoring the guards’ shouts asking if she needed help. They were bound to halt the menkies, too – chasing a wounded little girl was as good as telling the Octarch himself you’re a crook. With this in mind, Rizula made for the guild houses, trying every single door. The last on the street was open. She removed one boot, dropping it on the street, and smeared her blood on the ground. “There, let them think I kicked off from that knife,” thought Rizula.
She glanced backwards, then ducked into the open house. No sign indicated whose it was. She hoped Kisatol hadn’t seen her, fairly certain he’d offer no protection for a street urchin.
“Hello?”
No answer. Good. Rizula descended the ladder, pressing her shirt to her bleeding hip. The wound wasn’t horrible, but there was a lot of blood. She managed to get to a pile of Ulbernaut hides without dripping anything onto the floor, and patched herself up.
“But what if it’s their place, or they try the door too? Guess I need to play dressup.”
Rizula looked in her bag. She didn’t have a full disguise on her – there was the red cloak, some starphires she’d “collected” from a merchant earlier, the thick white base for the paste she used to fake burn wounds…her burn victim disguise had drawn too much attention, though, everyone asking to heal her all the time, and one man even assuming she was some kind of spy or mercenary. She wasn’t successful at the job he’d offered. Honest work never went well for her.
Blending in was the best choice. Rizula crushed the flowers’ petals, making a light blue dye by mixing them into the paste. She had to use the entire dozen to get the right shade. Disappointed by this, she slathered the paint onto her face, neck, arms, and lastly her bare foot. It wasn’t as good as the real dye she soaked in to achieve the blue-skinned costume she normally wore, but shadowed by the hooded cloak, it would be convincing enough, so long as she didn’t stay in one place long enough to draw attention.
The Nolthrir looked around the house, taking down the swords and daggers on the walls. After all, she deserved some souvenirs from her adventure. She searched the rest of the house, finding nothing of interest in most of the rooms. Instead she climbed a ladder in the middle of the wall. There was a crate atop the platform she was on – she overturned it, rifling through the contents. A letter, a hankie, nothing of use. Those two diamonds would look nice in a pair of earrings though. She pocketed them and waited a while, ear pressed to the door. When things were quiet, she dragged as many hides as she could to store with Jirosh, thankful that he didn’t ask too many questions, her story about moving towns and mention of paying a hefty fee to have her things delivered to Hydlaa later seeming satisfactory. The blue paint she was getting everywhere was harder to explain. "Makeup," she stated truthfully to the Akkaio, in a tone that indicated she wasn't willing to give more details.
The town seeming free of the menkies she’d been running from, she sold a couple of the better hides and ran to the Pterosaur master, breathlessly requesting a flight to Hydlaa. At Kada’s, she washed up while listening in on Rigwyn talk to someone on the roof. She felt the need to talk about what had just happened, and the ‘family’ was the only group she could speak openly to about these things.
It ended up earning her a trip back to that stinking city.
-
\\o// Fantastic both of you. Fantastic.
-
[Co-authored by Aramara and Mariana]
Aramara awakes in the Stonehead Tavern. She must have fallen asleep after Evirea's story. It's early morning and no one else is there from the night before. As with most mornings lately, Aramara awoke feeling sick. She lifts herself from the stone bench that served as her bed, her body aching and joints stiff from sleeping on the hard surface, and stumbles outside to catch some fresh air. She doesn't quite make it outside before her stomach turns. She falls to her knees and vomits, thin and watery, not much was in her stomach as she had forgone eating the night before. The heaving stops and she sits wearily, trying to gather her strength after such a harsh awakening. The morning air is wet with fog and it clings to her fur. She shivers and holds herself by the shoulders. When the nausea subsides, she lifts herself from the ground and searches for a glass of water, maybe some morning bread if she can find some, and a sit by the fire.
A seemingly innocent fire flickers softly in the hearth as Aramara sits idly by, quickly ebbing and rising in a dancing pattern as though to seize her attention. It grows higher, and then smaller, reducing itself nearly to embers before it bursts back to life again. The erratic firelight begins to cast shadows on the floor before the hearth, and the crackling and popping holds its own inquiring urgency.
Aramara sips on a mug of an impromptu tea. In her search for bread, she came across a jar of dried tinga leaves. Mixing them with a blend of herbs from a pouch on her belt, she seeped them in water boiled with a flash of red way magic. She feels the all to familiar pull of the fire. She knows it's call all too well, and as much as she wishes she can avoid it, she knows it has something to tell her and she must listen. Calming herself with a series of practiced, slowly drawn breaths, she stares deeply into the dancing flames. Their flickering movement coalesces into shapes and forms. Images are revealed, tangible only in her mind. Inwardly she prays, a repetitive mantra, for the guidance of her Goddess and the Spirit of the Fire in the interpretation of the visions.
The mysterious fire snaps to attention as though it had been waiting for this. It begins to whirl and churn, unpredictable as a sea on one of the lower submerged levels of Yliakum. Slowly, it begins to form images, images inside of the seer's mind. They are of a nightmarish quality; bodies being mutilated, people being killed, over and over and over again. One image, a shadowy figure with an armful of daggers and masked with a hideous wooden visage, seems to be in charge and responsible for all of the chaos and pain and destruction. But if Aramara has the stomach for it, there appears to be something else in this vision, something heavy, something stemming from the killer's back.
A deep chill washes over Aramara, despite the warmth radiating from the hearthborn fire. She can feel the pain of the tortured souls in the hands of the shadowy figure. She wonders who this figure is. Is he responsible for these dark times which have enshrouded the land like a vile mist? Was he the infamous killer? The source of the plague? She searched the image deeper, tried to peel back the layers of vague darkness in which they are enshrouded.
The fire begins to work to make the image clearer. Pictures of the fountain flash by, desiccated bodies bound to the balustrades in various places with various different faces. They all sit with a knife in their chest, or throat, and slowly, with agonizing slowness, they disintegrate and turn to dust. The dust forms an ashy pile, and upon that pile the figure stands, arms in the air, a victory posture. Or, so it would seem. But now again, there is something stemming from his arms, something that is holding them up. The air above him is dark, bleak, clouded in a thick fog that appears almost impenetrable.
Aramara now realizes the masked figure is indeed the murderer who has placed the city of Hydlaa within a vice of fear these past few months. Although she had not been witness to any of the gruesome display, she had heard enough accounts of those who had to make this connection. Fear now tightened on her stomach, but she knew that she was being shown this for a reason, for a purpose. So she peered deeper into the cloud, trying to penetrate its mystery.
The fire burns brighter now, as if straining to get past some unseen force in order to deliver this message. The clouds disperse, at least somewhat, and reveal that like an elaborate puppet, Barsidious hangs limply from the strings imbedded in his arms and legs. Blood runs down the twine, and stretches up into the swirling, black clouds.
An understanding now comes to Aramara. She now sees the killer for what he truly is. But, moreso than that, he in turn has played the city as puppets as well, especially Evirea. Aramara's mind now turns to the klyros, trying to glean what may lie ahead in her future.
The flames shift with difficulty. Always, the black cloud hovers over the horizon. It moves to a different location, the scene molding into a cave, the dank atmosphere and the hiss of velnishi the only things that might reveal what the location is. In the scene, Evirea hangs dead from the ceiling, a large, brutal hook in either shoulder, and a mortal wound, a dagger, thrust deep in her chest. At her feet, the killer sits, and weeps.
Terror now grips Aramara. She doesn't know the klyros well, admittedly, but she does know that she does not deserve this fate. But a question lingers. To what end? What purpose does Evirea's death serve to the black, ominous cloud? Now desperate for clarity and answers, she pushes the images forward through time to decipher the goal of the puppet-master.
The hearth fire begins to flicker, dimmer, as though again it is struggling. The cloud begins to shift and churn, and whatever force that hides behind it is infuriated at the attempted intrusion. From the puppeteer, there is a sense of oldness, of an ancient and calculating power. But instead of trying to harm the fenki for her prodding, whatever lay behind the vale begins to push back, as if trying to avoid detection.
The harder she pushes forward, the greater the strain the scrying imparts on Aramara's mind. She struggles to keep the clarity of the vision together, but the effort is fatiguing her. She knows she is no match for the force enshrouded in the cloud. With heavy reluctance, she turns from the fire, breaking her connection with the flames. Exhausted, she lay on the floor before the hearth, breathing heavily, a prayer of thanks to the greater spirits for their guidance
The fire dies down as though it, too, has exhausted itself. But, for a moment before it dies, it bursts once more to life. The flame looks sickly...an unnatural green glow. For a breath it almost seems to be peering outward, the observed trying to get a look at the observer. Then, with a burst of smoke, the fire fades to nothing.
Aramara finds that the morning fog has now lifted, but fatigue keeps her from leaving the tavern just yet. Soon, Zalya or Elady will come by, but until then, Aramara closes her eyes to rest. She dreams of miomo and wishes he were there to help her with what she now knows is her mission. She must protect Evirea from that cruel fate, and protect the world from whatever evil seeks to gain from it.
-
Evirea carefully wrapped a cloth around her chest, the cushion enough to conceal the amulet that lay beneath. She had, of course, considered removing the artifact Travosh had given to her. Though doing so would be a grievous risk, she also had every intention of keeping her promise to Teshia Dastrid. She would not endanger the man without proper cause. Unlikely as it was, the narcissistic klyros had grown on her, and she would now count him a friend.
She considered many of them friends. The Teshia woman, stubborn as a fire carakas and just as prone to claw at those she saw as enemies, but with loyalty stronger than stone. Sacho, the one who called himself doctor, who meddled into business that had nothing to do with his own. But despite his persistent disturbances, she also sensed in him a strong compassion, a thing rare in this hectic world. Dannae, the priestess with a capacity for boundless naive stupidity, and equally boundless wisdom. Icerra, the grammatically challenged kore that had managed to get beneath her scaly skin with surprising skill.
Her fingers danced on the cloth. Again, she considered removing the amulet, staring into the old, decrepit mirror, fogged by far too much polishing. I'll keep it, she thought, nodding. And if it gets too dangerous...if I feel it getting dangerous, I'll cut it off.
She slid a small knife into a pocket of her sleeve, closed it tightly so that it was invisible, and smiled. She knew enough about people. She knew that even in danger, it was unlikely the stubborn klyran would cut the connection, even if that were possible. He would maintain it, because to continue would be to admit defeat, and his ego would be thoroughly crushed by such an experience.
It had taken much research, but she had figured out where the killer would take her. His butchering floor was migratory; already he'd used the dungeons, and the ruins. The dungeons, though, he had over-used. The residue on the letters attested to such. She believed he was saving somewhere else for her. Somewhere dark, hidden, concealed. Somewhere safer, where he could carry out his plans without fear of being disturbed.
Glancing towards the map laying on the inn's dresser, she smirked at the circled point on the map. Out on a sparsely populated Ojavedan road, an entrance guarded by ulbernauts and a cavern infested with rabid velnishi. It seemed the perfect enclosure for such an encounter. She was nearly certain that this would in fact be the place where he would take her...and with the help of her serving as a distraction, it should be possible to lead others to the location...
Evirea silently folded the map and turned towards the door. She didn't know when Barsidious would come calling for her, but she promised herself she would be ready. This was her final encounter, her final catch, and though she herself would not be doing the killing, still she looked forward to being the end of yet another Butcher.
For only a moment, the klyros paused on the threshold of the tavern's room. In her breast-pocket sat a letter, an offer from a most unlikely source. She removed it and unfolded it, reading its simple contents, scribed in a shaky and rather untidy hand.
Quite suiting of the author.
With a smile, Evirea pulled out her pen and wrote a challenge, a concise call to action. A taste of so delicious an irony would be sweet upon her tongue, should it come time that she meet her end. Satisfied, she perused what the letter now contained, a smile making her lips twitch with amusement.
I'll kill him for you, the Diaboli had written. Below this flowed her own bemused reply, her call to battle:
You think you can, do you?
I'd like to see you try.
Folding this small slip of paper into the map she'd drawn, she smirked wryly and headed for the exit, in search of her killer.
Let's see what you can do, Rigwyn.
-
So! The "Butcher RP" Part 1 is coming to a close. :'( But! On the bright side, it should be a rather amusing RP. Unfortunatly due to frequent crashing I'm going to have to host this on IRC to ensure it does actually go off without a hitch. As I've mentioned in another thread, it will be at a set time, but I will leave a note by the fountain to try to get some of the "randomness" that RP usually provides.
The time: Friday at 5 PM GMT
Be on the lookout for that letter ;)
(The channel name will be #butcherRP)
-
egads! friday! Ara hasn't much time! To the Xiosia-mobile!
-
Let's see what you can do, Rigwyn.
/me wanders around muttering something to himself about the ninth proverb... ::|
More crazy talk perhaps?
-
the notice was removed, i don't know if it was done ICly or OOCly, but you might wanna replace it and ask a GM nicely to nail it down until after the event is over.
-
As a heads up I may be somewhat late to the planned RP. (May be, it's unlikely, but just in case I'm not there exactly at 11 pm CST, or 5 GMT, as it were, nobody panic.)
-
(http://cn1.kaboodle.com/hi/img/2/0/0/10f/e/AAAAAk5ZjlcAAAAAAQ_oGQ.jpg?v=1213655732000)
Barsidious circled Evirea where she hung, staring up at her feet, which were twitching erratically. The cave was shrouded in darkness, and they occupied a small corner, obscured by amorphous rock formations that magnified the reverberating hisses of the Velnishi. Blood dripped down the klyros' leg, slowly, pattering to the floor in a steady rhythm, but her eyes remained open, and she gripped the metal hook that was imbedded in her shoulder harshly, trying to keep calm.
She smiled tensely, and her lips spread thinly over her teeth. She took in a sharp breath as the chain swung back and forth, the links connecting her to the ceiling of the cave jangling innocently. "You know," she rasped. "Your habit of drawing this thing out is really starting to make me think you're more of a sadist than I had predicted. What's the matter, precisely? Hm? Not satisfied with our discussion?"
Barsidious stopped beneath the klyros and grabbed her foot, giving it a sharp tug. He seemed to take no pleasure in the resulting shriek. "You're a smart woman, Evirea," he replied. "You no doubt understand how this must work. You are my final kill, and you will understand your darkness before we continue this encounter. Before I dig into your mind, I will force you to understand it."
Evirea managed to laugh, and marveled at how genuine the sound was. Inside she was terrified, terrified at the symbolism of the hook in her arm, nearly panicked, hysteria rising in her throat. Flashes of her parent's disembodied heads were floating in the back of her mind, and she tried to suppress them. The pain certainly wasn't helping, but thankfully she was resourceful and had shoved a numbing agent in her mouth before allowing herself to be kidnapped. She chewed it slowly, and willed herself to last just long enough for others to arrive.
If they were going to arrive at all.
Barsidious reached up to grip at Evirea again, and swung her agonizingly, listening to her screaming as it echoed through the cavern. He stood back and admired the fact that she was still quite awake, though her eyes were tight with pain and her breathing was verging on hyperventilation. Much more and she'd pass out...which would not pose well for his plan.
Evirea focused on her vital signs, slowed her breathing, kept her heart rate low to slow the loss of blood. "You're nothing more than a killer," she panted. "A killer, you know, like the dozens that I have already slaughtered. The dozens I'll slaughter in the future. You are no different, you are no better." She knew this last bit was not true. She expected to die, but she'd be damned if she died before she saw the life fade from Barsidious' eyes.
Barsidious frowned quietly. "You know that's hardly true, now," he said. "You focus only on a logical premise, but I...I dabble in the darker realms of the psyche. I manipulate philosophy, and I twist minds towards an understanding of the evil that is innate in every single heart. You know this to be true...it's present even in you. After all...you are a killer too, aren't you, Evirea?"
Evirea spat to the side, noting the blood that congealed in the spittle and realizing she'd bitten too hard on her own tongue. "Yes," she admitted. "I kill killers. I'm the hunter's hunter. You think that makes me evil? Tell that to all of the lives I've saved."
Barsidious let out a deep-throated chuckle. "Ah, yes, of course. Because you are not a killer if you kill the culprit. And yet..." he narrowed his eyes slowly, "You don't really think that, do you Evirea? You feel guilt....ah, and the core of it is failure. You're a failure Evirea. Because no matter how many people you save, you could not save the ones that counted. You let them down, because you are worthless. Isn’t that right?" He turned his head towards the entrance, twisting his fingers slowly, in a circle, a faint blue light appearing, hovering, over the tips of his fingers. "Well," he said. "It would seem no one is coming for you, Evirea." He turned back to her, smiling with the realization that she had fallen silent. "No one is coming for you. You fail, yet again."
Evirea smiled coldly at Barsidious. "Oh," she replied. "I think not. Even if they don't come now, they'll find you. Your death is coming to you, Ylian. Even if I don't get the pleasure of seeing it." Internally she felt her confidence waning. She pleaded for the Ylian to try to enter her mind, to spring her trap, and her faith fell as he simply continued to circle below her feet like a featherless buzzard.
Barsidious resumed his pacing. "A very stubborn woman," he stated. He got closer to where the woman hung, and the blue light glimmers more starkly, traveling up her leg like an infection. "If you aren't going to cooperate, we might have to find other means of having our discussion. I'd rather not resort to them, but if I have to...well, it could be unavoidable.
Evirea let out another blood-curdling scream. She did it for effect, of course...she nearly smiled from her elation at the Ylian's implication. A part of her briefly worried for the safety of Travosh, but she was overjoyed anyway, knowing that Barsidious would have something of a surprise awaiting him.
Barsidious paused for a moment. He tilted his head slightly to the side, as though he was listening quietly. Again, the swirl of blue intensified, and again he turned his gaze towards the entrance. "Well well well," he said. "It seems we haven't much time."
Someone was coming after all.
<><><><><><><><>
Travosh had found the note on the fountain, and he followed the indicated path now, rage evident on his features as he summoned his drifter. Finally reaching the second plains of Ojaveda, he slowed down the relentless marching of the drifter, slipping off and readying himself for what was hopefully a final encounter. "I really hope he falls for it..." He heard the vaguest hints of something on the wind...screaming...as he climbed the hollow mountain the map indicated, wincing in anger as he withdrew his staff. Preparing his spells as early as possible.
<><><><><><><><>
Aramara found herself standing in the Ojaveda plaza much quicker than she had imagined. She must have been daydreaming the whole flight, thinking about Fyrre talking about jumping off the Eagle Fortress falls. That fenki could use some adjusting, she thought, as she dusted herself off and walked through the town. She paused as she exited the narrow pass leading from Ojaveda, the mountain crater in view across the plain. A whisper to Xiosia escaped her lips and she began the long hike up towards the mountain.
<><><><><><><><>
Sarras had only a rough idea of who this Barsidious was, and, to be on the safe side, donned a leather cuirass before leaving Hydlaa on a pterosaur. Once in Ojaveda, she hastily dismounted the flying beast and ran to the specified location from the note. She had to take a small breather before trekking up the mountain.
Aramara too stopped to catch her breath as she reached the foot of the mountain. Seeing Sarras run past her she raised her paw to call out to the elf but stopped. Maybe it's for the best, send in the cavalry first? besides, she'd told Sarras of her visions, given her the warning. Perhaps that in and of itself was enough to prevent the omen.
Travosh could hear someone clomping around behind him up the mountain path, he muttered curses under his breath as he stopped and turned around to await whoever it is before they could make a mess of things.
Sarras passed Aramara, too concentrated on the climb to notice the fenki. Up ahead, she saw Travosh. Her pace sped up so she could catch up.
Aramara trudged up the mountain path on foot, having to stop frequently to catch her breath, the whole pregnancy thing really taking its toll. Each time she stopped she seems to be passed up by someone new. What is this? a parade? she mused to herself, the chuckle giving her the strength to press onwards.
Travosh was not exactly happy to see Sarras, "What are you doing here?"
Sarras' voice mirrored Travosh's unwelcoming expression. "What are you doing here?"
Travosh replied, "I've been working with Evirea for some time now, the final trap is in place. Tore down the note for a reason."
Sarras 's eyebrows raised. "So, that was you?" She joked, "Think you can take him on your own? So brave."
Travosh was not amused. "I'm alone. And I don't think, It is a very good plan. If you MUST attempt to be here and meddle, at least let me clue you in."
Sarras waited for Travosh to clue her in.
Travosh started to talk, but stopped himself. "Wait. Even more people meddling in my business. If I'm saying it, I'm saying it once. Might as well wait till they get up here."
<><><><><><><><>
Evirea drew in a sharp breath. Steeling herself, she lashed out with her foot, managing to kick Barsidious harmlessly in the back of the head...a blow meant to cause more anger than damage. She shouted again as the motion tore at her shoulder, and more blood pattered to the floor. Her vision started to blacken, and she struggled to stay awake.
Barsidious slapped at Evirea's legs. "Ah ah," he said. He stooped down and picked up a bucket, filled to the brim with icy water. He tossed its contents onto the fading klyros and she gasped as the salted water aggravated her wounds, her eyes widening as another raw-throated scream filled the cavern. "Bastard," he heard her say, pointlessly.
Evirea tried to get a grip on herself, but she felt herself fading. 'c'mon, use your mind,' she thought, hissing between her teeth. 'C'mon.'
Barsidious hummed to himself as he began to slowly coat a blade in a black, viscous liquid. "Now," he said. "I'm sure you are already perfectly aware of what this is...no explanation needed. But when I am finished, you will be thanking me, in whatever afterlife lies beyond us." A smile tugged at his lips, and he ran his fingers over the wooden mask resting on a large stone. He donned it, content.
Evirea tried to look brave, but her face faltered. She didn't really want to die. Not really. But she didn't want to see more bodies, either, and more bodies had been piling for far too long. A kill made by this beast may as well have been a kill made by herself, marked and murdered by her own clawed hands. She choked down a sob, shocked at herself for falling apart.
<><><><><><><><>
Sserp headed toward Oja on foot, still weighted down by the curse on his flesh. The note on the fountain and the map were enough to send him off, in hopes of covering the story, if not being able to offer much aid. Too delectable a possibility was this breaking news to the reporter, and like a fat happy bee to honey, he was traveling merrily towards it.
Timil saw Sserp on the road to Oja, and slowed as he recognized the Klyros. "Are you headed for Oja as well?"
Sserp glanced up to Timil and smiled. "Yes, and I'd ask for a ride, except I'm cursed and cannot touch anyone, lest they get this rotting of the body."
"I'm already surviving the plague... I'll take that chance." Timil spread a blanket over Serit's back and offered Sserp a hand up to ride behind him. They continued until they reached the base of the mountain, and started riding carefully up the path to the top.
Sserp nodded to the Ylian. "Thanks."
Herihi was on her way up the winding path into the heart of the mountain to the caves she visits from time to time when she catches site of others on the way up to. She nervously tried to think what to do, afraid people would get suspicious of the reasons for her to up here. She considered leaving before anyone noticed but curiosity gets the best of her so she followed them. She noticed one of them on the mount was Sserp who recently joined her guild. "Sserp" she shouted happily. “Where have you been?"
Sserp glanced down at Herihi from atop the mount. "Herihi! Sorry I've been away... I've been looking for a way to treat my curse...that and sorta hiding out."
Herihi smiled "Well I missed you...." She tried to act as if she actually knew what is going on here. "So you came as well? And I see Timil as well."
Sserp smiled and nodded back to Herihi. "Likewise. But right now is not the time for catching up. At least not with each other."
Aramara caught wind of Sserp's rotting scent from downwind and she gagged, almost losing her lunch on the rocky path.
Herihi nodded "Oh I agree. Let's be on our way."
Timil nodded to Herihi. "Hello! Are you here to help save Evirea too?"
Herihi took a second or two to nod as she tries to figure out what is going on here. "Of course."
Timil nodded, but is too concerned to smile. "Great, she and Barsidious should be down in the cave by now."
Aramara reaches the trio of Herihi, Timil and Sserp and offered them a friendly smile, recognizing timil and the other two somewhat, "hello there fellow travelers." she gagged, "Urp... Umm I suppose you saw that map."
Herihi nodded and a hint of worry one could easily mistake for concern for Evirea crosses her face "Yes we should go help her at once if we can."
Sserp noticed Aramara gagging, and hopped down from the rivnak, trying to move downwind. "I apologize for the stench. I'm working on it."
Herihi grimaced as the sudden movement of Sserp made the stench worse for a moment but stayed where she was by Sserp's side
Timil rode onward at a slow trot, until he caught up with Travosh. "Okay, you have backup. What's the plan?"
Sarras sighed and turns to face the newcomers. She asks Travosh, "Did Aramara tell you what she saw?"
Aramara waved one paw and shook her head, placing the other paw upon her knee, "Oh... no... it's ok... urp... I'm just... I'm a little sensitive is all."
Travosh shook his head at Sarras. "I'm not interested in that fenki's inane and particular brand of crazy."
Sarras said, "Alright," and decides to not bother.
Aramara lifted her head to see the group progressing onwards and waved Sserp and Herihi along, "Come one let's *urp*... let's see what they're doing."
Sserp awkwardly cast a defensive wind spell to try and blow some of the stench away, at least temporarily.
Herihi nodded and follows quietly, a look of apprehension still on her face
Sarras sniffed and suddenly gagged. "Gods, what is that?! They haven't brought a grendol along, have they?"
Travosh did finally allow himself one smile. "I wouldn't doubt it. Hydlaa is full of idiots."
Sserp frowned "I heard that," he said.
Sarras suppressed a giggle.
Timil drew his longsword and readied his shield.
Aramara tried to stay far enough ahead of Sserp to not be bothered by the smell, she reached the other trio now, giving a nod to each in turn, "Travosh, Sarras... how nice to see you two here."
Sserp frowns "I heard that," he says.
Travosh returned to his glare at the new company. "Welcome to meddle central. Hold your rivnaks and any other notions you have of charging in their like a shining knight, and know you're stepping all over a plan I've got in place with Evirea, one I am willing to explain to you."
Sserp shrugged. "Maybe I'd better stay outside of the cave. I don't want the smell tipping Barsidious off."
Timil nodded to Travosh. "I learned not to meddle previously... same for charging in without a plan or backup... I'm all ears, friend."
Sarras wondered why Sserp was even there. "That would be wise..."
Aramara gladly took the opportunity to sit on a rock and catch her breath after the climb, bowing her head to Travosh, "Please... explain away."
Travosh took in a breath to begin his explanations. "Evirea is wearing an amulet, one I stole from a rather potent warlock some time back and repurposed. Barsidious is fond of breaking into his victims minds, as it is a realm few are capable of resisting him in. With this amulet, he will bypass Evirea's, and enter mine instead. I will attempt to keep him busy until she can accost him, however if you wish this will be an opportune time for your own entrances."
<><><><><><><><><>
Barsidious gave Evirea's foot yet another tug. "Ah ah," he said, speaking over her muted wailing. "That's the guilt again, isn't it? The guilt over your parents. You know, you might as well have killed them yourself. It was your fault, after all. If you had been able to be better...if you'd captured that Butcher, they wouldn't be dead. But no...you are worthless, and so you failed them."
Evirea took in another shuddering breath. "Shut up!" She shrieked. "Shut up, I say! You don't know anything! Nothing!" She could hear the hysteria leaking in now, past the carefully placed barriers, the solid walls of level-headedness. And he hadn't even tried to enter her mind yet. He was right, she was utterly pathetic, a waste, a worthless and scorn-worthy waste.
Barsidious twirled the knife in his hands, considering, weighing. He smiled quietly to himself, admiring the way the dull black sheen reflects the vacant space above his head, the stalactites that have surely taken years and years to form. "So easily broken, yet you try to seem so strong. But you're not strong. You're weak. So weak you chased that killer down, didn't you Evirea? Did you turn him over to the law, as your instructors commanded? ...Oh no, I think not."
Evirea tightened her grip on the hook, weeping quietly. Her tears found their way down her cheeks, slowly, a drizzle as sluggish as the blood that was still oozing from her wound. "Oh, I killed him," she replied, her voice rough, words forced through a tight throat. "I killed him nice and slow. Peeled off his skin...dermal layers...epidermal. He was delirious with pain, and even then, I kept going."
Evirea threw her head back and laughed forcefully, her countenance nearly crazed. "Oh yes, I killed him. What of it, murderer, you think that makes me like you?" She jerked her head down and glared at him. "No, I will never confess that. Never."
Barsidious leaned casually against a stalagmite, folding his arms over his chest. "Oh?" he replied. "You know...I think you'd like to know something." He took a step closer. "I'm afraid you missed one of my kills...a particularly satisfying one." He dug around in his pocket, and drew out a small pouch. Slowly, he opened it, and dropped sets of gnarled stitching into his palm. He hummed softly. "A rather interesting fellow, that Sillamon Sallow. Tragic, his death. A far better man than you. Such a kindly old blind dwarf...Xiosian to the core. He revealed to me the truth depth of my depravity...I shall be forever grateful to him."
Evirea let out another scream, this time filled with rage. "YOU BASTARD!" she shrieked. "YOU GOOD FOR NOTHING SONOVABITCH!" She struggled frantically, adrenaline and anger coursing through her veins, before she fell limp again, panting, twitching, and sobbing quietly.
Barsidious chuckled quietly once more, stepping forward and grabbed hold of Evirea's foot. In one swift flash of azure light, he entered her mind, and at the same instant, the amulet around her neck began to throb. After all, she was distressed, and the timing was ripe.
<><><><><><><><>
Timil looked genuinely impressed as Travosh relayed his plan to the group. "Wow, that's quite brilliant! And an elegant trap, I must say."
Aramara nodded to Travosh, "Can you guarantee both their survival?"
Sarras asked, "Both? We want this murderer to live?"
Sserp spoke up. "I wonder... would we be able to use my curse as a weapon against him? It has a weakening effect on the body."
Aramara nodded again, leaning back on the rock she had perched herself upon, "Yes, it is very important that they both live. That's why I've come here."
Sarras argued with Aramara, "Don't bring honor into this. If anyone gets a chance, they should kill him."
Travosh shook his head. "I intend to kill this man myself if Evirea cannot, it is what she wants, along with myself."
Herihi chimed in, "Will not death just send him to the death realm and then back here again?"
Travosh grinned sadistically. "Not that death."
"Unless you have a way to give him a taste of his own medicine,” Timil said.
Aramara stood and approached travosh, trying to meet him eye to eye, "Travosh, you must listen to me... Barsidious is not all that he seems. There is a greater darkness that dwells behind him. It wants his death. You must not kill him."
Herihi nodded "Permadeath would be justice for that creature, from what I have heard of his exploits. Though we may lose valuable information from him. What if he isn't working alone?"
Sserp nodded. "Yes, information is a valuable commodity. I should know."
Travosh gaave a simple shrug. "I do not care, Aramara. He will die by somebodies hands, myself or Evirea's."
Herihi shrugged, "Well then his accomplices or ones he work with will get away with causing more death and more harm. I think he works with at least on other...but it's your plan Travosh. If you want to kill him by all means end his miserable life."
Aramara turned then from Travosh and looked at the others, "Yes... I'm sure he has much information to give."
Timil heard shouting coming from the cave, and fought to keep himself from rushing in to help.
Travosh shook his head. "If he is indeed a pawn, he will not have been told anything. Let alone would a madman care to tell us."
Timil glanced urgently at the others. "I agree with Travosh." Timil seemed momentarily taken aback that he has just uttered those words. "Uh.. yeah... We should kill Barsidious before he can find a way to escape to kill again."
Aramara shook her head, speaking firmly, if not cryptically, "His death dooms us all."
Travosh laughed at Aramara. "Such predictions I'd expect from the sister of Icerra."
Timil interjected, glancing repeatedly at the mouth of the cave. "Right now I'm more concerned that our delay will doom Evirea."
Sarras held up her finger and opens her mouth as if to speak but decides against it. She tilted her head at Aramara. "What sort of doom? You're being vague."
Herihi nodded in agreement with Aramara. "Actually from little bits I have gathered there is a darkness that seems to be behind many of what is going on in Hydlaa lately. Behind Barsidious as well and maybe even the plague."
Sserp pulled out his journal and starts scribbling some notes.
Aramara turned her head sharply at Herihi, her eyes narrowing on her briefly, before answering Sarras, "A greater evil. The evil that controls him. it will use his death as a gateway to our world."
Travosh suppressed his laughter. "And I'm sure it has tentacles and will strike down the gods and ten thousand cycles of blackness. Anyone who wishes to do more than try and cause mass hysteria, may want to move closer to the cave entrance below. I fear it is nearly time."
Sarras asked curiously and somewhat skeptically, "Are you speaking of some..." Her hand twirled as she tries to think of the right words. "...Some otherworldly... demon... or... thing...?"
Timil was no longer paying attention to the chatter, but now waited for Travosh's signal.
Sserp glanced up from his note-taking as a scream exited the cave. "Oh my..." he gasped.
Aramara unshouldered her bow and notches an arrow, beginning her descent towards the cave below
Travosh widened his eyes, his own amulet beginning to emit an azure glow. "Take a few minutes, then go! Its time!"
Timil nodded, and started a mental countdown.
Herihi followed Aramara and Timil into the cave
Travosh was forced to sit, eyes drooping low. "And for gods sakes, kill him once and for all!"
-
This RP was a load of fun. Thanks to everybody who showed up and participated, I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did. I'll post it in pieces....as together we made more than 20 or so pages of text and putting it all down at once would be more than a little overwhelming ;)
-
That was a blast, Mariana! \\o// Those few hours felt like they flew by, and it seemed like everyone was really into the plot. I can't wait to read the mind-side of the RP! :thumbup:
~Timil~
-
agreed! I had tons of fun. Thanks to Mariana and everyone else who took part!
-
Time did go a-sailing away. Was like... what, 2AM before we ended?
-
Time did go a-sailing away. Was like... what, 2AM before we ended?
what time is that in GMT? :P
-
what time is that in GMT?
Whatever you do, don't ask me.
-
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iB1xS0UqtHo&feature=rel (How could you leave me, Bar!? (Epic overly dramatic moment.)
I feel sad that I wasn't there with Bar's apprentice, but I'm sad that he's most likely gone now... :'( He was a sadistic master, but Jeb will miss him.
Barsidious, remember those lessons that we had? The ones that involved us talking of the evils at the core of the heart? I'll never forget them.-Jebediae
A little hint for those of you who had your suspicions.
-
(http://ii.sundancecatalog.com/sundance/images//products/en_us/detail/57122.jpg)
Aramara stopped at the entrance of the cave, peering inward and letting her eyes adjust to the dim light.
Behind her, Sarras was moving on with the group. The platinum steel of her longsword flashed as it was drawn from the scabbard on her back. She took an almost worried glance at Travosh before descending with the others. The klyros was remarkably still, though close inspection revealed his eyes were moving rather spasmodically under the lids. Timil moved closer to the cave's entrance as well, fitting his shield to his back and using his free hand to hold a torch. He attempted to call forth some magical flame to light it, but instead a flash of brown turned his leather armor into a rock-hard substance. "What the?"
Aramara glanced at Timil and his new duds, but she raised her finger to her lips to remind him to be quiet and crept into the cave, keeping to the walls as she moved into its depths searching for Evirea and Barsidious. Sarras, with her nightvision, was able to see Timil's mistake. With a small grin, she whispered, "Shhh, quiet." Herihi readied a couple spells as she followed close behind Timil, her white armor seeming to glow in the darkness of the cave. Sserp followed behind the others, eager to get more information on the story that was developing below. Timil pondered the misfiring of his spell, but then snapped his attention forward as a faint azure light illumines the room just ahead, revealing the scene before them. Sserp saw the room with the Azure light ahead. He held back and tried to peer within to watch what would happen.
Evirea 's head shifted towards the entrance as she heard the faint rustling of the group moving in. Her eyes widened in shock as not one, but many shadows appeared on the wall, eerie and malformed. She blinked to try to clear her clouded vision, keeping Barsidious always in her peripheral, trying to decide what it is she could do. The killer's brow was furrowed as he stood, head tilting to the side. He appeared to be sifting slowly through whatever mind he was currently linked with. Perhaps confused.
She knew she couldn't move or make a sound, doing so would reveal the plan, and he was not yet fully immersed in the trap. He was not yet incapacitated, and if these approaching dunderheads made much more noise, they would ruin everything...
Never should have left that note, Evirea thought, cursing herself internally. She began to shake her head adamantly as the shadows advanced. She twisted on the hook, and a gurgled sound escaped her throat. Her eyes practically bulged out of her head.
Aramara moved carefully towards the rear of the cave, avoiding any arangmas and velnishis along the way until she spotted Evirea. She crouched down behind a low boulder, scanning the scene and taking note of the state of both killer and klyros. Evirea 's hands, coated with blood, continued to grip at the metal hook that was imbedded in her shoulder. She gritted her teeth painfully and opened her mouth, forming silent words, her expression not imploring but urgent. She shook her head yet again, and gestured with her foot at Barsidious, who still remained unaware of the other's presence...for the moment.
Aramara could see that Barsidious was unaware of his immediate surroundings, and she decided not to place an arrow anywhere in him, for fear it might break the connection with Travosh. She could only hope this creep was not winning over the klyros, however unpleasant he may be. But noticing Evirea's predicament, she rushed towards the suspended klyros, to try and lift her from the hook
Sarras sidled along a wall, a couple meters from Aramara. Peeking out, she saw Evirea and Barsidious. She looked back to the others and urgently motioned them to approach. With quiet footsteps she followed Aramara and tried to help with her free hand.
Timil saw Aramara rush forward, and decided to help, sheathing his sword to free up his hands.
Barsidious stood silently by with his knife in hand, still coated with a True Death poison. His head was still canted to the side, the mask on his face a hideous scar-like visage, craggy and slitted. His fingertips twitched, but he does not move. Evirea was swearing quietly beneath her breath. She continued to watch Barsidious, clapping a bloody hand over her mouth to muffle any sound she might make as she was lifted down from the hook. She was colder than is usual for even a klyros, and she trembled from blood loss. "Don't...make...a...sound..." she whispered. She glared at Herihi.
Aamara paused briefly as she reaches Barsidious's vicinity, shocked to be peering into the same haunting mask that had pervaded her vision. She shook the fear from her mind and concentrated again on saving Evirea from the fate she foresaw.
Sarras heard Timil arriving to aid Aramara and turned her focus to Barsidious. Her eyes caught the knife in his hand. Quickly, she motioned Herihi to circle around Barsidious with a hand. Herihi nodded to Sarras and did what is told, ready to move whenever needed.
Timil cast a wary glance at Barsidious, and as he felt Evirea's weight come free from the hook, he mentally prepared a spell and put his free hand on the hilt of his sword. The klyros gripped her injured shoulder, the bone lifted at an odd angle, the blood still seeping, the muscle mutilated. She continued to glare in Herihi and Sarras' direction, but she was too exhausted to make a move. She mouthed something quietly, but it was not audible. Timil leaned in closer to Evirea, and mouthed silently, "what was that?"
Aramara caught sight of Timil reaching for his sword, but she tried to direct his attention to the suffering klyros with a jerk of her head. She struggled to lift Evirea and motioned again for Timil to help her.
Herihi positioned herself so that if Barsidious did wake up she wouldn't be the first one he saw as she noticed the knife is his hands. She assumed the poison he used for his killing was on there and didn't want to be the first one he tried to attack with it. Sarras 's gaze floated up toward Barsidious's mask. A shiver ran down her spine, and she quickly focused on the knife again. She cautiously reached toward his wrist with her own free left hand, but did not touch, believing it may wake him.
Barsidious breathed evenly and slowly, lost in whatever world is being presented to him. Still, he seemed unaware, though his fingers twitched with every sound the group subtly made. The slightest mistake could rouse him, it seemed. And yet still he remained unaware, and the amulet that hung inconspicuously around Evirea's neck, hidden beneath her tunic, was beginning to glow brighter.
<><><><><><><><><>
Barsidious tore through the amulet's current of power, his presence alerting itself quite loudly. It reached towards Travosh's mind like a ravenous hunger, a predator eager for the game of the hunt to begin.
Travosh was nothing if not prepared, and had set up a nice little welcome room inside his head for Barsidious. Within it were bright blue walls, reminiscent of scales. Three doors stood along the walls. One was plain and wooden, the ground where it sat seeming more like solid ground than the blue floor. The second was almost cruel looking, made of steel with a bar slot covering whatever lies within. The last, probably most inviting door, was already ajar. It appeared to be made of a pleasantly orange glass-like substance, swirling brown designs within it.
Barsidious looked at the doors. He could sense a trap well enough, but curiosity had always been a weakness of his. He had to figure out precisely what sort of cards Evirea was playing with, and this orange-tinted door certainly seemed a good way to begin. He moved towards it, wafting over like an intangible wraith, and passed through.
A voice seeped out from the darkness of Zetch's mind as Barsidious stalked its corridors, if Barsidious could remember a time when he spoke to Travosh, he could note the voice is deeper, unlike what it was before. 'Not in cruelty, not in wrath, an angel entered my gray path, the Reaper came today. Not from hate, nor for me to say, he took the girl away.' Travosh 's mind corridors vanished utterly, a scene laid before him.
Barsidious focused on the scene that was presented to him. As his curiosity grew, he was drawn more and more out of the situation in the cavern, out of the things going on in the room.
Before him stretched a strange scene indeed. Waterfalls perpetually pounded in the distance, the air was thick with mist. A gathering had come together near the walls of the great stalactite. A diverse group of individuals; Ynnwn, Enkidukai, Nolthrir, Lemur and Klyros stood conversing before a strange piece of architecture the likes of which the Ylian had never seen before. Totally confused, he continued to dig into the memory. He seemed to have no idea what this had to do with Evirea, he could connect her previous memories to any of the characters. Yet he still moved closer, having never encountered something like this before, still believing it was the woman's mind he invaded. Ripples finally pervaded the scene entirely; whoever owned this mind had sensed the intrusion and was fighting back. The scene was encompassed in a bright, overwhelming light, and everything in it became indecipherable.
"You have gotten farther than I anticipated, Barsidious."
The single voice spoke amidst the backdrop of eerie green, masculine, not feminine. The ruse that Travosh had set up was lost. “You're interfering in important matters here,” Barsidious said, fury rising, enraged that he had been tricked. “I'm afraid that...just won't do.”
The klyros from the memory before turned, became defined from the blurry mess, and stared directly at the ylian. "It will have to. It is about time you met someone capable of resistance to your tricks."
<><><><><><><><><>
Herihi shook her head at Sarras, trying to tell her that would probably be a really really bad idea, gesturing at the hand that was stretched out to touch the Ylian's wrist. Sarras waited, and did not make a move. She only seemed to have placed herself as a barricade, in case Barsidious became aware.
Evirea gurgled and renewed her grip on her shoulder, trying desperately to stop the blood flow. She tried to focus on Timil's face, but judging by the way her eyelids were fluttering, she was having trouble doing even that. She seemed barely coherent.
Aramara tried to keep her breathing and heartbeat steady as she and Timil carried Evirea away from Barsidious so that they could begin to heal her. She was lifted quite easily, lightweight as she was. She hissed again, a sharp intake, a pained breath. A trembling overtook her body, a deathly ashy gray present in her scaly skin. She clenched her jaw to keep her teeth from chattering. Timil glanced down at the amulet on Evirea's neck, and motioned for Aramara to wait. Aramara stopped at Timil's signal, her heart too racing. She could tell Evirea hadn't much time left and needed immediate attention to her wounds.
Barsidious 's breathing caught in his throat, and his head gave a slight jerk to the right. The grip on his knife tightened, but still, he did not move. Frozen as a statue, his eyes shifted rapidly beneath the narrow slits of the mask: dreaming awake.
Sarras 's heart raced at the sudden movement. Herihi moved back a bit when Barsidious started to move a little, ready for a fight if it started.
Evirea opened her eyes and looked towards Barsidious, her gaze glaringly white. She wass waiting for something, it seemed, waiting. Her eyes shifted towards the knife in his hands, still dripping with black poison. She panted again as she looked at Timil. The woman tried to get to her feet, tried to move forward, but she could only manage a shifting of her shoulders. "Heal it, stop the bleeding," she rasped quietly to Timil. "I need to kill him."
Barsidious 's head jerked from side to side, first to the right, and then to the left, precisely three times. Again, his hand twitched, and again his grip on the weapon tightened. He muttered something gruffly, and his tone sounds almost confused.
<><><><><><><><><>
Barsidious narrowed his eyes. He began to fade from Travosh's dream realm as he attempted to simply leave the mind, realizing full well there must be something on the other side of his facade. A taste of his own medicine, as it were, being caught in an illusion. But Travosh lunged at the man, claws grasping at him to try and force him to stay. "Where are you going ylian?” The klyros mocked. “Don't you remember me? Have a chat with your old friend!"
Barsidious leaped backwards. "Hardly," he replied. And clearly he wouldn't, since the klyros had gained a foot in height and his voice had changed. He fell to the ground, struggling and trying to pound at the phantom on top of him. He let out an infuriated growl and tried to attack the mind he was occupying, to make it feel a splitting ache.
Travosh brought his splitting ache to a headbutt, trying to share the favor. "How about the name Travosh, eh? I've used that moniker quite some time now." Barsidious's head snapped back, and he wavered, trying to re-concentrate on what was going on. The reality and the facade started to mix, and phantoms of Herihi and Sarras appeared behind the raging klyros' wings. "CEASE THIS NOW!" He shouted, grappling with the klyros, opening his mouth in an attempt to take a bite out of his headfin.
Travosh was grinning, fury and glee mingling as one. He jerked his head back and delivered a rather unglorified punch to the man's biting mouth. "You don't remember that name? A pity!"
<><><><><><><><><>
Aramara decided they'd waited long enough to begin the healing; she was not going to let Evirea die. She placed a paw on the klyros's shoulder and cast a healing wave of crystal energies over the klyros. Timil hoped that they were a sufficient distance from Barsidious to keep evirea out of harm's way. He looked down at her as she made her request, realizing that even in her wounded state her obsession with being rid of the killer was in no way depleted. "I...You...Alright."
Sarras bit her lip impatiently. Her hand hovered just above the killer's wrist.
Evirea 's eyes jerked to aramara and her flesh slowly closed, one new layer of skin developing, the scales growing into place. It seemed hollow beneath, as the muscle and bone was still effected and badly injured, but the bleeding had stopped. "Can you channel heat," she asked the fenki. "Do it now, to me. I need strength to stand."
Aramara nodded her head but glanced back at Barsidious with Sarras and Herihi nearby, "What is he doing? Travosh? What is he doing to him?" she awaited the answer before casting her spell.
Evirea staggered to her feet. She dug around desperately in her bag, pulling out a small knife of her own, and dipping it a jar of her own killing potion. "Distracting him," she whispered, answering the fenki, and begins to advance with an agonizing slowness.Timil attempted to cast a Redway Strength spell on Evirea....but a CW Invigoration spell issued forth instead.
Aramara turned and grabbed Evirea by her injured shoulder, knowing full well it'd cause her enough pain to stop in her tracks. Inwardly she thanked Xiosia timil's spell backfired.
Sarras grew tired of waiting and finally grabbed at Barsidious's wrist. All in the same motion, she dropped her sword, stepped foot between his feet, and grabbed at his collar with her right hand. If successful, she tried to lift him cleanly over her body and slam him on the ground. Herihi rushed in to help Sarras wrestle Barsidious to the ground.
Evirea let out a shout, a loud and interruptive scream, as aramara's fingers dug into her shoulder. Her scream echoed about the cavern, cacophonous in the near absolute silence, and Barsidious's head snapped up, fighting against whatever is holding him. Fighting against the link the amulet had formed.
<><><><><><><><><>
Travosh was sent rolling off the ylian, and he pulled himself to his feet. Anger burned in his eyes. Anger and a brilliantly large red way glow. "A fool I was! Fooled us all didn't you, walking around as a scholar amongst us dirt grubbing peasants!"
Barsidious rolled to his feet as well, crouched, waiting. "Hardly," he said. "You're all dirt you see, all blind and needing to know the Truth of your own dirtiness. I already know of mine...why don't you let me show you yours?" The Ylian charged forward, legs pounding as he closed the distance between them, and tackled the klyros himself.
Travosh let the aura coming from his eyes bleed out over his body, awaiting the ylian's tackle as it the steady glow pulsated. "Such arrogance! The only thing you know is the lies you've told yourself! You're a sad, scared little man in a big world Barsidious!"
Barsidious bowled full force into Travosh, unable to halt his acceleration in time in response, and not fully understanding what that red light was. He wrapped his arms firmly around the klyros' skinny neck, intent on breaking it or at least cutting off his air. "You know nothing of life, you pathetic klyros," he spat. "Nothing but bitterness and pain, you are."
Travosh burned brilliantly, aura converting to the fire of his anger. Not only did he not try and stop Barsidious' choking, he actively held the ylian to him in a vice grip, pulled in into the growing heat of the flames that were enveloping his body. "I know TWO lives you miserable fool! More than you could EVER hope to see. My bitterness and pain are the fruits of a full life you couldn't hope to understand, yours is cold and alone, madness for company!"
-
(http://zishaanshafi.files.wordpress.com/2011/09/the-fire.jpg)
Barsidious was flipped by Sarras and bowled into by Herihi, and his breath left his lungs. His eyes snapped open, but the blue sheen remained, as though he could not break whatever connection he had formed. He flailed wildly, slashing blindly with his knife, unable to see whoever was accosting him.
Aramara kept her grip on Evirea's shoulder as long as she could, her eyes wide and intent on the struggle taking place deeper in the cave, now that any effort to remain silent had been nullified, she snapped her head to Timil and shouted, "We can't let her kill him!"
Timil hesitated, unsure what to do. His eyes widened as time seemed to slow down in that instant. He attempted to cast his strength spell again, this time on Sarras...but instead, a Relaxing Sleep spell drifted from Timil's fingertips and settled over his own head. Timil staggered with dizziness for a brief moment. He also lost his grip on Evirea.
Herihi tried to grab Barsidious' flailing arm holding the knife as Sarras sent him crashing to the ground.
Evirea growled at aramara. "YOU ARE A FOOL!" She cried, and fighting her pain, she tried to plant a kick at the woman's abdomen. "That man needs to DIE, I don't care about your damn RELIGIOUS beliefs. KILL HIM!"
Aramara swayed her hips out of the way of Evirea's kick, but the klyros's scaly foot still partially connected. It's wasn't really that the kick hurt, it was the very, very precious cargo that she had just endangered that sent Aramara into a protective pseudo rage. She tightened her grip even further on Evirea's shoulder and pulled her near, thrusting a headbutt at the klyros's head.
Barsidious laid sprawled out on the ground, unable to move due to the weight of the women. He ceased flailing as he tried to reorient himself, frustration and fear evident in his somewhat erratic movements. Sarras swiftly restrained Barsidious's arm holding the dagger. She seemed unafraid, probably given her thick leather vambraces. The killer swore again, panting, and beneath his mask his eyes were shifting from Sarras, to Herihi, to some phantom thing that could be seem by the others. He let out a rage-filled howl, arching his back and kicking wildly with his legs. A strong wind began to build in the room. Sarras jabbed her knee into Barsidious's stomach, mostly to cause pain and pin him. She kept hold of his arm to help Herihi, who tore the weapon out of his grasp. He continued to twitch erratically, feeling phantom pains. The amulet around Evirea's neck grew increasingly brighter, and hotter, the blue azure energy pulsating with a vengeance.
<><><><><><><><><>
Barsidious tightened his grip on Travosh, still grappling with him, still desperate to choke the other man out, to silence him. "You know nothing of being alone!" He cried, the aura blinding him, filling him with a wrath of his own. "You know NOTHING." The words Travosh uttered certainly sounded like nonsense to him, and he only redoubled his efforts to be done with him, unable to tolerate the dual-pain of two different realities.
Travosh blazed bright, his mouth ceased its movement, but the voice continued nonetheless, projecting from inside his mind. "You were always alone, it is as common to you as dirt. I was not always alone, I've had what you can only wish and had it stripped away. I can taste its true nature, you can only strike out like a child at a cruel world! I know your Truth! The Truth is that you can't face reality like man!"
Barsidious screamed, a totally animalistic sound. The control melted away, and scenes flash by in rapid succession: a strange childhood, an orphanage. A man with a whip and a cruel smile. Graves, masses of bodies piled within, nameless things. Again, his grip tightened on the klyros as the barrage flashed brilliantly past the klyros' wings, assaulting him, and the blaze began to consume his phantom form...and with it, the vestiges of his mind. The scenes continued to play, disjunctive, perpetually over and over again, lips whispering hateful words that were rendered more horrendous with the fact that they were memory and not dream. It was the realization that the horrible klyros was right that made him snap, and as he did, he felt the heat in his veins and arteries, as though molten lead were being pumped through his blood. The pain became unbearable, but just before he was lost to oblivion because of it, Travosh leaned closer to deliver one final verbal blow, his fury beginning to ebb as the fire burned:
"Remember me, Barsidious. Not Travosh, remember it is Zetch who doomed you. Remember the man who struck down Truth for himself and others."
<><><><><><><><><>
Evirea 's head snapped forward with the impact of Aramara's blow. She snarled in rage, having no idea what was WRONG with this insane fenki. The pain Aramara caused with her grip only served to further raise her ire, and she shifted her elbow around, shoving it directly into a nerve in the akkaio's shoulder to get her to release her grip. Aramara lost her grip on Evirea as her arm went numb. Her eyes quickly moved about the room, taking in the whole situation, systematically weighing and dismissing options before she settled on one. She again unshouldered her hunting bow and swung it at Evirea's head, hoping to knock the klyros out and remove her from the variables. But she didn't act fast enough and is taken down by Timil, of all people, who in the meantime had been glancing between Evirea and Barsidious, and decided to do what must be done. Timil had dropped his sword to tackle.... Aramara!... to free Evirea.
Herihi pulled back after gaining control of the dagger, giving her enough to secure the dagger on her person where it couldn't be seen before she went back into the fray to help Sarras again. Sarras removed her knee from Barsidious's stomach, but only to kick her leg up in the air, over Barsidious's neck, and bring it down to pin him again as she fell back, clutching his arm to dislocate his elbow.
Evirea flinched as Aramara's bow whizzed over her head, and continued to run forward, the knife in her hand, dripping poison. "Just hold him," she commanded, drawing nearer. "Hold him down." She smiled coldly as the man let out a pained scream, a reaction, no doubt, to the loud pop that followed the dislocation of his elbow. It was cut off short by Sarras' leg on his neck.
Aramara struggled under Timil, trying everywhich way to get him off her, "HER! Stop HER! STOP EVIREA!" The Ylian shouted back at her, eying the klyros from his vantage over the fenki. “No! She needs to do this!”
Herihi made sure no one was watching her and she wiped most of the poison off on her cloak she had on along with her armor. After that she rushed back in to help restrain Barsidious again, following Evirea's command.
Aramara continued to struggle, but it just amounted to a lot of wiggling, "You don't UNDERSTAND! We can't let her do this! This can't happen! It can't!"
Barsidious, meanwhile, was immobilized. He could not actually see Evirea coming towards him with the knife, so he did not know to be afraid of the impending blade. He shouted lunacy into the air, trying to grapple with this unseen force, saying over and over, "TRAVOSH, YOU MEDDLING BASTARD!"
Sarras let go of Barsidious's now useless arm and pushed herself off the ground, to dig her knee into Barsidious's diaphragm, so that she appeared to be kneeling on top of him. For Evirea, Sarras would be an obstacle. Evirea had slowly dropped to her knees beside Barsidious. She poised the knife above his chest, looking first at Herihi, and then at Sarras. She ignored entirely the advice of aramara, and with her good hand gripping the blade, she thrust downward--meaning to sheath it in his chest. She stopped just short of killing the dermorian. "WHAT THE BLOODY HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?!"
Aramara cried out from where she's being held, appealing to the only person in the room who seemed to be listening to her. "Sarras! Hear me Sarras! Don't let her! Don't let her kill him!" Evirea attempted to shove the elf out of the way. "He's a KILLER," she asserted, countering the akkaio's words. "He will kill more people, he will not stop! Their blood will be upon your HANDS. NOW MOVE!"
Sarras had not expected Evirea. A chilling realization that she could have been killed just then hit her, and her face lost its color. But, Sarras regained her courage and, following Aramara's advice, stood her ground, or rather on top of Barsidious. "This is not the way justice should be served!"
Evirea panted, still trying to shove the elf aside. "For FIVE CYCLES I have chased him. He's taken fourteen lives, maybe more! You, Sarras, you live in Hydlaa. Surely you know of the incompetence of the guard. This is the only JUSTICE we can provide. Fourteen times over he has earned this death. This is JUSTICE."
Timil suddenly mumbled a feeble "Sorry," to aramara, and scrambled off of her, attempting this time to tackle Sarras. "Glad I have that rock armor spell after all," Timil thought grimly. Sarras apparently didn't want to hear any of what Evirea had to say, and so brought an arm back to likely punch the angry klyros. However, Timil got to Sarras first, and she went tumbling off of Barsidious. "Ah!" Instinctively, she covered her head, expecting vicious blows. Instead, Timil connected with Sarras, and tumbled away from Barsidious. He did his best to avoid injuring her, and rolled away from her once they came to a stop.
It was in the midst of this chaos that Barsidious gave another erratic twitch. Suddenly, his head jerked to the side, and he let out an agonized scream. He strained against Sarras' hold, and she could probably feel his skin growing hotter and hotter before she was knocked off of him by the persistent Ylian Timil. Smoke literally started pouring from his flesh, splotches forming on his skin, revealing layers of muscle.
Herihi watched Barsidious melting and stepped back a ways, not trying to save or help him at all.Evirea 's jaw dropped as she watched the spectacle in front of her. With her grip still present on the knife's handle, she began to breathe shallowly as his eyes melted from their sockets, a biodegradable ooze that dripped down his cheeks like water. He stopped moving, and his chest collapsed, as though he had literally been melted from the inside out, internal organs, blood vessels, and muscles in all. Evirea plunged the knife into Barsidious's deflating chest, adding insult to injury, as it were, or just making sure the job is truly done. She scrambled back from the deflating corpse on hands and knees, wavering, eyes wide with shock.
Aramara was left on the ground where timil left her, feebly whispering, "No..no...no...no.." repetively. She could sense the heat rising within Barsidous from where she lie, "Travosh you fool... you damned, damned fool."
Sarras felt Timil roll off, and quickly tried to scramble to Barsidious's rescue. But she stopped seeing the knife sink into his deformed chest. Her eyes trailed down to the rest of his decaying body. "What the hell?!" An appropriate reaction to say the least. Herihi watched curiously then muttered about wanting to learn that spell, which sadly wasn't a spell at all, but she'd probably figure that out at some future date. They were privvy to the sight as Barsidious continued to fester and ooze. Pretty soon his skin resembled nothing more than a husk, a hollow, fleshy husk. His body, clearly, did not fade, and he remained sprawled on the ground, truly dead.
Evirea sagged against the wall tiredly, exhausted from the endeavor. "Thank you Travosh," she breathed. "Thank you, thank you, thank you." Her fingers curled around the amulet, and suddenly her eyes flashed open. "TRAVOSH!" she shouted. "Oh gods...someone check on him, someone check on him now!" Her panic grew stronger as she pulled her hand away and examined the powdery substance the amulet has been reduced to. She redoubled her urgency, scrambling to her feet. "Damn, damn, damn," she said, over and over, trying to run towards the exit. Worry was clear in her expression, probably the strongest it had been up till that point.
Don't you die on me, you stubborn bastard. Don't you dare die.
-
And THAT, ladies and gentlemen, is how you start some sick fires.
-
Travosh is too stubborn to die.
-
Travosh is too stubborn to die.
;D True, true, but you just have to have that dramatic moment in there.
-
I underplayed Ara's reaction.
What I should have done is this:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KtE0jcAkvjI&feature=player_embedded
-
I underplayed Ara's reaction.
What I should have done is this:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KtE0jcAkvjI&feature=player_embedded
;D Now all day long I'm going to have this image of an akkaio standing there with her arm outstretched and saying "nnnnnnnnnNNNNNNNOOOOOOOOOOOooooooooo!!!!" in really dramatic slow-mo fashion.
-
(http://www.uberpiglet.com/images/XXAmazingSkullVectorDesigns_EB5F/Skull_Vector_1.gif)
Timil resisted the urge to pump his fist in the air and shout "Yesss!" Instead, he hurried after Evirea when she fled the cave. Leaving Herihi and Sarras lagging behind, the former began looking around the cave for anything else interesting. Sarras stared at Barsidious's corpse, or what remained of it, for a moment. Curiously, as if expecting it were a hallucination, she stood and kicked his leg, or what was left of it. Most certainly, Barsidious was dead, but something was floating atop the pool of biological fluids he had left behind. A small slip of paper, slowly being drowned in the liquid. The paper caught the dermorian's eye. She gritted her teeth and reached for it. Her eyes scanned its contents, and she found it legible, if not soaked in blood and bile and whatever else inhabits the human body.
The paper had a simple message on it. It read: "Due to your inability to bring me more of my supply, I am afraid I will soon be discontinuing your services. They are no longer required. If you cannot bring me what I need, I shall simply procure it by another means. You are hereby dismissed from my services." It was completely unsigned.
Sarras blinked her eyes hard from the strain of reading in such darkness. She called to Herihi, "Hey! Come. Read this. Who do you suppose wrote it?"
The Diaboli Herihi gave up her search of the cave and came over to read the note with Sarras. Herihi muttered a few more expletives after reading the note. "Well I hope they are happy about killing him. Now we'll never know who he worked for." She began her painstaking search for a light source first and then after finding something to brighten the cave searched it thoroughly for any other clues.
Sarras swore in frustration, "Dammit!" She folded the note in her hand while glaring at the icky, oozy shell of Barsidious. Silently, she thought over their options.
The table in the corner of the room was covered in alchemical ingredients, bottles, a mortar and pestle. Herihi sifted through these things, musing to herself, muttering something about “Wondering if a friend of hers could use those supplies.” She pocketed them, but the dermorian protested.
"Hold it. We need to collect that as evidence.”
Herihi looked over to her "Oh, evidence?" Herihi thought a moment then nodded "True....evidence of his crimes for sure." She pulled the things out again and put them back where they were. "Well nothing else around here. And since he's dead I guess I'll be heading out."
Aramara lifted herself to her feet, picked up her bow, and took one last long look at the smoldering husk of Barsidious's corpse. Her only hope was that things didn't play out exactly like her vision. Perhaps they'd changed the course of fate enough. She could only pray. She exited the cave, took a deep breath of the air outside, and immediately fell to her knees to vomit. When she was finished, she rose back to her feet and wiped her mouth against the fur of her arm. Begrudgingly she started her climb out of the crater. She only shook her head as she walked past Evirea and Travosh and made her way back to Hydlaa and the peace of the garden.
<><><><><><><><><><><>
Evirea had managed to run out the exit, and made her way laboriously up the hill. She stopped to catch her breath, eyes scanning the vicinity for Travosh, still panicking. "Oh gods, if he's dead, oh gods oh gods..."
But Travosh was sitting outside where he was left, though he was smoking rather heavily. Rather than reacting to such phenomenon, he was simply covering his face with his hands, the powder of the amulet coating his robes. Evirea darted towards the klyros and knelt before him, shaking. She studied him for signs of injury, the smoking clearly bothering her considering what she just saw from Barsidious, and she reached out to try and grip his shoulder with her good arm. "Look at me," she said. "Look at me, Travosh, are you alright?"
Travosh shook his head. He didn't appear to be injured, just smoking for an inconceivable reason. "I'm... fine."
Evirea shifted her hands to try and feel Travosh's brow, to take his temperature. "Damn it," she muttered. "I swear if you maintained that connection and hurt yourself, I will kill you." Her voice was hoarse with tiredness, and worry. His brow was unnaturally hot against her skin. Hot like someone sitting way to close to a fire for awhile, rather than fever-heat. "It needed to be done. Just wish... He hadn't seen so much."
Evirea 's brow furrowed. "It's alright," she said softly. "He's dead. What...what he saw died with him, nobody knows, now." She gripped Travosh's shoulder again, attempting to be reassuring. "You're going to be okay?"
Travosh did nod back to Evirea, putting both his hands down, his eyes closed however.
Evirea sat beside the klyros, her good arm wrapped around his shoulders. She was content to simply wait for him, offering whatever comfort her present can provide, and remained silent. It was, after all, not the first time that they'd sat in silence, pondering a potentially troubled past. She had no idea what the man's past was, nor was she ever likely to, but as a friend, it was enough to know that the prodding of barely healed internal wounds was enough to bother him.
Travosh opened his eyes at last, the briefest of shimmers present before he snapped his fingers and banished it. "You're lucky I'm too tired to throw you off me,” he stated.
Evirea grinned and pulled her arm from Travosh's shoulders, shifting it gladly enough back over to grip her own injury. "There you are," she said, relieved, and leaned back against the wall. "Good. I was worried. You were being far too cuddly."
Travosh chuckled, "You should get that shoulder looked at. What happened in there anyways?"
Evirea shrugged painfully. "He liked the motif of a hook," she replied. "I'm sure you can only imagine why."
Travosh nodded. "I can know exactly why. You did figure that out, didn't you?"
Evirea frowned grimly. "Yes, I did," she replied. She looked towards him. "I'd ask you what he saw, but I'm not stupid enough to think you'd give a straight answer." She looked back out towards the expanse below. "So I won't bother." She hummed to herself, wonderingly. "Now what to do...I'll need another case, you know."
Travosh looked up at Evirea. "You're right, I would simply tell you he saw someone I'd rather wish he hadn't. As for cases...Who knows. There is still that plague."
Evirea smirked. "I tested it successfully...found a good recipient for it too. It's a rather...painful procedure, but it seems to have worked quite well."
The klyros chuckled again. "Well I hope he deserves it. Lets get YOU a doctor for once now."
Evirea groaned. "You know what they say about doctors as patients," she said, clambering to her feet. "They're terrible."
<><><><><><><><><><><>
A corpse sat unassumingly in the deeper part of the cave, its hollowed eyes peering listlessly outwards as the scene played itself to its conclusion. The reek of rotting had long ago left it, and its structure had been reduced nearly to dust, its flesh peeled back from Velnishi-plucked bones. What had caused the stranger's death was uncertain, but sadly its vantage was an obscure one, at least for those who might see it and bring it to a worthy eternal resting place. So for years it had sat, immobile, broken jaw skewed awkwardly open as the eons passed by with nothing new under the cave.
But tonight it was different. Tonight, those hollow eyes burned a sickly emerald green. Tonight, its head gave a seizure-esque jerk. Tonight, it craned its fractured neck and sought the scene with great import, its dusty limbs rustling and sending particles up into the air. The sounds it made were minimal. In the darkness, it was barely visible, hidden there behind a conveniently placed stalagmite. A necrotic spy, it watched the goings on with one might consider fascination, if in fact its face was a face, and still had the capacity to communicate an expression. Bony fingers curled around the stones available as it watched Barsidious die, and it strained hard, trying to make something out of the gibberish that was pouring from his lips.
But it got nothing, save for a single name.
In silence it waited until they slowly left, ebbing like a tide, their valiant deed at an end. When they were finished, it leaned back against the stone again, studying the wall. Its limbs gave a few twitches, and with a frustrated grinding of bone, whatever possessed the thing bid it to stand. The long-unused ligaments splintered, and the fractured bits of cartridge went spraying outwards. It collapsed into a pile of dust.
For a few moments the green flame remained hovering over the remains. It fled like a parasitic thing into the husk that was Barsidious, but with his liquified innards, found him even a less convenient host. The Ylian's eyes glowed emerald as he stared at the ceiling, his hands twitched, but he did not move. The head turned right and left, searching, perhaps, for more information, as though the force was a curious, childish thing, and sought to learn more through different vessels. It found nothing, however, nothing salvageable in the frail and tattered mind, nothing that could be gleaned from the now-fried synapses.
It only had one name, and a few others. Simple names. Nothing to inspire any real concern, but curiosity, ah...yes. There was a curiosity in the thing.
It opened up the once-terrible killer's mouth like an escape hatch and poured out. The sickly fire flickered faintly, as though its very being were being compromised without the ability to feed. It began to die, the crackles and hisses sounding like curses, until the faintest ember hovered suspended in the air. It, too, died, and floated down to the earth as a crumb of useless ash.
End Seeking of the Butcher
Part One
-
Wonderful! What will happen after Barsidious's death, is the question. ;)
-
DOOOOOOOOMMMMMMM!!!!!
-
Don't forget destruction
-
As well as some new tools/servants for some characters? :whistling:
-
Ten thousand cycles of darkness, tentacled monsters, cthulhu r'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn, ect ect.
-
Seeking of the Butcher
Part Two
The messenger was rambling something at him. He was a decent rambler, really. He had an incredible talent for deviating from the subject while remaining on a somewhat relevant track, so that he appeared to be conveying something worth noting without actually admitting to the presumably unpleasant information he possessed. And it certainly wasn't that he blamed the man. He was understandably nervous, and it showed rather well: a hint of sweat soaking his collar here, a wringing of the hands there. Indeed, he might have found the entire ordeal rather flattering if it wasn't for this infuriating run around, which had already taken up fifteen whole minutes of his precious, priceless time.
“So you see sir...” Ah, another twitch there in the left cheek, how quaint. “So you see, m'lord Teeleh, it would appear that your supplier has been...been...compromised.”
The dermorian leaned forward in his chair. What a lovely way to gloss over a homicide, he thought to himself, as he folded his hands together and fixed the Ylian with a withering look. There was a considerable increase in tension as the messenger back-peddled towards the door, his eyes widening to admirable saucers. The elf often pondered how much of this was actually true terror, or rather simply an overreaction meant to convey a sense of respect. He hadn't the foggiest idea what the man could possibly have to fear from him besides his monetary wealth. Which, while formidable, hardly meant that he could simply have him eliminated out of spite. Well, not without hefty compensation to many greedy hands. Perhaps he should inform the messenger that he simply wasn't that important. It might make the paranoid individual feel better.
“I do trust you understand how pressing this matter is,” Teeleh said, moving to steeple his fingers and rest them contemplatively against his lips. “I trust that you realize how unappreciated withheld information will be.”
Someone might as well have ignited a lava pit in the middle of the room and moved to throw him into it. The threat was gloriously subtle, but it was more than enough to light a fire under the man's heels. He rambled off random tidbits of what he'd heard around the city; that somehow his supplier had gone insane, that some of the citizens of Hydlaa had as a result taken it upon themselves to eliminate him from their midst. It didn't seem he had anything useful, like names, which made Teeleh glad he'd already taken it upon himself to do some rather...impromptu digging of his own. When the messenger had finished his rambling, he stood gape-mouthed at the door like a water-starved fish, trying to suck air into lungs not quite designed for the task.
The dermorian waved his had to dismiss him. Instantly his fins became legs, and he bolted out the door like a rabbit.
Teeleh leaned his head forward into his hands with a tired sigh. He tried to be careful. He knew that nobody was the wiser when it came to his hand in these things, and that even if they knew by some incredible miracle, well...it would not be a difficult task to take care of the rat, as it were. Yet he was also aware that being exposed could be a potential problem, one that he did not have the time nor the energy to deal with. His only connection to the crime scene was an unsigned note, and certainly that was hardly enough to incriminate anyone.
Decisions, decisions, he mused, leaning back in his chair and enjoying the feel of the lush cushions that greeted him. Ah, yes, another thing, that. If he decided to visit the Dome level, then he would also have to leave his luxurious lifestyle. It hadn't always been this way of course, but now that he had the niceties that copious tria could provide, he was loath to leave it.
Unfortunately it only took one small fissure in the monument that was his plans to send it toppling to the dust. The prospect of that many years wasted made his gut churn enough to instantly put him off food for weeks.
Meddling meddling meddling. Always with the meddling. Ah, well. Perhaps hiring a half-crazed killer was somewhat of a mistake, but with a body count like that the harvest was simply too delicious to pass up.
“I suppose that settles it, then,” he admonished aloud, rising grudgingly from his chair. Though he would never admit it, there was also a small kernel of curiosity in the pit of his unshakable logic. He didn't know many who would stand up to the likes of a master mage, especially one wielding a dagger that had the capacity to sever souls. Such people were ripe for plucking; motivations often noble but so easily manipulated. All one had to do was find out enough to know what made them tic, what made their actions so passionate, and soon they were a tightly bound puppet dangling from strings. No magic required. Simply the magic of their own repressed psyche.
Decision sliding into place, Teeleh Daleth quickly set about the task of gathering the things he would require for what promised to be a remarkably interesting visit.
-
/EXCITE!
-
Daggers have pitifully short range, get a longsword and maybe people will start worrying!
-
Daggers have pitifully short range, get a longsword and maybe people will start worrying!
Shoulda been clearer...that was a reference to Barsidious, not Teeleh. Teeleh doesn't need petty things like weapons... :devil:
-
Teeleh makes happy tears flow from my eyes. Such a wonderful man. :'(
-
Daggers have pitifully short range, get a longsword and maybe people will start worrying!
Shoulda been clearer...that was a reference to Barsidious, not Teeleh. Teeleh doesn't need petty things like weapons... :devil:
That was the point... I was mentioning barsidious. >.< (C->E mari. We've worked on this!)
-
Daggers have pitifully short range, get a longsword and maybe people will start worrying!
Shoulda been clearer...that was a reference to Barsidious, not Teeleh. Teeleh doesn't need petty things like weapons... :devil:
That was the point... I was mentioning barsidious. >.< (C->E mari. We've worked on this!)
;D Apparently not enough.
-
The reek was nauseating. A foul odor that poured out of the statuary's maw and flooded the air around it as though the face was exhaling in rank, festering breaths. And like a hound on a scent trail, Teeleh had followed this odor to its source with eager and ready intent. A simple drugged drink had rendered its guardian rather incapacitated, which left him more than free to slide down the makeshift throat into the corpse infested bowels below.
It was ripe for the plucking. Already he could see the fresher bodies piled near the front of the labyrinthine tunnels, fingers curled in rigor mortis, eyes wide open and gazing up at the stalactites above. The lurking grendols were no issue either, he could sense them from miles away, layered in rotted flesh as they were, and with a twist of a finger he could bend them unerringly to his own will. Setting them up in the darker corners was a simple endeavor, and pushing them towards the front to waylay any would-be travelers was equally less than labor intensive.
Not that he expected visitors. From what he understood of the place, one was not meant to traverse these necrotic streets if they wanted to be welcomed back into any city on this level. Banishment was the punishment. It made no sense to him, really. Respect for the dead. The dead were little more than hollow husks, the stuff that was important was long since evacuated. It was the soul that was so much more difficult to bend, or draw back into the body, as it were. Countless years of study had not yet been enough to perfect the finer points of such an endeavor. Permanent resuscitation was such a tricky, tricky thing, and compared to his ultimate goal the petty raising of an undead groaning hunk of flesh seemed useless at best.
Teeleh passed the sizable burden of his pack off to one of his lumbering minions after coaxing the creature out of the mud. Its fingers were less than nimble, but doing such menial grunt-work was still within its capacity. Deeper he walked, his voluminous cloak held clenched in his fists to keep it clear of the muck that was coating his boots. He would have to wash everything thoroughly later. There was no telling what diseases lay incubating in this ripe atmosphere, and even he was not immune to such occurrences. Far more resistant, yes, but certainly not immune.
It didn't take long to find a place to set up camp. When he was a considerable distance inside, he began unpacking his belongings carefully, setting up what would be necessary for his stay. Other niceties like sleeping places and recreation could easily be purchased with coin, but the loyalty required for keeping a secret such as this was far more pricey. For the moment he would have to keep it carefully stowed away, out of sight and mind, until he could slowly and carefully construct the type of loyalty he required. It was a rigorous and tedious process, but the rewards were always quite fruitful. He'd come to regard it as an art form, and while he was intelligent enough to acknowledge he hadn't quite mastered it himself, he was at least quite good at it. Many things were required for the perfect formula; the individual selected must believe he had something they desperately want or need. They must believe that he also felt personally attached to them, that he had much compassion for their situation and that he desired to help. He must provide that solution, after having promised it, and deliver it without any strings or promise of payment. Then he must make a show of leaving it at that, as though nothing more at all was required, and that out of the goodness of his own person, he'd gifted them with a small salvation.
That was it. A very deliberate dance, a play of cards. Worming ones way into the heart of another was not so much difficult, it was merely a thing that took time, and careful planning. A deft hand and gentle touch, as it were. They had to believe, with every fiber of their being, that he cared for them, and that he was in essence, good.
Goodness. A strange notion, really. Like a thing that people seek ravenously so that they can leech off of it. Yet it doesn't truly exist. A give and take system is the best one can get out of the idea. No one is really inherently good. White splatters on the black canvas of a terribly lost soul.
“I'm merely no exception,” he intoned aloud. The lumbering grendol beside him grunted and eyed him with rotting corneas that oozed some strange yellow substance. He would have to make certain he didn't actually physically touch the stuff; certainly some of the bodies that had died of the plague resided here, and while he wasn't at risk to contract that specific disease, he certainly didn't want to bring it into the cities. He had no desire to experience an outbreak again.
Teeleh's hand wandered towards the concealed pocked in his vest, covering it, thinking of the words scrawled between its binding. Another priceless relic: knowledge. An account of all he had garnered in many century's time. He'd purchased the thing off of a merchant years and years and countless years before. A wonder in itself; an uttered word could open trigger the book to transform what was inside. In essence it could never be entirely used up.
Tonight, he decided he needed a reminder of the reasons why he was doing what he was. He leaned over the book as he sat down upon a carefully smoothed mat, and let his breath ghost over the stylized letters on its cover:
“Fantarà.”
His work would have to start on the morrow.
-
[The following is a tangible book in the game, that one might feasibly get their hands on, but which is rather difficult to crack. I'm posting it here so that I can put the pictures one would find inside the book in this thread, and so that if there's no time to read what's entered, people can find a permanent post for the entry. In game, rules are written inside the book to tell you what you'll see depending on what you do with it. I ask that you cordially follow these rules, and that you must make an effort to find out the words ICly, before information can be gleaned from the book.]
[If you say Fantarà (home):]
I recall it as though it ocurred yesterday, not centuries ago. I suppose that can either render credability to the sharpness of my memory, or perhaps truth to the potency of the event. Or maybe it is merely the disillusionment of the flow of time, which to me has always seemed a slippery and unpredictable thing, like trying to wrap your fingers around a wriggling trout.
The first one to catch the illness was dead long before we realized what it was he had contracted. We didn't recognize the yellowish curd in his eyes, dripping foamy from their corners and carving paths down his cheeks. We didn't understand the way his skin turned pale and then began to rot, the circulation first to his extremities eliminated so that he could not handle food, or walk correctly. It took his vitals next, and it was a slow, slow death. He couldn't eat, could barely drink, his body unable to handle the taxing efforts of digestion. I was told he was a blind, blubbering fool during the last few limbless weeks of his life, and I suppose that means in the end it takes your mind as well. I wouldn't know. The younger ones weren't allowed into his tent.
His caretakers were the ones to fall ill next. These were finally quarinteened, but by the time the order was issued and carried out it was far, far too late. People began dropping like stones sent skipping across water. Some of them came up more times than others, some fought harder, but the result was always the same: a six foot hole dug in the ground.
We didn't realize that the water supply was contaminated from the location of the bodies until the illness had been ever so thoroughly contracted. That was of course when the burning began. Massive holes dug in the earth just outside the village, into which the corpses of the unfortunate were tossed and then layered in various flammable liquids. The scent of burnt hair and flesh loomed in the air long after the flames had died, and after a while it created an ever-present smaug in the valley, hovering over our heads day in and day out like some perverse omen.
Once, when I was out watching the burnings, I saw a man run screaming out of the pit. His arms were flailing above his head, and he spun in circles many times as though he were a bird attempting to take flight. No one rose to help him. He was diseased, of course, mistaken for dead. They merely watched him as the fire consumed his raw and ruddy flesh. I watched too, rooted to the ground, lips parted in morid fascination. I wondered for the first time then what it must be like to die.
Most of the village turned to religion. The dakkruists were the first to bend the knee and pray for salvation, pleading with their goddess to take these souls into her Realm and then allow them to find their way back to the surface. The Laanx-followers believed of course that this was all some terrible act of retribution for a crime commited, and they pleaded with their condemning god that we might all be freed from the burden of judgement. The Xiosians were by far the worst, however. Their warbling cries filled the air all hours of the day and night, as though they were trying to outdo the groans of the sick and the dying. They burned incense meant to erradicate the smell of the rotting flesh, but somehow it only managed to enhance to cloying odor, make it sickly-sweet, so that soon everyone had to wonder around with cloths over their mouths and noses if they wanted to breathe at all.
As a mere child of only twelve cycles, most of these rituals seemed vague and pointless to me. No matter how many slits in the flesh were made, no matter how many laments up to a grey and cloudless sky, there was no response. I began to think that it was somewhat less surprising that there were those who didn't believe in the gods at all. Except in my case, while I acknowledged their existance, I learned from the experience just how distant and useless they all were. Sitting somewhere up beyond the dome on bejeweled chairs and scratching their fat, devine asses.
My younger sister was the first to catch it. She was five, and one day she fell over while bringing wood in for the hearth. I watched her. She didn't stumble; she merely fell, the strength in her legs failing her as she ended up face down in the snow surrounded by scattered bits of bark. I carried her inside, and in the dim lighting for the first time my parents and I saw it: the yellowish tinge around her irises. Funny, that it might have been quite pretty if it didn't signal death. The way it made her bright green eyes stand out even more than they had before.
It only took her two weeks to die. She was too young to fight it any longer than that.
The death of my parents was much, much slower. My days became routine; I would carry through the chores mechanically, do my best to keep the reek out of the walls and floorboards by thoroughly washing their festering skin with warm, damp pieces of fabric. I'd wash these, too, when I was finished, and store them away for the next day, before I set about tidying the house and clearing away waste matter. I brought in spring flowers when the season was right to try to brighten the place, though all it managed to do was attract a few bees to leak in from the broken windowpanes. I'd feed them, or at least as much as I could, though they frequently couldn't keep it down and I ended up cleaning that too. Then one day, my mother simply didn't wake up. I tried to jostle her, shook her shoulder, smoothed her cheek with my hands. But her eyes remained shut, her hands half-curled in sleep, her face a myraid patchwork of unnatural brusing and oozing sores.
My father died precisely one week later. I burned the bodies myself, along with the house. It was a suitable funeral pyre.
I think the greatest retribution from the gods somehow found its way to my shoulders. I was immune. In the many years following the incident I've never figured out why, but I was. An entire village, hundreds of people, desicrated and ravaged by disease, and there I stood at the center of the quiet ghost-town, untouched. I imagine the gods laughed at the irony of it; they kill off everyone and leave an almost entirely helpless little boy alone to fend for himself. Orphaned. Hollow. Walking dead.
I did walk. Blank faced and chap-lipped, I walked for days, until I'd used up all my water and collapsed beside a dusty road. I cried precious tears into the dirt until I had no more moisture left in me to leak into the ground. And, when I thought that surely death would claim me, in the distance I heard the clomp of horses hooves. Another divine cruelty. I was saved.
Years later I write these words so that I will not forget. So that no matter how many months go dragging past, I will always remember this misdeed that has passed far out of the minds of others. No matter how long it takes, I shall bring them back. I shall bring them all back. This I solemnly vow, upon the tainted soul that no god nor demon would dare lay claim to. I will right the wrongs that the gods have permitted upon this land, and unlock the key to immortality.
I am Teeleh Daleth, and this is my blood-pledge.
[Below this entry is a fingerprint, the color a faded brown.]
[If you say xup (die):]
[Below are diagrams and drawings of an incredibly arcane nature. They are all written in dermorian, but if deciphered, will translate to lists of blood samples, recipes, and encantations that allow for a great number of things. They are labeled very neatly in alphabetical order, from the raising of a corpse to the animation of pieces of a corpse; to the manipulation of a still-living grendel. There are formulations for the prolonging of one's own life, and the lives of others, most of them involving a sacrifice of one life for another, and chemical formulas listed below these as examples of how such a sacrifice must be prepared. One large diagram is beneath these notes in particular, a convoluted design that appears to be a collection of interwoven vines and painted braiding, clealry meant to be drawn out over the surface of a floor. One side has abundant foliage, and the other has dead, necrotic leaves.
Overall the notes seem to be incredibly complicated, and certainly not something a novice should be attempting. But ultimately one could glean this fact: Teeleh is practicing necromancy, and doing it both intensively and successfully.]
-
I saw deh Teeleh!
-
I saw deh Teeleh!
Well considering his peacock-esq fashion sense he is rather hard to miss ;D
-
No burial wells? Isnt it ochtarchal order than plague victims especially get stuffed down the well?
-
No burial wells? Isnt it ochtarchal order than plague victims especially get stuffed down the well?
Well I should certainly hope that they would!
-
[To explain jewelry that may be popping up quite soon around Hydlaa. Instructions will be provided. Also, apologies for the rather extensive trimming I had to do of the text, but the original dialogue was over thirty pages in length, and potentially a tad overwhelming to post here ;D]
Citira strides into the tavern and then looks at Teeleh, smirking slightly "Here we are."
Aramara nods to those who've entered the Den, offering a pleasant and relieved smile to Citira when she recognizes her
Teeleh looks around at the establishment, with what is apparently approval, a quiet smile marking his lips as he steps fluidly down the stairs and cranes his head to examine the room further. "A nice place indeed. Who is the proprietor, I wonder?"
Citira looks at Armara and smiles softly at the Fenki, walking towards her "Hello there." she said softly before glancing at Teeleh "it is owned by Dannae, though a few of us have keys." as she strode towards the bar
Marishe smiles shyly as she walks in and slips into one of the chairs, taking out a book she begins writing in.
Teeleh sidles up to the bar to look towards Aramara. He notes her state of pregnancy with a paternal, charming twinkle of the eye. Reaching out slowly, his fingers hovering reverently over her bump, he asks with cordial politeness, "May I?"
Citira watches Teeleh with a raised brow a hint of unease crossing her features as she notices the state of her pregnancy before she looks at the bar and says softly "mind if I help myself?"
Aramara starts to greet Citira, "Hello Cit..." but she stops and looks past the Ynnwn to the dark haired elf behind her. Suddenly she shivers and her paws come to rest over her belly in a somewhat defensive gesture. Her eyes grow wide at teeleh's request and she takes a nervous step back, "umm... what... what can I get for you?'
Pentrian enters the tavern, slowly looking around, and smiling at the warm welcoming accommodations, before he moves to the line, looking at the menu with interest.
Teeleh allows a thoroughly perplexed frown to adorn his face. He puts his hand up, palm outwards, in a sign of submission, and then drops it loosely back down to his side, the motion sending a ripple through the supple fabric of his cloak. "I apologize, ma'am, I certainly meant no offense."
Aramara throws Citira a quick glance and a nod in answer. Her eyes remain wide and transfixed on Teeleh as she very timidly tries to rush through the transaction, as polite as can be, of course, "Umm... none taken sir, it's just... ummm.. wine did you say?"
Citira slips past the bar and picks out a bottle of nice red, of a good vintage, dropping a few coins n the shelf before turning from the shelves and walking back past the bar, pausing as she spots Morghain and smiling slightly "Ah! Morghain." she said, tilting her head a little "I need a word..."
Morghain nods, a slight grin lighting her face up. "Eh, Citira!" she walks over, "I'll sit down, somewhere, I guess. you look busy."
Teeleh eyes Aramara for a prolonged moment. To anyone watching, there is nothing but a kind, warm expression, a faint smile, crinkled eyes. Yet his glance is nearly palpable to the one he aims it at, an intensity that seems to transcend a simple look. His smile gives the barest of twitches, corners curving even further upwards in the look of a pleased cat who's just cornered a succulent mouse. Yet his speech, articulated perfectly, smooth and suave, comes out undaunted. "Wine would be fabulous. Aramara, was it?"
Citira laughs sofly and shakes her head, walking over to morghain with the wine "The drink is for me..." she said softly, grabbing two mostly clean glasses from the bar and glancing at Teeleh, deciding that he is sufficently busy. She walks over to Morghain and places the bottle and glasses on the table "How are you?" she began, opening with small talk
Morghain claps with a hint of delight. "Oooh! A bit of wine, perhaps?" she asks, a brow raising. "Doing good, actually. Excellent day. Some rot going on at the table, but that's all."
Marishe watches the interaction between Teeleh and Aramara with interest though she tries to hide it by holding the book in front of her face.
Aramara takes another step back, backing into the shelf of wine behind her. The bottles clink as they rock and bump into each other. The sound has her turn suddenly, her belly bumping into them again. She stammers as she reaches for the nearest one before it falls over, "y...yes... Aramara... p..pleased to meet you...umm..."
Teeleh rests his hands lightly upon the counter's top. Now the man expertly molds his features into the perfect facade of concern and perhaps even offense, as Aramara's fear of him grows increasingly apparent. He lets both emotions ring true in his voice as he slips from one persona to the next, smooth as a snake shedding its skin. "I apologize again that I seem to have startled you so gravely, miss Aramara. I can assure you it was never my intention to do so." Eying the bottle in her hand thirstily, he adds, "How much tria will that be?"
Aramara takes her eyes off of Teeleh just long enough to bow her head at Dharah's entrance. The presence of her sister in faith helps to calm her nerves somewhat, but her paw is still unsteady as she pours a glass of wine for Teeleh, "That'll be 25 tria for the wine" she answers, unable to maintain eye contact with the Dermorian
Dharah says: Is everything alright, Ara?
Teeleh fishes out the tria from an intricate felt pouch, the golden threads clearly pricey, before he slips it back into the confines of his copious clothing. He offers them to the fenki woman, but rather than slide them across the counter, the rest glimmering in the creases of the palm of his hand, awaiting her fingers to brush by and collect them. His eyes are still fixed upon the akkaio, giving nothing at all malicious away, yet holding in them a vague sense of foreboding that one could only begin to guess at. "I thank you," he murmurs quietly. "You may keep the change if you so wish."
Aramara nods quickly to Dharah with a less than reassuring, "Mhmm.." She eyes the coins in teeleh's palm with trepidation, but eventually suffers the pretenses of polite business transaction, nervously reaching out to take the coins, her eyes closed, head bowed.
Dharah frowns in concern
Pentrian taps his foot silently against the floor, watching Aramara's exchange with the stranger, with deep interest. His face is void of emotion, but a flicker of concern, perhaps not for her, flashes through his eyes.
Teeleh allows the fenki's soft touch to caress across his palm. Outwardly, he's still smiling. As if frozen in place and time, he does nothing but smile, and even laugh quietly at her over abundant show of humility. The glimmer in his eyes can even be skewed towards something akin to a delighted fondness, as though he not only approves of her demeanor, but finds her quite charming. Inwardly...
Teeleh's skin is like ice. His eyes bore into yours, and something briefly interjects into your mind, not so much like an actual invasion, but an aura, a power that hisses one simple message: "I see you, one who watches the fire." As quickly as it comes, it is gone, leaving nothing but a strange ringing of the ears.
Aramara becomes frozen in fright suddenly as she makes even the slightest contact with Teelah. Her eyes open wide, pupils dilated to fill her irises. She remains petrified as her fears become fully realized before her. She is only able to utter a soft, "No..." as she quickly withdraws her paw, holding it with her other as if it were wounded
Dharah looks from Aramara to Teelah and back again, chewing on her lip, uncertain if she should interfere when she isn't sure what the problem is.
Teeleh allows his hand to linger in the dead space between them, before dropping it idly back to his side. Again, his expression is merely one of concern, as he raises the other to cover his chest slightly in a gesture of being utterly perplexed. "Apologies again. I see I should retire before I upset you any further, ma'am." Grasping the bottle with long, pale fingers, Teeleh turns to find himself a seat, quietly.
Pentrian steps back from behind Teeleh, the concern on his face now unhidded... He too is unsure if he should interfere, but his hands instinctively drop to his daggers, and he gives an inquisitive glance to Aramara
Dharah leans in towards Aramara, "Are you sure you're alright?"
Marishe watches Teeleh walk to the table and sit. Her curiosity apparent on her face even though she tries to hide it.
Aramara clutches her paw to herself, eyes still wide in fear as they follow teeleh to his seat. Dharah's question of concern pulls her out of her shock and she quickly motions to the Nolthrir, whispering in a hushed tone, "Sister... quick, behind the counter, stay away from that man."
Pentrian removes his hands from the daggers, and moves closer to the counter "Greetings Hostess"
Dharah hastens to do as Aramara bids.
Dharah places a hand on Ara's shoulder, "What is it?"
Morghain looks over from Citira at Teeleh with some sort of curiosity, and stands, making a motion to press her hand lightly against Citira's as she does so, "I'll be right back..." she murmurs, and strides purposefully towards the man. "What did you do?"
Teeleh is pulling a book from his travelsack, opening it, scrawling a simple line of numbers, when he hears Aramara's remark. He looks back up again, the shock apparent on his features as he turns back to face the counter where the frightened akkaio and nolthrir are seeking refuse from...him. "Ma'am. I really do think you're taking this a bit too far. I can assure you that I'm no danger to you." He swings his arm outwards, indicating Citira, and Pentrian, in the gesture. "I've already conversed with some present in this place, they hardly look any worse for the wear." His book still held idly in his opposite hand, the quill clutched between ink-stained knuckles, he regards the cowering woman with a mournful glance, before turning that glance back to Morghain. "I've done nothing at all!"
Morghain leans over the table, disbelieving eyes looking Teeleh up and down. "Oh, haven't you?" she says, softly. "I don't think they'd be that worried over a little bit of nothing."
Citira inclines her head at Acon as well before looking at Morghain and saying in a voice loud enough to be heard "He is harmless Morghain... Just a jewelry merchant."
Aramara places her paw on Dharah's back and pulls the Nolthrir close in a protective manner, her attention still locked on Teeleh, "Just stay close," she says, despite his claims of innocence. Finally she turns her head to Pentrian with a nod, "I'm sorry sir... you were about to order?"
Teeleh crooks a brow slowly at Morghain, an exhausted sigh escaping his lips as he stands up once more. He sets the book down on the table and puts up his hands in yet another sign of submission, before saying with a somewhat grudging tone, "If you would allow me to...disrobe enough to reveal I'm not carrying with me any weaponry or glyphs, would that satisfy your concerns, miss...?" The fact that he finds the very idea incredibly distasteful is more than obvious in the way he speaks.
Pentrian looks at Aramara, the visage of concern still evident in his face, more so, as he glaces to her belly. "Uh.. Yes.. Though it seems, you are pre-occupied?"
Morghain smirks a little bit, and takes a hand off the table to adjust her hair as she does so, looking Teeleh over with moribund curiosity. "Well, as much as it'd entertain me, no, I'll pass. Unless you offer again later." she says, a single brow arching. She straightens after this, brushing the small of her back off with a few quick motions of her hands. "I suppose you're vouched for 'n all." she smirks, and rolls her eyes. "Just don't go scaring babies, or anything."
Pentrian lays 25 tria on the counter, having now memorized the list of prices behind the two. "If you would be so kind, I would appreciate a non-alcoholic cider", he states, in a low, but friendly non the less, voice.
Teeleh nods his head deeply to Citira to show his thanks to the woman, his brows pinched together with clear worry as he reclaims his seat, his glance deviating back towards the counter and the bar that is still occupied by Aramara and Dharah. Wearily, he places his head in one hand, eyes roving over the open book that graces the table's surface, and begins idly flipping through the pages, apparently finding what he was searching for before he puts quill to parchment and resumes his writing.
Aramara shakes her head in answer to Pentrian, but her eyes betray her as they keep glancing in teeleh's direction. She nods at the order and takes the coin from the counter and a mug towards the keg, filling it with cider as per the klyros's request.
Pentrian picks up the mug, without a smile, his eyes now cautiously turning to Teeleh as well. He sniffs it, loftily, and then takes a sip, nodding his thanks.
Dharah turns to Aramara again now that her customer is dealt with. "Is...what's the matter? I was hoping to maybe play a little up on stage, but if you don't think it's safe...?"
Teeleh doesn't appear to be doing anything. Actually, to be honest, the man is moping. Not stooping so low as to pout, per say, but he certainly doesn't look very pleased about having nearly been strip-searched. He's still writing, the only noise from his own corner the dry-paper-scratch against the tip of his finely feathered quill, its end drifting lazily over his shoulder. One of his fingers is gently massaging the side of his face, kneading the furrow between his brows every time it reappears, which is becoming increasingly frequent.
Pentrian slowly backs away, then moves to Teeleh's chair, indicating the seat across from him, he asks in Gadermara "May I sit, Barn-elf?"
Marishe keeps staring at Teeleh from over her book, a look of curiosity on her face as she tries to discern anything about him.
Aramara returns to Dharah's side as dictated by her rising maternal instinct. Cautiously she watches as others approach and deal with the frightening elf until she nods to her Dharah, "Go ahead Sister... just be careful... please."
Teeleh's features are fairly flat and indiscernible as it were, unfortunately. He does look up, however, pentip making a well of seeping ink as it continues in its contact with the still blank portion of a white page of paper. "Well I'm not entirely certain, sir. It appears I've been deemed a viper, but if you feel so brave as to sit beside me you are welcome to it." Strangely, he is speaking in common.
Dharah pulls out her lute and tunes it quickly
Morghain looks up and over, raising her voice at Teeleh. "A baby scarer, get it right." she teases, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "And don't seem so low about it...barnelf. You're alright."
Dharah smiles out at the crowd, "Any requests?"
Citira makes a face and murmers under her breath "I do not like children..."
Teeleh waves a hand towards Morghain, generating a splatter of dark, iridescent ink that hovers in the air for only a moment before pattering uselessly to the floor. "My apologies. I frighten infants." He gives the nolthrir an appreciative smile.
Pentrian glances down at the book trying to he is writing. he speaks again in common, his words are cautiously formed, guarded. "Well, it seems I am at the right table, for I too am a scaled being, it would seem"
Teeleh gestures cordially towards the chair that Pentrian sits before, and then, as if showing good faith, he turns the book around and flashes a list of numerals and numbers upon the still-wetly inked page he's currently utilizing. "Plans to take over the world," he observes with mock sobriety.
Aramara casts one more cautious glance towards Teeleh's table before nodding to Qile, her smile now diminished. Her paws rest over her extended belly, "I've been well enough tabei. It hasn't all been easy, for certain, but i feel the time is near... the worst over." Her last words carry a dark tone to them as she glances at Teeleh once more.
Pentrian does not react to the jest, only nods, though by the slight scowl that crosses his face, he does not find it funny at all. He quickly hides the scowl, however, and takes the seat, looking over Teeleh with masked interest "So you are a merchant you say?"
Teeleh is either oblivious to Aramara's indicative glances, or he is making a point to avoid even looking in her direction. Lest he frighten her into hiding beneath the counter. After a few moments, he takes the book back, scritching away with occasional glances upwards at the klyros that has just joined him. "Apologies, perhaps a poor joke, she seems genuinely distressed." Heaving a sigh, he replies, "That's accurate, sir, I am a merchant. I sell many various types of wares. I'm here on holiday, taking a break from my usual work on the barn level, and tying up some loose bartering ends."
Citira glances at Morghain and shakes her head, saying in a low voice "I-..." she shook her head and glanced at Qile again, pushing her chair out and looking at the others and saying more clearly "I can't be here....I...just can't..." Citira throwing another look at Qile, her hand shaking slightly before she turns around, in an attempt to leave the den
Morghain pushes herself up to follow, heaving a sigh at Acon as she does so. She pats the table a few times, and walks after the woman. "I'll be back." she says, morosely.
Teeleh's eyes rove from Pentrian towards Citira. True sorrow lances across his face, and it appears he's about to stand up to go after her, but he hesitates as she and Morghain walk through the door together, appearing uncertain.
Pentrian nods, his gaze remaining on Teeleh, "Jewelry, If I heard correctly.. Do you by chance, have any samples of your wares? I..." His voice cuts off as the Dermorian abruptly stands, and he glances to the door
Teeleh purses his lips and looks back to Pentrian. One hand is on the table, the other hangs out in the air, as though he's caught between trying to decide upon a clear course of action. After a moment's hesitation, he seats himself once more, murmuring something about needing to speak with the ynnwn at a later time. At Pentrian's request, the elf plucks a parcel from a pocket in his robes and tosses it upon the table, waving a dismissive hand, clearly indicating that this is the answer to his query.
Pentrian breaks his gaze on Teeleh to look at the parcel. "may I?" He says, half concerned with it "I.. find myself, looking to purchase a present for... " his voice trails off before he continues "And, your arrival here is opportune"
Qile shakes her head and picks a few coins from her pocket, sliding them onto the counter before raising the mug and taking a deep gulp. She hardly seem phased by it as she immediately speaks in a clear, but rather dark tone, "Care to play the typical role of a bartender and hear about how I spent my week? Then we can justify me quitting my quitting drinking."
Teeleh groans, his eyes giving a brief roll. His hand drifts lazily forward, but the motion is incredibly sluggish, the palm facing upwards to show he's showing nothing at all. Drawing his sleeve back from his forearm to reveal pale, perfect skin and show that even in THIS way, he conceals nothing, his fingers grope at the packaging and then draw away the tanned-hide fabric to reveal...jewels. Marvelous jewels. Shimmering like specs of dome-light upon the table, they range from rings to necklaces to tiaras, all sparkling bits of gold silver and various faux metals presumably meant for ynnwn customers. Every gem imaginable bedecks their surfaces, some gaudy, others more asture and appealing to the senses. "Watch out," he mutters. "They might bite you."
-
Aramara takes another cautious glance towards Teeleh before looking back at Qile, seemingly simultaneously impressed and worried at the amount of lacka so quickly consumed, "umm... of course tabei, but... I do recommend you sip that drink."
Dharah pauses in her playing to admire the sparkling wares
Dharah moves unconsciously closer to look, "Oh, how lovely!"
Pentrian gasps at the radiance of the parcel, his eyes transfixed on them... He, almost misses, what he thinks is unbridled disdain in the elves tone. "Truly, they are amazing!"
Teeleh's face softens, and his eyes flit towards Aramara. They linger back again, and for all intents and purposes the man clearly looks put out. "Take one," he offers. "For that friend you half-mentioned. I assure you they aren't poisoned or anything, I'll put it on first if you want to check." He leans forward, intending to murmur something to the klyros."Any idea what the fenki might appreciate? I do feel badly I upset her so much. A pregnant woman, no less."
Pentrian is still transfixed by the jewels, though a slight frown creases his brows, before Teeleh leans over to him. He looks thoughtful for a moment, before murmuring a soft reply, "I truly do not know her well... but.. any of those fine pieces, would be graciously received by her I think"
Qile holds her drink close to her chest in both hands as she releases a short sigh. "Let's see. I sought out and joined the Sempetor, and that very day the woman that recruited me was attacked by a group of assassins." She nods once to drive in the truth of the story, "Oh yes, and I was there and in the crossfire. Of course she died, and they fled, leaving me alone. The next day I met Sempetor's Azure master." This statement gives Qile enough reason to pause to sip her drink. "Who psychically attacked me immediately upon seeing me. And then there was whatever happened to Jezzi - and the investigations and plans going into that. Oh, and Citira apparently falling in love with me and THAT didn't end well yesterday either. AND some crazy asshole I met yesterday said he loved me too! And then promptly went into some rant about how the Black Flame killed his family. Then he slapped me. Then he killed himself. Then he came back from Dakkru's realm and did it AGAIN. And today, I spent two hundred thousand - yes - two hundred thousand tria on iron ingots to donate to the Laanx temple."
Qile says: I earned my damned drink.
Qile punctuates her rant with another deep gulp of her lacka.
Dharah looks sideways at Qile, taken a bit aback by the flow of words
Marishe puts her book away and stares directly at the jewels in admiration. She seems to want a closer look but stays in her seat. He gaze glancing cautiously at Pentrian.
Pentrian cannot help but laugh at Qile's rant "You... Donated two hundred thousand tria, to those..."He says the next word with some scorn "Priests?"
Qile says: Yyyyyep.
Teeleh's attention deviates to the rambling fenki in wide-eyed astonishment, as one would of course react to the relaying of such a horrendously eventful day. After he collects his fallen jaw, he nods to Pentrian's answer, and his fingers wander without touching over the jewels, until he reaches a necklace that is dotted with fiery feathers, all shades of red and orange and yellow, growing in size from the ends of the golden chord and forming a zenith at the largest feather in the center. He selects this and moves with slow, deliberate steps towards the counter, placing it at the very edge, and then backing away once more, his hands held limply at his sides.
Qile says: Oooh. Gems.
Teeleh laughs softly at Qile. "You're welcome to help yourself."
Qile interrupts herself to down a bit more of that lacka. "The tribute was to Laanx. To bid her come home. And show devotion."
Pentrian watches Teeleh with a slight trace of amusement, but his glance falls inquisitively to Aramara, to study any reaction she may have to Teeleh's sudden generosity
Morghain turns to the counter, lazily setting her small hands on it, and raises a hand at the pregnant fenki, "Got any Fyran?" she says, lowly, and then turns towards Qile, nodding. "Good of you to do, miss."
Teeleh turns back to his table and seats himself, looking up again at the akkaio curiously. "Miss? It sounds like you've had a rough day as well." He passes his hand over the items. "Would you care for something? On me."
Qile nods to Morghain, though her reaction is a bit slower than those few in the group familiar with the warrior fenki might be used to. "I am Sempetor. It is my duty," she answers before spinning to Teeleh. "And I do not take strange things from strangers! Not after all that cursed whatnots floating around town."
Morghain looks a bit downcast, but waves it off with a happy smile that replaces the previous emotion. "Ah, well. Pity." she steps lightly around the people in the crowd, making her way to Teeleh on the other end of the bar. She lowers her voice, pressing her lips together, and sighing. "Sorry 'bout earlier."
Morghain smiles brightly at Qile. "Well, good to have you with us then!" she says, tilting her head around the Klyros to peer at Qile. "I'm an Enforcer within the Sempetor. Morghain is the name."
Teeleh gives a light chuckle to Qile and picks up a bracelet, dotted with silver etching, designs flowing across its surface. He claps it onto his own wrist, and...nothing happens at all. Nothing. No glazed over eyes, no flashes of light. Turning to look at Morghain, he shakes his head slowly. "No, no, something tells me I preached decorum, it's I who should apologize. Don't trouble yourself over it."
Pentrian looks over to Qile and offers a smile "Qile, have you met... Teelah here" He... Is a merchant, like you."
Qile grins to Morghain. "Long enough to see combat with 'em! I am new, though. A week..maybe two." She then in turn answers Pentrian. "I heard. Nice to meet you, Teeleh. Hah. Our names rhyme."
Morghain shrugs. "Oh, no. I just assumed from the way the preggers fenki was glaring daggers at you you'd put some sort of spell on her or something." she looks the elf up and down, "But you don't look the type."
Teeleh pops some tiny button on the piece of jewelry and slips it from his wrist, tossing it idly into the glittering pile. "I thank you for that, at least, ma'am," says the elf, turning to offer one shimmering, ring-encrusted hand to the nolthrir. "Teeleh Daleth. Good to meet you.
Teeleh gives Qile an amused smile. "Indeed they do rhyme. What an honor for me."
Qile suddenly pauses. "Oh! Right." Sip. "Qile! Qile Yszir. Brawler, protectorate, merchant of anything that sells." She dips a low bow, careful not to spill the little that remained in her cup, in introduction to both Morghain and Teeleh.
Morghain smiles widely. "Qile! I like it. Well, you have my welcome. And obviously Lani's, since you're not wandering around the temple looking for nothing." she smirks, and walks around the table to offer the fenki her hand, "Morghain Tynth, th'Morghain you may already know, but I am a protectorwot, excellent knife artist, and purveyor of fine....eh. Who'm I kidding. I'm a paid priestess."
Teeleh's eyes crinkle, laugh lines radiating from their corners as he gently thrums his fingers along the table's surface. Contended now, probably because no one is looking at him intending to point fingers or accuse him of being terribly nefarious, he finally pops the cork on that bottle he bought and sips delicately from it, letting it placate his pallet. He focuses on the bottle in his hand and begins to swirl the scarlet liquid slowly, sloshing it into a tiny whirlwind within the confines of the glass. His thoughts are clearly elsewhere now, as he languishes back against his seat, swinging his legs up to balance two perfectly polished boots upon the table's corner. Occasionally he sips, and a smile, reminiscent of someone who may or may not be a tad bit tipsy, is spreading steadily across his face. Yet oddly, his eyes do not have the haze of drunken stupor. They remain sharp, and keen, as he listens idly to the words being spoken.
Qile shamelessly, perhaps quite purposely, finds her way into Pentrian's seat and finishes the last of he lacka. She dips her head, quite obviously now feeling the effects of the alcohol creeping into more than just her speech. "So you're a merchant of fine jewelry, huh?" she asks Teeleh directly. "Here from the Barn level. I don't suppose you're familiar with a man named Deeps, huh?"
Morghain nods with satisfaction, her face returning to normal. With a mild sway to her walk and a bit of disorientation, she meanders to a seat near Teeleh as well, and drops her elbows to the table, and palms upwards, rests her chin in the cup her hands make. She stares at Teeleh, and smiles widely. "Oh, a Barn merchant! With Jewelry!" she says, drawling the words out. She shifts in her seat, arching her back mildly, and settles her chin more comfortably into her hands. "Was that the book you were writing in, too?" she questions, and then swivels her eyes to peer at Qile. "And was this Deeps the slave man you were talking about?
Teeleh directs his attention to Qile. His speech is somewhat less...pristine, as the words begin to slur together in an odd fashion, though they're certainly not quite difficult to understand yet. "I'm a jewelry merchant, that's correct." Pondering in silent thoughtfulness at the woman's inquiry, he frowns when he doesn't come up with anything, and licks some of the wine still stuck in the creases of his mouth before helping himself to another hearty quaff, dribbling some of it unintentionally to the floor but miraculously missing his clothing. "I'm afraid I don't know anyone by that name. But then I don't get out much, mainly hire people to do the traveling before me." He gives Morghain a dreamy, liquored smile as she advances.
Pentrian picks up the mugs, and with a nod turns around to rejoin the table.
Pentrian moves back to the table and plops into the free table, plopping the mugs down
Pentrian is about to take a sip from his, when a foul odor crosses his nose, and he almost gags... He switches their location, looking to Qile "This must be yours"
Morghain returns the smile, her own lips pressing together and moving upwards with a sense of amusement in the forethought action. "I s'pose it's a good trade, jewelry?" she laughs, hiccups, and then waves over at Teeleh. "Er, I guess it is. I mean, after all, look at ya."
Qile lifts a finger, pointing to Morghain but keeping her now-distanced eyes on Teeleh, "Yep, that's the one. Leave it to Qile to be knee deep in the slave trade at all times..." She heaves a sigh, "That's too bad. It might be worth a few circles to someone to get to know Mister Deeps a bit better." She then turns to Pentrian. Chatty Qile was chatty. "Yes! It must be." She drops her empty mug and swipes up the new one, offering Pentrian a wide grin. "Not a drinker, huh?"
Teeleh wiggles his expensively ringed hands and gives his cloak a suave toss over his shoulder, all with a stoically straight face, before erupting in a fit of bubbly chortling. "Yes, yes, though it's mostly about appearances." A finger raises to point at Morghain, and he sway somewhat as he leans forward, "I'm not really all this ga....gaudy all the time, but you know, success. Gets the point across." He directs his attention back to Qile, and again that thoroughly baffled look of someone trying to get half-wine-drowned cogs turning overtakes his face. "Ah, ah, sorry. When I get back, I shall ask around for your friend, yes?"
Pentrian looks to Qile "Not of late no.. Especially, when it seems that near every night, a brawl breaks out in Kadas, due to some drunken insult or another"
Morghain sprawls her little arms against the back and sides of her chair, inner elbows propped up by the corners. She looks at Qile and shrugs, "Oh, I don't know of him, kinda just putting two and two together." at Teeleh's exuberance, she leans forward, pressing her lips together and giving the man a quick wink, the curvature of her mouth slipping up in forcedly flirtatious curve. She raises her brows, appearing naively interested, "If I were to buy jewelry, you -would- be the man to sell it to me, right?" she says, "Although, friend, you may be askin' for a beating from th'people around this town, dressing all rich and the like."
Aramara glances around the room, and seeing that everyone has been served she nods, "I could use a moment off my feet.
Qile offers Teeleh a deep nod. "Remember the name - Qile Yszir. Send a groffel when you find anything out. Anything and everything is good information." Pentrian next, Qile's eyes slide lazily to look to him. "She pauses long enough to take a sip of her drink. "Thank you, by the way, for the drink. Does this make us friends now? After Kada-El's yesterday, I'm not sure where we stand." Morghain's turn, "You know, Morghain, there's an interesting thing about slaves."
Pentrian looks to Qile, missing most of the conversation, he finds himself asking "Are you saying that you are a slave yourself, only to the constructs of your own mind?"
Qile downs another long swig of her drink. "No, no, see, Pentrian, that is the problem. We fight and struggle every day to find happiness and contentment with ourselves and the world. We guess and throw darts at the ideas of love, of righteousness, of what it means to be happy and how to do it. A slave can have something none of us ever can - the answers to those questions. That is what I am saying."
Teeleh draws his hand and the extent of his arm along the table, collecting the pile of tantalizing gemstones and silver-gold filigree and sliding it to set before the nolthrir. "I am indeed the merchant for such things, but considering recent events I'm giving out samples of the merchandise. Call it good public relations if you will. Help yourself if you so desire." His vernacular slips into a business tone, despite his current state of being, and he takes another healthy swig of the superior brand of wine he's imbibing before looking back to Qile. "I'll be sure to...*hic* remember that, your pardon ma'am." Fingering a kerchief in his pocket, he dabs politely at his mouth.
Morghain smirks a bit, eyes wandering over the pile of jewelry. She waves it off, "Oh, no, I couldn't. This is all so fine!"
Teeleh gives an encouraging wave in return, but beyond that doesn't press. "Consider it my thanks for the fine company!"
Marishe glances back quickly as Teeleh mentions free samples, looking longfully at the jewels.
Qile waves dismissively to Teeleh, "Pardon? None needed. You are not among nobility here as far as I know."
Morghain looks at the jewelry for a few mor moments, then selects a shiny, meaningless bauble, slipping it into her tria pouch. "Well, this'n will do. I don't need to be a vain woman."
Teeleh's pile of jewelry includes various items, varying from gold to silver, essentially anything a girl could possibly want to decorate herself with. There is a necklace with the masked image of Laanx dangling from it that might catch the woman's eye, wrought in finely crafted, superb detail. There are also various bracelets, simple by comparison to many equally details effigies of the gods, speckled twice over their thick, precious-metal bands with gemstones that catch the light on their multi-faceted surfaces.
Morghain selects one of the simpler, albeit gaudy bracelets
Marishe finally finds the courage to make her way to the table as she glances shyly at Teelah. "Good day sir. Did you say free?"
Teeleh laughs amicably at Qile's statement, and turns his attention to the conversation at hand, a keen intent quite clear upon his face as he attempts to get past his drunken stupor in order to understand what's being spoken of. He nods to Marishe, and again, runs his fingers over the proffered keepsakes.
Marishe starts to reach out but then draws her hand back nervously. "But they are so beautiful. You are sure they are free?"
Teeleh dips his head wearily. "Indeed, I am certain. Call it a thank you for not throwing me in the brig."
Marishe finally reaches out and picks out a nice piece. She admires it approvingly. "Thank you so much kind sir."
Teeleh nods his head once kindly and replies, "You are most welcome."
Marishe glares angrily at Pentrian "Why do you keep following me? Don't think I didn't notice you slinking in right after me. You...you evil klyros you!"
Teeleh's eyes drift lazily back to Pentrian as he resumes his speaking. Then to Qile, as she makes her admonitions, admiring the way the alcohol has loosened her tongue. Frowning, the elf looks back to Marishe and states: "It's a tavern, miss. No one is barred from using it. And the man is merely sitting here, enjoying a good conversation with the lady. There is no harm in that."
Pentrian looks to Qile "Another one?" then to Marishe "I... am sorry.. but It is mere coincidence that you and I seem to locale the... only two drinking esablishments"
Qile says: No yelling, please...no fighting. I'm not in the mood. I've done quite enough of that lately. Have a drink. Pentrian is a nice guy. He's even gonna get me another drink!
Qile says: You might like him.
Marishe frowns at him "This crazy klyros has tried to kill me twice and now acts as if he never did it. If I turn my back he will probably try to slit my throat again."
Teeleh says: "I highly doubt he'll do it in a place such as this. Calm yourself, claim a seat."
Qile's eyes slide slowly to look at Pentrian for a long moment. "Perhaps now is a good time to settled your diffferences then?" she turned a smile to Marishe. "I promise on my honor I will make sure you come to no harm here."
Marishe looks back to Teeleh and smiles "Ah yes...most likely not. Thank you for offering me a chair." She goes around to the chair next to Teeleh and sits down.
Marishe nods to Qile "Thank you dear fenki. He keeps muttering on about that cursed book and all.."
Teeleh opens his mouth perhaps to state that he was in fact indicating she should reclaim HER chair, over at HER table, but decorum dictates his remaining polite. Instead of doing this, he appears to be content with the time the jewels have been offered, and he packs them carefully away and tucks them into the confines of his cloak.
Qile says: I want to hear nothing about curses or fighting or broken hearts tonight!
Marishe nods "Okay..."
Pentrian turns around and returns to his seat, looking wearily at the Klyros who has now twice accused him of assault tonight
Marishe scowls angrily at Pentrian but doesn't say anything else.
Teeleh stands up, wavering at the knees as he does so, grasping his bottle of wine and taking it with him as he manages to, by sheer force of will, claim his feet. With a dip of his head to each of the occupants in the room (which he probably sees two or three of in some cases,) he meanders his way drunkenly to the door, and exits for the evening.
-
Travosh says: Aramara.
Aramara bowed her head, "travosh... how pleasant to see you."
Travosh laughed. "You don't need to lie."
Aramara tilted her head, wearing a friendly smile, "I have no reason to lie to you Travosh."
Travosh says: Everyone has reason to lie to everyone.
Travosh says: Its how the world keeps hanging.
Aramara shrugged softly, blinking her eyes, "I try only to be honest. I was honest with you before... I gave you a warning and you did not listen."
Travosh says: Seemed to have worked out just fine.
Aramara spotted Teeleh coming down the stairs, "has it now?"
Teeleh dusted something off of his shoulder distastefully. Letting the lint-esq debris fall to the ground at his feet, he glanced at Travosh and Aramara, nodded to each, and then continued walking.
Travosh says: Well nobody else is strung up
Aramara watched Teeleh pass by with scrutiny and waited for him to be out of hearing distance before addressing Travosh once more, "I only hope you are ready and willing to make up for your mistake. Have you seen that girl Evirea around?'
Travosh says: Haven't seen her as of late, and if more idiots come around I've got all the fire in the world for them.
Aramara sent Travosh a nod, a simple symbol of understanding, "keep your fire stoked Travosh, we may need it soon enough."
Travosh says: It always is.
Travosh says: After all, can't be too prepared for your tentacled horror and years of blackness
Aramara shook her head and turned, facing the plaza and the direction the extravagantly dressed elf made off to, "no... no you can't.." she said absently
Travosh says: He catch your eye then?
Aramara crossed her arms over her chest and they come to rest on top of her belly, "Yes... I think it'd be smart to keep an eye on him. I sensed the darkness in him last night."
Travosh says: Oh you sense the darkness in everybody.
Travosh says: Its part of being insane you see.
Aramara shook her head, her tone of voice saddened by his statement, "That's not true.... I've tried... my entire life to love as Xiosia loves, to see the light within everyone.... even you."
Travosh shrugged. "And every other day its a new tide of blackness washing over us."
Aramara nodded and looked over her shoulder at Travosh, "That's it you see... the light is within... the darkness comes from without. It can cover you completely if you let it, but deep down, in your core, there will always be the light."
Travosh says: Sounds like the ravings of a mad person to me.
Travosh says: Probably because I’ve heard lunatics say it.
Travosh says: Right as they carve through somebodies stomach looking for it.
Aramara turned her head back to the plaza, stating firmly, "I'm not going to carve through anyone's stomach..."
Travosh says: Tell that to your sister.
Aramara hung her head for a moment, her eyes closed, before lifting it again in determination, simply walking away from Travosh without any further communication.
Travosh chuckled "The liars always hate that one.”
Teeleh was reading something by the fiery light of the torches, fingers trailing sentences lovingly, a haze present in his eyes. Hearing footsteps approaching, however, he turned, slapping the book shut audibly and sliding it into some compartment between shirt and cloak. He fixed Aramara with what was a surprisingly impassive stare. Waiting for the impending threats of 'I'm going to bring you to your knees,' or at least, what he presumed will pour from her muzzle.
Aramara marched up to Teeleh, her head held high in confidence until she reached a comfortable distance behind him. After he turned to face her she folds her paws together and bowed her head, still treating him with the same dignity and politeness she did everyone else, the fear she displayed the night before apparently gone. "I know who you are..." she began, "...and i know you know who I am... so we don't have to go through those formalities... I only wish to speak to you and offer a warning, if i may."
Teeleh pulled his long-fingered hands back into his robes, his jewels shimmering in the faintly cast fire's light, his eyes reflecting their livid intensity. Yet strangely there was neither anger, nor fear, evident upon his face. It was smooth as an untouched canvas, and nearly as pale, though that could merely be a trick of the fading crystalshine. If anything, the man looked intrigued by this heavily pregnant woman, bearing an omen and signs of respect rather than the pitchforks and torches he had been so readily prepared for. There's a silence, and then slowly, with a grace and dignity to parallel her own, Teeleh bent his torso and returned her bow to her, though his body was indistinguishable as the abundant fabric of his cloak covered it inadvertently. He straightened, and merely watched her.
Aramara blinked once, licked her nose and continued, "You should leave... If you value your life and your continued existence, you should leave. Go back to whereever it is you came from. Eventually they will catch on, and when they do, they won't be as easily to forgive as I. .." She blinked again and hung her head in a prolonged bow, a diminutive gesture, "I do apologize for my behavior last night... I was caught off guard. I have no reason to fear you."
Teeleh's face cracked. It wasn't a smile, was like a fissure in a timeless, expertly constructed mask. The man was shocked. He had the dignity not to let his jaw drop, but his lips were parted slightly, and the whites of his eyes were slightly more visible than was natural. This was a passing state of being for him; he collected himself with the ease of snapping two fingers together. And once he'd regained that control, the elf began to walk towards Aramara, gait oddly not threatening, merely slow and soundless against the cobbles at his feet. His left arm slipped back out and he cast his cloak to the side, the fabric rippling like an artificial waterfall over his shoulder. Graciously, he offered the akkaio his arm. "Perhaps you would be wiling to speak with me further on this matter in a more appropriate location?" It wasn't a veiled threat or a command. It appeared to be nothing more than honest offer and inquiry.
Masaro scratched his left ear as he walked up to the two, giving a slight nod to the one he knows
Aramara caught sight of Masaro and nodded in his direction, an attempt to reassure him. Her gaze lingered on the masked kore, her eyes narrow slightly as if she's searching him for something, but she wasn't one to let Teeleh's gesture hang for too long and she took up his arm with a polite smile, "Yes... that will be fine." As they parted she cast one last look at Masaro over her shoulder.
Teeleh managed this time to contain his shock. In its place was a pleasant smile, amiable in every way and from every angle. He held his arm at the appropriate degree to give the expecting woman his support, before he began to walk towards whatever destination he had chosen, oddly not looking back at the kore observing them as he does, as though not to invoke any suspicion.
Teeleh curled his legs in and seats himself upon the fountain, watching the spray from its spout silently. "I figured this place might put you more at ease." His lips twitched and his glance flitted towards the Xiosian amulet on the fenki's neck. "Your goddess can strike me dead in the case of an emergency, I presume her power is most potent here."
Aramara eventually shuffled up onto the edge of the pool, slowly kneeling down beside it with an audible grunt. She dipped her paw in the water as she said, "Indeed," drawing it out and lifting it to her mouth for a sip. "I know not your exact purpose coming here... but I know what brought you.... your taint of death sullies this most sacred place, but you can be cleaned of it if you wish."
Teeleh laughed. It wasn't a bitter laugh, or a mocking one, it was merely one of pure amusement. "My dear, dear fenki. What you see as taint is a far more complicated circumstance. But be at ease. I will give you one statement to lay your mind to rest. Upon my oath," the elf leaned forward and dipped the tip of one finger into the sacred water, a grimace flashing and then dissipating on his face. He brought the fingertip to his brow, and pressed it in an odd gesture directly upon its center. "No more shall die from me. Not truly."
Aramara watched Teeleh's odd act of self anointment with a telltale curious tilt of her head. His words though had her looking into the waters in solemn contemplation, "True death... is not something to fear. It is a release from fear... only in life can there be fear and pain..." Her words were distant and familiar to anyone who knows her sister well. She placed her paws over her belly and looked down upon it, her solemn expression remaining, "I'm about to bring new life into this world... I can not allow it to be a world consumed in such darkness. Is that what you wish? To paint the world in fear?"
Teeleh rubbed his damp fingers together slowly, in tight, circular motions. His skin began to emit a stream of white smoke, and rather than be concerned, he rather appeared curious about this strange occurrence. He wiped a sleeve across his brows to prevent a similar event occurring there, but already his fingers were bright red, as though he touched a harmful ivy. "Paint it in fear? No. Not precisely. What I want is a long, complicated story, miss Aramara. I'm no deranged serial killer...though I suppose that his creation was partially my doing. I'm aware of who died. I am glad none of them had family." The healthy palm of his opposite hand passed over the water-singed joints, and he gave a slight wince and a hiss. "As for the release of death...once I have contrived what I need, then I will allow myself to die." Dreamily he peered across the water. "There is nothing more for me after my goals are complete."
Aramara closed her eyes and bowed her head, and thus failing to take notice of the reaction between the waters of the sacred pool and Teeleh's bodily makeup. Her voice was soft and sincere, as if she found and related to a deep nobility in his statement, "I understand completely... I myself know I have one last purpose to serve..." her eyes opened up to look upon her belly and the life contained within, "My time is drawing fast... but perhaps I can help you attain your goal, perhaps we can find a way for you to gain what you need without the suffering of others."
Teeleh continued to massage his fingers. At the akkaio's furthered statements, he glanced back up again and examined her, so full of life, pondering no doubt why she was speaking of such things. Eyes resting on her belly, he froze for a prolonged instant, considering something, weighing some sort of answer to his internal query. But that moment passed, and he replied with a cool tone, "I'm afraid it will take some suffering. There is simply no way to avoid it. But in the end it will be no different than their usual daily lives. They'll be free to get up. And they'll move on."
Aramara closed her eyes again, turning her head slightly to the waters and away from Teeleh. Her demeanor was placid, accepting, but when her eyes opened it was apparent the wheels in her head were turning, "I could tell them, you know... I could tell them all... they may not believe me but some may, and the result won't be pleasant for you. You will meet your end without attaining your goal. But I won't... I do not possess such cruelty.... a balance must be preserved, and the way you speak of it, it will be..." She turned to look at teeleh fully, her brow furrowed in perplexion, her head tilted askew, "but why... why do I sense only darkness from you? Where is the light?"
Teeleh didn't appear to be fazed by the beginnings of a threat, and certainly seemed less so as the fenki continued with her statement. Reaching down towards his booted foot, he removed the supple, custom-made leather and slowly lowered his naked skin into the fountain. Hissing and bubbling resulted, and the elf's face twitched, his eyes tightening and his skin flushing with a faint, sickly green. Enough pain to instill nausea. He endured it for a full thirty seconds, before he jerked his foot back out noiselessly, letting the ruddy, bleeding flesh hover just over the water's surface. His smile suggested he found it funny. The sorrow in his eyes stated this is not truly the case. Turning his head back to the woman, he inquired with a bluntness that was startling, "What makes you so certain there is any?"
Aramara's eyes were wide, and if an orange furred akkaio fenki could look green, she certainly did as she stared at Teeleh's foot and the reaction it undertook. She gulped and looked him in the eye, trying to keep the suddenly growing fear at bay. The only weapons she had against it were a lifetime of training in the ways of Xiosia, love and understanding, empathy and compassion. Still, she stammered, "What... what exactly are you after?"
Teeleh reached a hand up towards his hair, fingers sorting through the smooth and flawless strands, all to aware of the waves of fear wafting towards him from the akkaio. His left hand was hidden in his cloak, but it shifted, causing the fabric to bulge for a moment before settling again. There was the faintest of glows, but other than that, nothing happened. Teeleh was thinking, as though having difficulty forming the words he wished to speak, difficulty trying to deduce precisely what he could relay without giving everything over to the woman. Finally, his free hand escaping the confines of his robes and touching his chest, only to fly outwards in a skyward gesture, the elf said simply, "Life."
Aramara's gaze followed Teeleh's gesture upward but then returned quickly to the elf, her eyes still wide as she realized the source of her fear and unease, she simply did not understand what sort of creature or construct sat before her. She stood to her feet, a movement made awkward and clumsy by her girth and the weight she carried, but after she made it she stood with a regal poise. Again she subdued her fear and bowed her head respectfully to the Dermorian, "I think... I think I understand now.... what you are after and how you wish to obtain it.... I only ask that you... be honest with your approach. If people knew... that your only wish is for life, they may help you willingly. You won't have to... take it from them by force."
Dannae says: Hi Ara. I saw you walk past when I was with that group at the plaza fountain
Dannae says: Dharah was with me
Teeleh did not look at Aramara as she spoke. His hand hovered in space for a moment, and then drew downwards as he pulled on his boot. His flesh was already knitting together even as he did this, healing over the gaping wounds and lesions left by the water. There was surely pain, agitation at the rubbing from the still-healing injuries. But he didn't even have the grace to limp as he hopped down the small step separating him from the fenki. There was no malice in the words he spoke, despite his cadence, which was considerably cold. His face showed a strange form of what most surely must be pity. "Poor, poor akkaio. So young. So young and ready to die, still believing in the delusion that there is so much selfless goodness in the lives of others." No mockery edged his tone, and as he finished the statement, he whispered quietly, "I thank you for your time and your words, miss Aramara." Teeleh reached out his hands, meaning to grasp her paw, and bring it up towards his lips to graze the tips of her knuckles.
Dannae stopped speechless in her tracks observing the actions of Teeleh
Aramara turned to Dannae, a little shocked as Teeleh took her paw. Her arm remained limp in his gentle grasp and she didn't seem aware of it until the reverent kiss. She bowed her head again to the elf before withdrawing her paw, "Xiosia's blessings upon you sir..." it was then she realized she did not know his proper name.
Dannae glanced toward Estaga as she approached and offered a smile
Estaga knelt near Dannae
Dannae backed away leaving the two more privacy feeling she'd interrupted and turned to Estaga, "Nice to see you again so soon"
Estaga says: thank you Mistress
Dannae says: I'd preferred to have spoken more earlier, but with the crowd, it was difficult to say the least
Estaga nodded
Estaga says: How can I serve you?
Teeleh didn't notice Dannae, or for the moment, put off looking at her. His eyes remained pointed towards the ground, and he collected himself as he straightened his spine, his cool hands dropping back to his sides. He reacted to Aramara's bow by dipping his head with respect, and he jumped down from the fountain, moving with swift motions out of the garden.
Dannae glanced once more quickly toward Aramara and Teeleh before setting eyes on Estaga and offering a hand to help the dermorian stand, "Please, come and speak with me by the tree?"
Estaga knelt by the tree bows her head and said short prayer
Dannae bowed her head deeply toward the tree respectfully before taking a seat in the grass
Aramara's eyes followed Teeleh momentarily before drawing her attention to Dannae and Estaga. She lowered herself carefully from the fountains edge and followed the tow towards the tree, finding herself relieved a bit to be in the presence of the sacred effigy and away from the dark haired Dermorian.
Estaga looks toward Dannae, Dharah has spoken of me to you?
Dannae smiled at Estaga once more before tentatively speaking, "Um... so... sister Dharah seems to have taken a liking to you"
Estaga blushes
Aramara bowed her head, "My apologies Sister... I was only trying to... save a soul."
-
(19:43:05) Teeleh hums to himself quietly as he straightens his tunic, smoothing out all of its wrinkles. He makes his way towards the bench and considers it for a moment, perhaps trying to figure out if it would be comfortable enough for him.
(19:45:46) Shadowy figure lets out a harsh whisper from the ledge of the alley he is standing in, as spots Teeleh "Psssst! Teeleh, over here!" He allows his shadowed form to be visible for a moment, before retreating off the ledge and around a corner, making sure to linger enough as he moves to be easily spotted.
(19:46:33) Teeleh whirls around at the sound of his name, his brow furrowing. He takes a few steps forward, chasing what he saw as only a fleeting figure, his footsteps marred and stumbling with uncertainty. "Yes?" He calls out. "Hello? May I help you?"
(19:48:20) Shadowy calls out behind him "I bring word from the lower levels! But it is not safe, we must speak in private!" Before hastily moving down the street, and into another alley, behind a building
(19:50:22) Teeleh follows, the perfect image of the term 'gullible.' "Sir, I believe you may have the wrong person." Beyond the hood, he's not yet noticed the thief's cloaked form, and has no need to be frightened it would seem.
(19:53:04) Shadowy figure, as soon as Teeleh enters the alley behind him, launches himself onto the wall, using it to bolster his momentum, and push him over the elf, hopefully to the other side, blocking his exit.
(19:53:46) Teeleh whirls with the motion, eyes widening, and stumbles against the stone wall of the building to his left. He begins to back instinctively away as he notices, finally, the visage. "Now...now...wait just a moment. I don't want any trouble..."
(19:56:32) Shadowy figure scowls in a harsh voice, a near scream, if it were not whispered, allowing his orange tinted eyes to become visible through the shadows around his face, as he withdraws his sabres "Thats... A mighty fine... and heavy pouch of tria you carry with you.. And all those cumbersome jewels!" He offers a shrill but muted laugh "I would hate to see such a petite form overburdened by such weight, if trouble were to come." At this he brandishes his weapons threateningly towards Teeleh "Perhaps you should... allow me to... relieve you of them... for your saftey of course"
(19:59:07) Teeleh's face pales at the sight of the blade, but his eyes make a show of hardening as he grips his robes closer to his body and turns about, starting to flee. Of course the move of an idiot, this leaves his back exposed to stabbing, or his head exposed to a blunt blow, as the motion of his feet is unpracticed and very much less than instinctive or appropriately reactionary. He clearly has no fighting skill, but only an idiot would give up such copulent wealth so easily. Or perhaps that's simply the impression he hopes to leave...
(20:02:49) Shadowy figure flips his blade around in his hand, so the hilt is facing outwards, and with a snarl brings it smashing down towards where the spine and skull meet.
(20:03:14) Shadowy figure growls "they always try to run"
(20:04:28) Teeleh is struck easily by the blow. If the thief is incredibly observant, he will possibly note that the blow strikes on something that seems almost harder than the average spine, not eliciting the satisfying crunch that it might on others. However, it appears to have the desired effect as the man merely slumps down to the ground, totally out cold, his forehead suffering from a blow as well as it thunks against the cobbles.
(20:08:42) Shadowy figure gives a quick glance around, and a strange almost confused look at Teeleh as he crumples, before hastily moving to search the Dermorian for any valuable he may have on him
(20:11:43) Teeleh's clothing, now dusty from the streets, would be shown to hold various packages full of jewelry, all beautiful and of unparalleled craftsmanship. They jingle tellingly when touched, though they are in compartments of his cloak and some of the pockets might have to be torn open. There is also something knitted into his tunic, but this is far less noticeable, especially in the wake of such wealth.
(20:14:13) Shadowy figure quickly moves his hands up and down Teeleh almost as a lover feeling one long lost. Using his hands, not his eyes to search him. He removes any jewerly he finds, and stops momentarily, as he feels something hard, with seemingly no pocket nearby.
(20:16:00) Teeleh lets out a quiet groan, his eyes giving a slight flutter, long black lashes briefly exposing the irises beneath and the dilated pupils that might suggest damage from the recent head injuries. The compartment is quite clearly meant to keep something...perhaps more valuable concealed, but it's clear as well that Teeleh is coming to.
(20:17:44) Shadowy figure strips Teeleh of any jewels he finds, placing them into a pouch, then quickly withdraws a dagger, and moves to cut his tunic around the strange area, perhaps out of curiousity, perhaps thinking that there may be a more valuable prize, hidden under the so obvious wealth. As Teeleh begins to come to, he curses, and again flipping a weapon in his hand, attempts to knock him over the head with the hilt. though this seems almost half hearted, and even as he is doing so, he is preparing to grab the pouch and run
(20:19:38) Teeleh's head jerks to the side at the blow, but so does the rest of his body as he rolls over, the thing in his pocket dropping out into the dust, open to reveal that it's quite clearly nothing but a simple collection of merchant's business numbers. The man cowers unwittingly over it, putting his arms over his head protectively, and calling out to his accoster for mercy: "Please, please don't kill me! You have what you want! Please, I don't want to be lost in the labyrinth!"
(20:22:09) Shadowy figure hesitates almost immediately as his words. His eyes flicker over the book, and he reaches for it, though changes his mind. Plucking up the sack, he tosses a peice of parchement on the ground before Teeleh, aiming one last kick towards him, before feeling the alley hastily
(20:24:50) Teeleh grunts as the blow hits his side, flopping over limply to his left like a ragdoll. He lays there for a long period of time, listening to the thief's fleeing footsteps as they disappear. Once he can no longer hear them, he looks up with a smile curling his bruised face. He stands, and bends his back, popping it with a chilling nonchalance. Then, stooping, he picks up the note and reads it, laughing aloud as he also gathers his own book and looks at it lovingly. A haughty smirk curls his face, and he leans casually against the building as though all of the blows didn't do anything to him at all. "Took damn long enough," he mutters. "Hmhmhmhm....knight to pawn...."
-
[Time to roll out the jewelry! It'll be popping up throughout Hydlaa and other places as well. Instructions are found in the book, so I won't post them here. Have fun, kids!]
-
Gathering the help. It was always a necessary part of the entire process, so much easier than the menial task of deciding upon targets. Total randomization, after all, was always rather complicated and bothersome. He let fate decide, as it were, which minds he would pry the oh so necessary information out. From there it was a simple matter of triggering the emotional cascade, and reaping the benefits of those actions. Already he'd lobbed off a woman's hand and sent her home with a scathing note to her lover...that had earned him quite the sample of unrestricted rage, though he had to note that the man actually hid it quite well. And two accomplices were secured safely under his thumb, a powerful azure mage and another fellow, some odd, cloaked figure with delusions of political grandeur. But no matter. They would suit his purposes well, and when push came to shove, he could simply leave them in the open, hanging high and dry while he slithered back into the shadows. Loyalty was a thing for people who hadn't lived as long as he had, and who hadn't lost the pangs that came both from betraying and being betrayed.
Figure One
Teeleh stares at figure from behind his mask, his arms folded idly over his chest, the grendol nearby suddenly snapping out of its idiotic drooling state and dutifully stepping towards him to stand behind him in an ominous fashion. "Losing our way are we?" The man rasps out.
Figure chuckles darkly, and responds in a hoarse voice "It depends upon what I have found just now."
Teeleh studies his hands, looking down at where they are cupped around his left bicep, his eyes keen and sharp as they flick back up again. "Well, I'm not one for mincing words. What is it you are searching for?"
Figure chuckles again, his eyes glinting madly from between the strips of cloth "Their creator." he says simply, hoarsely
Teeleh heaves a heavy sigh, shaking his head to and fro, back and forth, slowly. "And what do you want with a necromancer, hm? I can assure you they really are a dime a dozen if you look closely enough."
Figure's eyes til glint madly, and he laughs, a horrid sound, like rocks falling down a pipe, and then says coldly "I have reason to believe you might get better. And if so..I would truly appreciate you joining my cause."
Teeleh's eyes glitter with amusement at figure, even behind his own ominous mask. He doesn't give a laugh, or posture. The massive hulk of rotting flesh standing behind him presumably is already doing that for him, though it does serve the purpose of being an imposing body guard. "I suppose that would depend on what your goals are, precisely. And how much joy they would bring you if they were accomplished."
Figure shakes his head slightly, and says with a cold chuckle "Everything." he says, wrapping up his entire life in one word
Teeleh turns around suddenly, the heel of his boot kicking up dust into the air as he clucks his tongue like a man disapproving of a child's answer. "Specifics, oh foreboding omen of a man. Specifics or we are finished here." The monstrosity follows along behind him, stumbling along.
Figure hoarsely speaks "You are in such a hurry, when I was just getting started."
Teeleh gives a strange-sounding chuckle, devoid of mirth. "Life is a hurry. I've got endless amounts of time, and no time at all. Be frank. What is it you want of me, and how does it benefit me, or I'll simply let you follow your nose to the exit."
Figure chuckles slightly "I'm planing on taking down the octarchy. In the process, removing some of the more powerful guilds with it. I would like an undead army to help with thees. You make powerful creatures indeed. Its benefit to you..success allows you to show your glorious creations, and no longer hide." his voice becomes more and more hoarse during his speech, and he stops, coughing dryly
Teeleh turns around fully, his voice pouring from his lips in a tired way, speaking like a man who's known far too many cycles, and who hasn't enjoyed the majority of them. "Governments rise and fall. Guilds, too, the natural ebb and flow of a timeless tide. Things will continue to move in this cycle until the day we perish, and only one thing remains certain: that, at some point, we all die, and fade away into the dust, and become one with legend or trampled underfoot and entirely disregarded. Dust to dust, as it were. So try again. Tell me, why is it that your plan is so different than what this man has seen countless times before? What makes you special, you who would follow my rotted corpse of a minion to these levels, just to find me? And what makes you think, with the power you think I possess, that you could coax me to agree to these terms just to glorify your name?"
Figure breathes in and out slowly, watching the Elf for a short time "Indeed, they do..but with the help of catalysts. And it would not to be to glorify my name, but yours. I could not claim to create such beings. And should I question you whether others before have followed them? And you must be slightly intrigued, else you would not have spoken to me at all..with as little time as you have." watches with his eyes, glinting cold and mad "and plus. I could be of equal use to you."
Teeleh stoops slightly, his frame lithe, but considerably tall. He lets his arm finally drop to his sides, silken black material giving a glimmer like moving water. "I've no interest in power at all, really. The gods have that, and look at what they do with it. Squander it. Waste it. Let petty little disagreements make them turn people into animals and don't lift a finger to help a dying city in its time of need. Power is corruption, really. I suppose you could say the same of myself, I'm no real exception, though I do like to believe that I am. You want power, I can see that in your eyes, and hilariously you have decided that I must be something capable of manipulation, but I will placate you so that you leave me in peace, and you can traipse off into your realm of insanity. Yes, I will raise bodies for you, when you have something more than a simple broad, over-arching goal, and more of a step by step process through which you hope to become the catalyst you crave to be."
Figure quietly speaks, his entire demeanor changing slightly "Indeed, power..but not the kind most want. You are right. It does corrupt. But, what is in place right now is truly not what we need. We need a system of order, one that will deal with problems, not postpone them...And I can tell you my plans. You..I.."he suddenly faults for words "I know my better." he forces out quietly
Teeleh's eyes give the same glitter as he observes the elf's struggling. He begins to suddenly walk towards him, clothing ashimmer, stride long and slow, gracefully poised even as it kicks up the dust about his feet. "It failed you, somehow. The government. So really it all comes down to revenge, the ultimate catalyst, the thing that drives man and animal to acts of obscene madness. Don't lie to these eyes, or to me. Don't dance around this proverbial bush. You cannot win with me that way, tyke." He's past figure now, walking gradually enough to be easily followed. "I'm better to none and superior to all."
Figure quietly follows behind Teeleh, and speaks quietly "I am not mad. I just know when enough is enough. my plans, however....there is a collective, a group who thinks they can overthrow the Octarchy themselves. And there's an alliance, who is preparing to stop them. If enough on both sides become unable to fight, the alliance cannot defend the octarch, and the collective cannot maintain it. Thus, it is within grasp."
Teeleh turns slightly to peer at figure, though he hardly seems intrigued by his plans. "Politics hold no interest for me. I had my fill of them long, long ago, them and their convoluted ways, their tinged and corrupted pasts. My patience for it wore thin with the last stroke of a gavel sentencing the wrong man to death. Oh, no. This does not intrigue me. But as I stated, I will raise my dead for you, but in return I will call upon you when I need of you, and you will do as you are told to do. Is this a bargain, or is it not?"
Figure breathes slowly, and his eyes peer at the man above him "My plan is to remove the corruption." and then he nods "I can do this. Despite me not knowing what it is you will have me do."
Teeleh gives a slight chuckle. "Ah, but that is the fun of things. You've told all of yourself, yet you know nothing of me. I do wonder what, in that head of yours, you ponder me to be?"
Figure grunts, and says "I tried at the start to manipulate you. I do it to others, just as you are to me. I know who I can and cannot succeed with. If I want your help, you need to know what you are committing to."
Teeleh spreads his arms in a vague, shrugging sort of gesture. "I've put myself on the lines before, though over the eons I've learned that it is wiser to remain concealed on more ways than one. I've been truthful. I've no need to overthrow any government, my goals are higher, even loftier. What I will accomplish shall change the course of history forever. But such things you need not trouble your cracked mind with." Amusement once more forges to the surface as he adds, "Now. Can you find your way out. Or shall I have to lead you?"
Figure narrows his eyes, in what could almost be seen as disappointment "no, I can manage." and he turns around to leave, takes a step, and quietly says "I hope your plans at immortality work. You will need it once I am done." and he strides off, his tattered cloak no longer held close
-
Figure Two
Teeleh attempts to use the bracelet to access your mind. It's a rather subtle presence, ghosting over rather than blatant or intrusive, and rather anonymously constructed, a mere thread of thought connecting it to a small, translucent orb he holds in the cusp of his palms.
Figure actually doesn't try to resist and allows the mind to enter...though if he is smart he may sense something isn't right.
Teeleh notices the lack of resistance. It could mean he's been undetected, or it could mean something else. Fingers still curled around the orb, he leans back against the rough wood of the door behind him, and then probes slightly more, sliding over memories and thoughts and seeking out anything that might lead to the information he seeks: A great fear, or a deep desire.
Figure waits until he is far enough into her mind, then with a wicked grin on her face she makes sure others around her cannot see, she springs the trap. With her full azure magic she uses her mind as a steel trap, surrounding him so he cannot escape. Her goal isn't to hurt him or disable him though so there is no pain or actual attack. Instead she puts up powerful barriers he will have to try to break through.
Teeleh doesn't even seem to be terribly concerned about this turn of events, and there's an indication something similar to this has happened before. His presence is simply a wisp, a seemingly weak thing, perhaps because it's been mostly fabricated by something other than powerful magic. He hasn't personally invested, as it were. Amidst the trap, he touches idly at the walls, and then merely settles himself in the midst of it, some indecipherable collection of wisps and undulating waves of white, misty cloud. "That wasn't very nice," he says, the voice containing a quality both high and low, gender-neutral.
Figure laughs lightly in her mind "Sneaking into another mind isn't either. If I were you I would explain yourself before I begin either tearing what part of you mind is here into pieces or track whatever you used to find me back to the source, then have fun with your physical body as well."
Teeleh continues to fail to be concerned. There's something eerie about the calm he's exuding. He even seems borderline apathetic, as though he has nothing much invested in this endeavor at all. "Oh, curiosities and such. I'm afraid not much ripping can be gleaned from this...it's mostly an illusion. I could cut it off if I wanted to. I'm not much of a mage, myself. But this seems to work quite well despite that." He doesn't give indication of what 'this' is. He just drifts idly around the bars of his new prison. Fingers form out of the cloud and tap-tap lightly against the fabricated metal, but nothing else is decipherable.
Figure isn't necessarily impressed with the magic used since it seems not very powerful but she does like his courage and calmness. "So.....who are you? If you are curious about me I am the same of you."
Teeleh shifts, and though it's just a blob of slightly coagulated water droplets, it would appear the top half of the illusion is tilting its head at Figure. "Who am I?" He asks, and there's a strange echo to the words. "I am...old," he says. "I am...tired." The fingers slide along the bars, leaving damp trails. "I am...weak, and I am strong."
"Sounds the same as me...." Figure sends Teeleh a number of mostly incomprehensible images but one thing stands out he can see from them all. He can sense in the images the age of the amorphous figure in them who's face always changes. Apparently it is of Figure herself through different times of her life. Seems she is very old for a klyros, in fact far too old for it to be natural.
Teeleh watches this with a certain amount of interest, not unlike someone who is accustomed to examining the same kind of insect over and over again, and suddenly has found a vibrant luna moth. The form flickers at the images, as though the connection is weak enough that their barrage makes him fluctuate, and in reality Teeleh leans back with a mild version of a frown marring his lips, tap-tapping at the orb with a soft tinkering sound. He replies, "Old." He doubles back with a flash of images that are even less comprehensible, as though seen from the first person, the flash of hand or sword the only things seen of the main character. The rest unfolds as such: The hands fighting wars, writing papers, passing through portals, claiming lives and saving them in equal parts. The scenes are vast and nearly endless, and they pour out continually, like a flow of water uncorked.
"Hmmm interesting to meet another similar to me. I wish to know more about you...will you make it easy or challenging for me?"
Teeleh seems to find this amusing somehow, and his aura's color changes from muted gray to a brighter, tinged-orange hue. "Tell me what it is you most desire," he says, and the inflection in his voice.
"Hmmm....used to be people to play with. Now I am not so sure anymore. I am currently working with a group that I feel a part of. At least in this way I feel like the things I do have a purpose that isn't all bad."
Teeleh seems to consider this, again, his form drifting lazily over the bars. "Play," he repeats, as though this is the only relevant thing he noticed. "Play," he repeats. "Pain is...entertainment?" The voice holds no judgment, just subtle curiosity.
"It was entertainment before.....now not as much."
"Now it is not entertaining? Why not? Guilt...or have you moved on to more purposeful hobbies?"
Figure sighs and Teeleh can sense the sigh echoing through Figure's mind "Guilt that was not my own. I consumed a person and he gave me his guild....so now I am changed."
Teeleh ponders this for a few moments, considering the information, weighing it. "I see. So you can no longer carry out the acts that brought you joy before...yet, joy you could still glean...if you were not the one committing?"
Figure ponders that statement for a moment "I do not get joy the same from hurting people anymore but I still can have fun playing with them to cause trouble. I had not thought finding job in others doing it."
Teeleh asks a final question, again pushing at the bars, as though trying to gently slip through them as a fish might through a dam. "And tell me, what was it you always wanted to get from the pain? The rage? The fear? The sorrow? The chaos?"
Figure laughs lightly "Amusement for me and control of others. But I did serve a higher cause as well...one I will not tell others about for fear of reprisals."
Teeleh continues to leak steadily from the bars, his presence still a wavering thing, weak, mostly uninteresting and nonthreatening. It makes a show of peering up, its "head" faceless, and asks, "I see. Perhaps, then, I can bring some joy for the both of us." There's a pause, and it asks, "May I go, now?"
Figure nods "I would like to meet you. Maybe we can work together. But yes you can go..." with those last words she releases him but he can sense her mind ready to smash down on him again if he tries to read anything else there.
Teeleh peers at the exit, and begins walking towards it. But the instant before he vanishes, he sends back a fleeting image, yet stark enough and clear enough to be understood: The Burial Well, its mouth stoney face solemn, its mouth held open in a forever voiceless cry.
><><><><><
Figure walks towards the sitting figure, the shadows in the cave seeming to come to life. The closer she gets the more ominous and threatening them seem.
Teeleh is carefully carving on a piece of wood, a simple, bright, well kept knife slowly chipping away at the bark to create a smoother, paler surface. He looks up slowly, green eyes shifting ever so slightly to peer directly at Figure, as though he can see her in the near-darkness. The shadows don't seem to bother him. He's cloaked in them, seems to blend with them as though he's perfectly at home. After a few moments of casual observation, he merely looks down again, the only sound the chip-chipping of the wood.
"So we meet in person."
Teeleh dusts some of the woodchips off of his black pants, sliding down the rock with the knife still in his hands. It's a tiny thing, nothing particularly threatening, and he lands with the smallest puff of dirt, light and nimble on his feet. Oddly enough his clothing seems to remain unchanged by this, clean as before, and he quickly stows the knife away with a flick of his fingers. "Hello," he says, simply.
Figure observes him with a smile on her face. It is hard to tell whether that smile is malicious or innocent but as she takes a step forward. "Hmm such a nice quiet place to play with a toy. No one to hear a thing."
Teeleh doesn't seem terribly concerned about this statement, nor about the woman's approach. "Toy?" He repeats, the word echoing along the roof, and back down again, seemingly magnified despite its originally quiet nature. He stands idle, simple, not even appearing to be terribly impressive in build or posture.
"Hmm or do you have something else in mind?"
Teeleh tilts his head in the opposite direction. Somewhere in the distance, a rustling is heard, a shuffle and a soft rasping of claws skidding across stone. In another location a similar sound is heard, feet scuffing the floor quietly, tracing the stone. In the darkness things can be seen behind him, darting about, their forms amorphous and undecipherable as of yet. "I've no intention of harming you, Figure," he answers, his voice hollow and without inflection. "I thought perhaps we could talk. Can we not speak cordially? We need not be animalistic."
Figure nods "Talk is good. I don't find the same fun in destroying minds as I used too. Or making puppets do my bidding."
Teeleh carefully folds his arms over his chest, eyes narrowing in thought, careful deliberation. "You are a powerful mage," he says. Not a question, merely a statement of fact. "Who enjoys pain, but can no longer cause such alone. Perhaps the idea of letting someone else tie the finishing knot on such things would bring you pleasure."
Figure says: "I could see the enjoyment is such an endeavor indeed. Maybe it would also help to kill this....emotion." She says the last word as if it's a curse word that completely disgusts her.
Teeleh looks at Figure with cold eyes, cold, chillingly green eyes, no remnant of life in the coloration. "Then you've not yet been alive long enough to feel True Cold," he murmurs, quietly. "But no matter. You'll feel it, in time. It'll numb you again. But emotion is a powerful thing. To use against. To use for. It's tangible, in a way. Or literally. Depends on circumstance." He draws a breath, and then raises one brow below the mask. "I wonder how well you can retrieve information from a mind?"
Figure laughs lightly "I know about that cold and about using emotions as tools to cause fear or other things you want. Maybe soon I will feel it again rather then this pathetic guild. And yes I am very good at drawing information from people. It is one of my specialties actually. Using that information against them."
Teeleh continues to gaze at the figure' face, his own expression inscrutable beneath the blackness of his mask. "So you know how to manipulate. Good. Then perhaps we can create a mutually beneficial circumstance. You don't have to hurt anyone, and feel no guilt, if you draw information from them and offer it to me. And I can cause the pain, to give you joy from it, knowing that you aided in its generation. It would be a simple thing for you, to get what it is I need."
Figure nods "Hmm that does sound appealing. And I didn't say I couldn't do anything to them at all. I do still love to place compulsions that control them...just nothing to bad."
Teeleh shrugs slightly. "Pain in a physical sense is fleeting and easily healed with the flick of a wrist. But to leave an emotional scar, with the knowledge that events are at least in part because of their own free will and volition, their actions. Ah, this is the stuff of a broken spirit."
Figure nods and sighs almost wistfully "And I was once so good at it....maybe will be again." She shakes her head, seemingly in an attempt to chase away those thoughts. "So who is this person? Or is it more then one?"
Teeleh answers with the odd ring of honesty in his voice, "I've no personal vendetta. I've no reason to inflict such harm. None that most would understand. Unlike you I get no pleasure from it. Mine is apathy, and nothing more. But inflict it I must, and shall. If you aid me in this endeavor, in time, perhaps you will relearn your won penchant for such things. Perhaps that is enough for such an agreement to be struck."
Figure remains silent for a moment as if coming to a decision before speaking again. "Yes....yes I think this is the path I wish to choose. I am curious though if you have no vested interest in causing suffering why do it then? What is your goal?"
Teeleh slowly dips his head forward, and answers cryptically, "A lofty one to be certain. One that would not serve your own purposes...but one that will not interfere with them either. Rest assured, they will mesh well enough."
Figure motions behind him "Do whatever those things behind you have anything to do with it?"
Teeleh turns his head slightly, his eyes roving to their corners as the creatures finally emerge from the shadows. They simply meander towards him, their flesh rotted, their eyes missing save for a few chords of connective tissue. Green glows from the hollow sockets, as well as on the tips of Teeleh's fingers. He turns back again, and says, "In a way. And in another way, no. Not really. But perhaps that revelation is for another time. I've kept you long enough."
Figure asks again patiently "So who is it that I am to glean information from?"
Teeleh waves his hand vaguely. "Anyone you wish. Anyone. Everyone. I've no qualms and no prejudice. I leave that within your jurisdiction."
"And the information?"
Teeleh makes another gesture with his arm, sweeping it out. "Give it to me. From there I can take it, and you can witness the evidence of the pain instilled throughout the city."
"So you do not care what the information is either?"
Teeleh sighs quietly. "The same I attempted to glean from you. The greatest desire, or a deepest fear. I suppose you would be interested in only the latter, but I need both. A fair trade, I'd wager. Can you do this discreetly?"
Figure nods "Yes of course. I will go in search of my first target then."
Teeleh dips himself forward in a slowly, graceful bow. "Fleet of foot and best of luck."
Figure smirks as she turns to leave "You as well."
Figure looks back as she remembers something "And how to contact you?"
Teeleh does nothing to stop the figure, a contemplative look on his face as he turns away, making to march onto the shadows. He turns his head slightly, and replies, "Leave this by the mouth of the well, and I will know that you wish to meet with me." He turns, walks slightly closer, and holds it out on the tips of his fingers.
Figure nods and slowly walks away, not looking back
-
It's been quite a while since I updated this, but I would like to make a call out!
Anyone that has a "thief" character, a pickpocket, a scoundral or ne'er do well, there's a part I need filled by such a "villain!" If you'd message me, or post here, I'd be most grateful, and give details then.
Thanks in advance!
-
I believe I may be any or all of the above >.>
-
Thankee darlin'! Already got a thief though, they'll likely be posting the logs sometime soon. Rest assured though, there'll be plenty of other times when a dastardly ne'er do well is needed ;D
-
[I've left a few of Mariana's brilliant words intact here; this is pretty much just most of the RP, edited into an easier read as I dislike just posting the script-style logs.]
Rizula needed a new knife. She’d dropped her old one running from a mark earlier that day. She didn’t even manage to snag any gold from that burly dwarf’s crate. She still had her big dagger, of course, but it wasn’t an all-purpose tool like a little knife was. She couldn't easily eat with it and wouldn’t throw it so willingly if she needed to attack from a distance. Given, she didn’t fight much either way, but she felt much safer having something deadly - and a backup-deadly-item - on her person in case of getting caught.
The dwarf had eventually stopped chasing her. He probably didn’t want to leave his precious ore alone too long. She didn’t know her way through the woods off the road well enough to go back without encountering him, so she walked along the top of the hills that formed a bowl of land between the capital and Gugrontid. The idea that the Howling Well might hold something valuable crossed her mind, and she waited at a distance until the creepy Dark Way trainer had to go relieve himself against one of the nearby trees.
Silently, she scurried along the hilltop and dropped into the well, pausing to let her eyes adjust to the darkness. She wrinkled her nose at the smell of rot, but followed it anyway, seeking out corpses that may still have something valuable on them, if they hadn’t been picked over by others like herself.
Cautiously, she picked her way along the tunnels, overturning skulls, bones, fresher corpses. Old clothes crumbled to dust under her feet and what little jewelry she found was rotten, worthless stuff made of leather or fabric. The Consumers ignored her in favor of the fresh corpses. She dared not go near those, but she cussed under her breath. The good stuff was probably in their bellies, carelessly swallowed along with the meat of the deceased. Learning her way around a big weapon that’d break through those thick grey skins would be too much effort, though, when other peoples’ tria pouches provided for her.
She wasn’t surprised to find that there were also Grendols down here. Whatever the semi-intelligent beasts’ orders were, they seemed to leave her alone, though. She took extra care, in case some necromancer was around. After all, alone in a well like this, the sort of girl that never stayed in one place too long, she probably wouldn’t be missed by anyone. She’d had plenty of acquaintances go missing without anybody questioning it before.
A concentrated stench and painting on the floor tipped her off before she found the lab. She wondered if the pool of gore under a pile of rotting bodies was covering an important part of the image. She didn’t dwell on the thought long, though. Her purpose here was to find something worth taking, not solve the mystery of who was using the cave. Disappointed with the other bodies so far, she didn’t bother to approach the ones here. If she stepped in the mess of gunk surrounding them, she’d need new shoes as well as a new knife. Besides, they were all lined up in order, probably stripped of any valuables they’d been tossed in with. She made a beeline for the table in back, pushed against the wall like it belonged in this gruesome place. Her eyes locked on an ornate box perched temptingly on the table and she picked it up, holding it to the torch and peering inside the lock.
A reddish shimmer across the metal indicated that there was an enchantment on the masterfully made box, seeming so out of place in this dark, ugly cave. It felt heavy in the nolthrir’s hands. She smirked. The container must have something valuable in it. She didn't know much about magic, so she tried her good old fashioned lock picks, pulling a little set of roughly-crafted tools from her purse. Some furs were piled to her left and she settled onto the pile, getting comfortable before she started working. The shimmering metal grew brighter and sparks flew from it, like an angry thing waiting to erupt. Small tendrils and bursts of flame erupted from it, but not enough to damage her. Still, she stopped before she was burned. She set the box down in front of her, withdrawing her picks, waiting to see if it would stop, poised to flee if it were to get worse.
The box spat and sputtered, as if frustrated that it could not perform its task accurately. Then, with a powerful pop, it suddenly ceased, and the lid creaked open slowly, the hinge bent and warped. Rizula arched a brow as the box so easily opened for her.
"Not gonna slam down on my hand, are ya?" she whispered to it, as if it could reply, leaning forward to see if there are still any contents left for her to take.
It was merely a black leather journal, the initials “T.D” stamped in gold on the front cover. Rizula felt her hopes deflating a little already. But maybe there was something useful inside - information she could use - or, she allowed herself to hope for a second, perhaps the pages were carved out with some goodie inside them. She flipped through the journal to check for this first, before turning to the beginning of the book and squinting at the letters in the dim light.
Numbers. Pages and pages of numbers. Rizula decided the book belonged to either a merchant or some kind of madman. She sighed in disappointment and got up. She rummaged in the crate of other books by the table, but nothing caught her eye. Not wanting to leave entirely empty-handed, she put the leather tome in her purse and made her way back to the entrance. Perhaps, she thought as she snuck past the creatures again, she could just “borrow” a few circles here and there to get that new knife, since snagging one directly would probably result in the item being jammed in to her throat.
Once back in Hydlaa, she tore full pages from the book, littering them, letting the breeze carry them away, planning to use the empty ones to sketch out new disguises. Something odd happened when the last number-laden page was gone, though – the inside cover flickered and the numbers turned to script, dotted by a fingerprint the distinct brown of dried blood. It was in the Dermorian language. She furrowed her brows, looking at the journal, and shrugged. Someone at the hideout could translate for her later, maybe.
She didn’t end up picking any pockets that night. The last thing she did before going home was speak to a masked stranger who introduced himself as Teeleh Daleth.
-
Reese was out wandering in the wilderness collecting a few things to sell to alchemists. A groffel was soon tugging at his pants leg. It was a message from Eardstapa ... she was requesting his presence in the secret garden, quickly.
He collected what few parts he was able to save from his confrontations and quickly headed back to Hydlaa. Luckily he was entering town by the East Gate and the garden was nearby.
Reese entered the garden and saw a small group gathered by Xiosia's tree. He stood there a minute trying to see who all was there, then slowly entered ... giving them all a nod of greeting, as they did in return. Reese paid no attention yet to the pages that they were looking at since he was looking at the group. He looked at Eardstapa and asked "What was so urgent?" She said nothing, just looking at the ground closer to the tree.
Feeling that something was wrong, Reese looked to the direction that Eardstapa was looking as well. He then noticed the pages. They were slightly crumpled, but he could tell that the writing in them was dermorian. He picked one up and started to read it ... he was a bit confused at first. He then picked up the other two pages and started to scan over them. Then he noticed the page numbers in the bottom corner. He started to read them over again, in numerical order. They made more sense this time, but still ... who wrote them? And, is this for real or is somebody writing about things that they have no idea what they are talking about.
He looked back up at Eardstapa after a few minutes, as he knew the subject of these pages might give some information as to the returning of her husband, Aedelwolf ... but only if it were real. Reese asked if any of them knew anything about the pages or who left them there. Moja and Eardstapa mentioned that two of them were found in the sewers and the other near the library, but as to who left them ... there was no clue. The klyros, Cirerey ... seemed very upset though. This blasphemous material was on sacred ground, by Xiosia no less. He was slightly relieved as Reese picked them up and removed them. "We need to find out more ... if we can" Reese said.
Reese stopped by the library and bought some paper to write on. Knowing it might be difficult to track down all the pages, or at least the ones that were ripped from their binding, he decided to offer a reward for any pages that were given to him. Since they were in dermorian, and made little sense on their own, Reese was hoping that people would gladly return the pages for a little profit.
-
ENDED
Not sure I know where to go with this RP from here, sadly I wasn't able to keep up with it after numerous key players were lost. Figure most people already figured that out from the lack of anything being done for a considerable length of time. ;D
-
Well, I had fun with it - and if anyone's wondering, Rizula sold the cover of the journal back to Teeleh and then fled the Dome.
Thanks for a great plot, Mariana! :)