Seeking of the Butcher

[Mariana Xiechai]

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.

[Mariana Xiechai]

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! 

[Tessra]

<.< Teeleh, eh?    I look forward to seeing how the rest of this plays out, and as always, I love the fictitious bits you treat us with.

[Phantomboy86]

Looks interesting. Any man with a taste refined enough to collect enki pelts has my approval.

[Mariana Xiechai]

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.

[Mariana Xiechai]

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.
 

[Mariana Xiechai]

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.

[Mariana Xiechai]

[Insert by Sserp, that lovely and nosey reporter we all love (or love to hate)  ]

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]

[Mariana Xiechai]

[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.

[Phantomboy86]

Should be hella dark inside a blind dwarfs head. Allelia needs like, a red way powered shotgun underneath her bar.

[Aramara Meibi]

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.

[SAristo]

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."

[Mariana Xiechai]

[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...”

[Phantomboy86]

And die you shall Bar, and die you shall.

[Knightspark9]

Way to go Bar.