Before the gash sputtered blood onto the colosseum floor, before the gladiator's blade slashed the gap between helm and hauberk, even before Saiix had lifted his sword too late to parry, he felt Dakkru's call. Her voice was like a chill in the air that made even his horns shudder.

He remembered being a young Ynnwn boy in Quintherion, surrounded by Demorians. A classmate mocked his red skin and when a stone left his hands and smashed her face, he felt that shudder. When he explained it to his grandmother, Linas, her anger dissipated. Suddenly, she was ranting about her diaboli father and the goddess of death. "It was the same for him," she told Saiix. "That shudder. He said it was like Dakkru was demanding he come home." That was the first time she mentioned his disappearance, along with the other diaboli, centuries ago. She wasn't sure what had happened. Her father left no explanation; it wasn't until the mystery of the diaboli people vanishing into the Death Realm surfaced that she decided her father must've gone with, finally home. Perhaps Dakkru had been Saiix's only choice from the very start.

When he came to, the world around him was dark. His wounds had healed. For the third time in his life, he had traveled to the Death Realm. He spat at the ground and cracked his knuckles, overcome with the urge to punch something. There was no glory in surviving. He had failed to deliver a true death to his goddess, and that he could make the journey back to the living world meant he had yet to fulfill his goddess's designs for his time in Yliakum. The first time Saiix died, he was a whelp, in Dakkru's service for barely a year; he couldn't have been more thankful that it wasn't the end. But now, he was fifty-seven and full grown. He had spent years honing his swordsmanship and seeking battle against worthy foes, always hoping for victory or to be soundly defeated by a strong opponent and sent to his goddess at last. His grandmother had warned him. "Go to Listarindel. Find yourself a wife and settle down. Or properly join the ranks of Dakkru's worshipers. If you get too used to life without other people, you're gonna get stuck that way." Ten years later, after her passing in the same house in Quintherion she raised him in, and he could finally acknowledge she was right. He felt stuck in his ways now, just as she had been stuck in hers. There was a woman, though.

Saiix set off, through the ever shifting Death Realm. He paid no heed to other travelers, whether they were resting or trying to make it home. He only responded to the solemn nods of the other children of the Dark Crystal, occasionally murmuring, "Dakkru's will be done," as they passed one another. The faithful were always about in the Death Realm, practicing their black magic or spreading hymns and praise for the goddess. Some of them had supposedly existed in this realm for eons, too old to return to the world of the living without immediately being greeted by death, too greedy for knowledge to finally take their place with the goddess. Though, he supposed they saw it differently. As eternal denizens of her realm, they could spread her word and ensure that younger faithful continued the work in the living world.

Saiix's thoughts were interrupted as a hooded follower stepped up, kissing him on both cheeks and whispering blessings before passing. He was a rather decrepit looking Klyros, probably aged long before his death. Many of the followers who looked old played the part of great sages. It made it difficult to tell who was honest. The first time Saiix died, he thought everyone was a faker. They claimed centuries, but when he asked about his great grandfather, about the vanished diaboli, they told conflicting accounts or had no answer at all. It all seemed a great sham before he met Yerela.

Sometimes Yerela's bone hut appeared in a clearing. Other times, he had to climb up towering structures just to get a glimpse of the island in the abyss where the realm's gravity had shifted it. The year Saiix spent in the Death Realm after his first death was filled with the daily labors of finding where Yerela would be next, until they started sharing the same bed. After that, the frustrations of waking were replaced by the joys of kissing her before they got up, listening a told a story from the countless years she had spent in the realm, watching as she tirelessly worked to explore the possibilities of dark way magic, and knowing as they lay down for bed that more of the same awaited him tomorrow. He could never say whether or not this sense of constancy was the proper basis for love, but he had no other romances with which to compare. Yerela seemed to believe it was enough, but with her perception of time so skewed he couldn't be sure. When he returned to the Death Realm for the second time, she hardly remembered him. That precious year, the memories that he cherished while back in Yliakum, might as well have been the blink of an eye. He spent ten years with her after.

This time, Yerela's hut was surrounded by a dense forest of dead trees. Or tree-like structures, Saiix couldn't be sure. Life did not grow in this realm and the strange existed in ways that befuddled the mind. He weaved through them, noticing that their branches did not bend and their skins were smooth, not rough like bark. When he stepped inside Yerela's hut, she was at her desk, magnifying glass in one hand and pen in another, furiously scribbling down notes as she stared at a dark crystal fragment. And there was a man lying in her bed.

Perhaps the true ancients of the Death Realm were so numb to the passage of time that diaboli's disappearance was simply another insignificant moment in the cluttered eons of existence crammed into their minds. Perhaps Yerela could only find love in constancy given the nature of memory in a realm of uncertainty. When she spotted him and raised a brow, Saiix knew he was again a stranger. And the only question on his mind was how many years he'd sacrifice this time.

[Hey folks, was just feeling a bit nostalgic and next thing you know I was writing a story for old time's sake. Please forgive any typos! Also, my settings knowledge is a bit rusty. I read stuff on the website for a refresher, but if some things are off by apologies! But this was a fun break; maybe I'll continue it as I get time. To any old friends out there lurking, hope you've been well!]

You remember me

Who even let you come back here?

Honestly it caught me by shock as my forum snooping is usually once every other week that I would happen to catch you on this day perfectly. And I did forget about our forums but I no longer forget as I am reminded.

Lies. All of it must be lies. I don't even want to believe such lies are possible.

I still snoop the forums, I've not really updated my client cause I've been busy with other things but if you'll be about I can lurk around.

The Secret in Oja: Part Two

After Coneitic ran off Duraza stood alone in the shadows, waiting till his ally was out of sight. Then he sprinted off in the opposite direction, his staff tapping the floor and steadying his movements through the city. He approached a group of old tattered tents, groups of enkidukai standing around them or warming themselves by campfires. Slowing himself down and striding past them he drew the wary eyes of many but the diabolo ignored them all, weaving his way through the groups and arriving at a small tent a little left of the center. With his staff he pushed the tarp aside and stepped in, letting if fall closed behind him.

Inside was dank and dark, a few splotches of crimson blood on the floor and tent walls. A few shelves were stocked with exotic herbs, strange looking weapons. Most noticeable of all were two tables, taking up a majority of the floor space, on top of them the stinking corpses of two men long dead. Duraza approached them, hand moving to touch the one closest to him when a pale white hand slapped his own away.

"Now now now Darkom," said the voice of an old, boney lemur. His face drew into a wide wrinkled smile, showing the many holes in his mouth where teeth were no more, "You can't just expect me to step aside before we've discussed the matter of my payment."

With a frown and a dismissive wave of his hand Duraza stepped forward to the corpse in front again, "Relax. You'll have all the tria you desire... But at the moment the time is running out. The Lords," he said with distaste, "can hold for long but they will no doubt be unable to hold their position forever. Go and fetch Coneitic for me. I've no doubt we will have to escape the city before all those damned menki decide to celebrate only to see me. We've never been very fond of each other."

The lemur just nodded, smile still on his face as he limped out of the tent, "Very well. Remember, you only payed for one of those... That's all you get."

"Right," Duraza muttered before starting his work. From the shelf of weapons he picked up a dagger, curved a little to far to the left to pierce very well unless wielded like a hook. The diabolo shook his head as he glanced over some of the other weapons, each strangely changed in model, "Pieces of ineffective rubbish. Regardless I suppose at least this is pointed." He placed his staff against the other table, allowing it to lean there while he slowly made his first incision. It was not deep nor very noticeable on the corpse but he etched a line from the body's shoulder-blade all the way way to its palm, cutting through dead muscle and nerve, bodily fluid spilling.

Duraza's next cut was one that slashed off every finger, placing all five aside as long rotten blood started to pour all over his hand. Moving to make his next cut the blood made his grip slippery, accidentally cutting himself. As the dagger pierced Duraza released a string of swears, placing the dagger down and looking over the self-inflicted wound. "Hrm, I'll survive," he said to himself after calming down. With his other arm he ripped his robe from the bottom, taking the piece of black cloth and wrapping it around his own hand. Then, picking up the dagger he got work again.

When he finished the arm there was a series of cuts forming strange symbols on either side of the central line. Satisfied he carefully repeated the process on the other arm, cutting off fingers and all. After finishing Duraza moved the blade down to the hips, raising it high, assuring himself of his grip before striking down right at the bone. Six times he removed the blade from the flesh and pierced it in again, six times before the bone shattered. He did so to the center and left side of the body as well, till sure that the hip was in pieces. Then came the dirty work of cutting. For this he went back to the shelf, picking a weapon with a larger blade before using it to hack at the hip.

Four hard downward slashes before he was able to tear the torso away from the legs and hip. He then separated the legs from what remained of the hip before moving what was just a lump of flesh and bone from the table. Placing the larger weapon down and going back to his dagger he proceeded to make the same cuts through each of the legs until done. The work was time consuming but soon it was done. He let out a sigh, wiping the sweat from his brow, "Now all that's left his the torso and head." For this he drew a small sword from the shelf. Another six hacks, flesh and blood splattering around before he was done. Quickly he picked up the dagger and started to make another set of cuts in the chest. After finishing Duraza looked around before grabbing one of the jars of herbs. He opened it, tossing them out and putting the ten fingers inside the jar instead. Then he turned to body again.

Lied before him were six parts, two arms, two legs, torso, and head. Grabbing his staff and holding it high, dark energy flowed through him, chanting word as the cruel force of his magic crawled from his own being into that of the body. Shadow rose from each cut, emitting the dark energy, allowing it to flow through. From the head the dark magic flowed through the ears, open mouth and the eyes, flashing in and out. "My magic, my power, through this body you shall guide me to the book I hide, regardless of where in this world it is. In that book is great power and you shall be constrained to it through the force of my magic. When I come with your head and that which is missing from your hands you shall, with fingers and eyes renewed, point me in the direction, guide me, show me the way to the book that you are bound. If I cannot then let he who has your essence and energy, locked in those parts which you miss find the way to my possessions for surely they could only do so if I wanted them to."

There was a flash of shadow from the parts and then from the body it all crawled into the jar, into the fingers, all except the power still left in the head. Duraza closed the jar, grabbing the head by the hair and walked out, seeing the old lemur and Coneitic waiting form him outside. The area itself was empty though, the enkidukai most likely all retired to tents for sleep.

"I trust your work is done," the lemur said with a smirk, "And just in time I'm sure. Word tells me the demorian resistance is starting to fail."

Duraza nodded glancing to his side at Coneitic with a bag in his hands the enkidukai speaking, "I'm guessing this is for those... things you got there?"

Another nod before Duraza placed both the jar and the head in Coneitic's bag, "Be careful with them and leave now. I just have some last minute business to deal with but meet me outside the city." Coneitic did as told, hurrying along while Duraza turned to look at the lemur, without a word delivering a heavy-handed smack to the mans face, making him fall to the ground.

A scream came from the lemur's mouth, tenderly rubbing his cheek, "What, why..?"

Before he could finished Duraza reached down and grabbed him, lifting him up with his arms, dark smile on his face, "I'm sorry but I just can't have you sticking around... You see, I like to be safe and... You're a liability to all the work I've done. I can't have you ruining things, telling the wrong people... Or even worse, trying to figure out what I did yourself." With that Duraza's hands ignited with magic, this time in the form of deadly black flames. Swirling around the old man, he started to scream, but his first howls never were able to leave his throat, too weak, too fragile, he was already dying and Duraza had only offered the final blow. The diabolo threw the burning body at the tent, unleashing another stream of flame at it before running off, allowing it to burn to ash.

Outside the city of Ojaveda Duraza reached Coneitic at their camp,  a fire already going. He spotted the bag and took the head from it, motioning to Coneitic, "Did you bring those things I asked of?"

Coneitic gave him a smirk, walking into the camp while giving Duraza a mock-attitude, "Bah, do I always have to do everything for you or will you learn to get up and do things for yourself one day." From inside he tossed a bag out, it landing beside the diabolo. Duraza looked inside removing first a needle and thread. Quickly he worked at sowing both the eyes of the head and the mouth shut. He then took a knife and started to remove excess fat and tissue from the flesh while Coneitic came out of the tent with a pot full of herbs. The enkiduaki placed the pot of the fire, filled it with water. Once it was at a boil and Duraza had finished he tossed the head in the pot along with all ten of the fingers.

In time they would finish the boil, taken out to be dried, the head and fingers shrunken by the process. Then, sown on to a belt with the shrunken head at the front, Duraza would have his key to one of the hidden tomes written by his hand at the earlier times of his life...

But Duraza has long since died.

[I will continue as I can.]

[I do apologize to all those who were interested in this RP. Seems I don't have the time to give to it that I was hoping so the RP is definitely cancelled. Or at least postponed indefinitely. Possibly if I ever get the time I'll post the story that was to be or maybe I'll eventually have the time to actually run the RP.

Thanks for the interest shown.]

The Secret in Oja

There was a battle going on just outside the city, a fight between the people and a group of invaders who wanted to take the city of Ojaveda. Within the streets were bare, excluding two men, a menki in normal clothes with a claymore on his back, and a diabolo in dark robes carrying a staff and a black book. They wandered the town till they found a place out of sight, even though the city was deserted.

"Coneitic," Duraza said to the menki, "It is of the upmost importance that this remain hidden here. It is a special tome that I don't want my enemies to find. I'm trusting you to follow my instructions to the letter about hiding it."

Coneitic nodded, that usual arrogant smirk on his face, "Don't worry, don't worry. I'll have this done for you easy."

"Be quick about it," Duraza muttered. "I've no idea how long that battle outside will last but it can't be long. No doubt the people will soon crush their opposition and we don't want to be in this town when they enter it...If we have to be at least spare me the trouble of anyone finding my book. Hopefully this will be its home until I return for it." He handed Coneitic the book, waving his hand in a hurried motion, "Get on with it, go go. You've not got even seconds to spare."

Coneitic gave another nod and ran off with the book, leaving Duraza alone....

Drinking his last pouch of water as this ynnwn put his blade within its sheath he walked up to the gates of Ojaveda, towards the guards. He wore long red robes with golden stitching, a hood falling over his head. As he walked through the gates the guards gave their usual greeting. He only nodded back before continuing on inside.

Walking into the tavern the ynnwn went towards the counter, handing bartender a few coins, "Water." When the tender raised a brow he added, "Please." The menki then nodded, handing him a pouch which he greedily drank.

"Not just a bit hot for you wearing that hood and all," the bartender questioned.

To this the ynnwn gave a small nod and smile, lifting up his hand and giving his hood a small tug so that it would fall lightly to his back. He had the same relaxed green eyes as he always did, not seeking an answer or searching for anything past the happiness he seemed to display.

"You're right," said Saggi. "It is a bit hot."

[More to come on this. Just an opening.]