Seeking of the Butcher

[Mariana Xiechai]

* Mariana Xiechai 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.

[Mariana Xiechai]

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. 

[Mariana Xiechai]

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.

[Mariana Xiechai]

  Such a nice young lady, isn't she?

* Mariana Xiechai grins impishly and calls out:

"Anybody got spare alts they'd like to die a fabulous death? PM me! I need a body."

* Mariana Xiechai scurries off into the darkness, cackling insanely.

[Tessra]

* Tessra is so glad someone else finally noted how the menki drools in his sleep. 

[Phantomboy86]

I can take a look. XD

Rath would be too resistant... Meh have to look.

[Mariana Xiechai]

  Excellent, excellent...

* Mariana Xiechai laughs wickedly.

[Mariana Xiechai]

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. 

[Mariana Xiechai]

Please forgive spelling mistakes...that's what happens when you try to write at one in the morning.

* Mariana Xiechai collapses

[Aramara Meibi]

“You win this round, Evirea,” he said. “You win this round.”

doop-de-doop-de-doo inspector gadget....

[Mariana Xiechai]

  lulz
The first movie was great, but the second one suuuuuuucked. Badly.

[Mariana Xiechai]

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.

[Phantomboy86]

lol, Sherlock holmes fighting.

[Mariana Xiechai]

That's right Watson.

[Phantomboy86]

What did I say about not tempting me?