[RP] Brimstone and Fire

[Rigwyn]

Brimstone and Fire

Please Note: This story will contain elements of horror. If you dislike horror in all its gory glory, then this may not sit well with you.

For those who wish to join in, there is no need to ask. Just interact with your character in-game and you should be fine. The story in this thread is based on role play that is currently happening. It's colored up a bit here for better reading. Feel free to add your own posts giving your character's perspective.


Bright Eyes, Ebony Skies:

The Diaboli rolled upon the jail's stone floor in search of a cooler patch as sweat rolled off his skin in beaded, saline streams. The windows were locked tight as were the thick, wooden doors. The cell had become so muggy and warm that the guards had moved their chairs and game of cards outside where a gentle, summer breeze whispered though the quiet town. As he laid upon his back he wondered if he was asleep or merely recalling the events that lead up to this point. The days were black as night and evening never seemed to pass away. His worst nightmares were no longer shrouded in darkness, but in light. He recalled that burst of orange, yellow flame that burned his head and chest like a sulfurous flare while he flailed his arms and screamed in agonizing pain. His eyeballs burst with steamy blood tinged fluid and ruptured bits of flesh as he fell to his knees. He crawled and crackled like an unwanted sliver of bacon in a pan full of grease. While Roled's fury had left him charred, it was the fumbled healing spell of Aleeane that left him forever changed. Soaked in magic drawn of crystal way, she flashed a healing bolt of light which clashed and flayed his evil skin in ways that one might not have thought. Wounds healed, flesh grew and morphed - while his body, so steeped and stained with magic of darkest ways collapsed and slipped away. Rolling over in his cell once again, Rigwyn pressed his cheek and ear against the cool stone floor. He could hear the faint conversation of the guards just outside, but their words were inaudible and he hadn't the patience to strain much more. Bored, he slipped back into that nether region between imagination and sleep where his dreamy recollection replayed. He recalled his awakening upon the death realm floor - grasping and clawing at the ground with a terrible fright. The smell of putrid, rotted flesh was now identifiable and sickened him to his core. Having vomited during his failed attempt to get up, he tried once more - grasping onto a nearby wall as he waited for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. They never did.

He grasped his face - running his fingers over his newly grown flesh. He raked his hair from his face with his fingers as his grasping became more frantic. He could feel his nose and lips, his forehead and cheeks, but where his eyes once were, there was nothing but flat, smooth skin. No bumps or bulges beneath. The realization that his eyes were forever gone struck an emotional chord that rung deeply and resonated within.

He staggered though the treacherous, stony pass with his swaying hands outstretched where it was possible to walk, and crawled like a clacker where there were no walls to guide him. Having lost his way in the cruel maze, he collapsed to the ground and nestled himself into the crack between the wall and the floor - knowing just how vulnerable he was to the realm's inhabitants.

[Roled]

Roled was on his way to Kada Els when a fenki flashed past him, crying out in fear. Ahead, a Diaboli, and a masked figure struggled toward the fleeing fenki.  A ywnynn intervened and followed the victim down the steps.  Robbery. Assault. Threats.  And a chance turn of timing, thirst and terror interrupted, setting Roled in the path of, well, who knew what was coming?

The Guards took his entire statement. Talk of a trial to come. The ywnynn was arrested too, but why? To Roled, it made no sense: They defended themselves only. The Diaboli- Roled admitted he was tricked by the pleading of the man at first. Compassion earned him the swollen knob on his head and a continuing, intense headache. Scrapes, bruises. 

What did compassion earn the Diaboli? A person, yes, a robber, a lawbreaker, a liar, who knows what else, but a person none the less, now scarred for life by the elf's actions. By the actions of a Crystal Master. A Healer. Burned, charred, by his Dermorian hand.

"It's one thing to kill cutthroats and rogues," the Dermorian thought. "Is it another to destroy quality of life?  Even to protect meself? Who decides which others are to be saved? I am no God."  Roled sighs. "What is life anyway, here? We suffer, we travel to Dakkru.  She extracts her toll, sends us back with pain to remind. For breaking the laws, we have made up laws, we have trials, we decide codes. Even then, eventually, good or evil, comes the Crystal and True Death."

"Whose life outweighs anothers?"

Roled headed for Kada Els, again, to drink, again. "Who knows who may be the next to suffer, to be blinded, to be deprived of seeing and feeling all there be to see or feel here?"

Who knows.

Drunk, Roled headed for the arena tunnel, to kill gladiators.

[Rigwyn]

Where there's smoke...

Another long, boring day had passed and Rigwyn found himself lying on the floor, restless and unable to sleep. He rolled and flopped about as the lock on the main door to the jailhouse clacked. The guards had changed posts once again, indicating that it was late at night. As the hours passsed, he grew tired and once again drifted towards sleep.

In the theater of his mind, he replayed his departure from the death realm. He recalled laying upon the floor and being nestled in some obscure corner or crack to limit his vulnerabilities as much as he could.. As he laid there alone in the dark, a smooth, sultry voice could be heard. She spoke with a sort of poetic passion but without really trying. Her words were like honey and flowed like silk cast to the wind. If he could see her bright, white eyes, he might have noticed nothing else as her smooth, black flesh dissolved into the shadows.

Cautious at first, he replied though he had no clue whom he was speaking with or whether she was real or just another voice that haunted his sick head. Was she a huntress of the Dark Lady, or just another wandering soul?  His mind raced with worry as he sat helplessly in her presence. Had he seen her sleek black flesh and long, curved horns, he might have felt a bit more at ease, though it wasn't long before that he realized the she was one of his kind - an age-bound Diaboli from long, long ago.

What felt like months passed by, though it was only a matter of days if not a week. With no visual queues or routines to separate his nights, he lost track of the days but refused to resign. Without eyes to see nor hard earned glyphs to cast, he was helpless and weak; he resented Aleeane that much more. There wasn't an hour which passed by in which he did not curse her name for stealing his glyphs.
 
Other souls had passed by. He had tried to haggle and bribe them one by one - offering payments in gold and deeds horrid yet discrete in exchange for her life and the glyph sack she reaped. He waited day after day, night after night, but Aleeane never passed by.

Once again, he heard that sultry Diaboli voice call his name. The very sound was tranquil and soothing like aloe dripped and spilled over an open wound. They walked once again through the realm step by step until the portal was reached. Unable to depart, she stood to the side and placed a small box into his palm. He shook it, then opened it - slipping his finger inside and pulling out a small stick. They were matches three to be precise - an item crafted and discarded carelessly above, but coveted and traded below.

How odd.

Awakening from his groggy state once more, Rigwyn tossed and turned upon the floor  The smell of burning brimstone filled the air. He coughed and choked as his eyes teared and the taste of smoldering sulphur plastered his tongue. He screamed, "Fire!" only to be laughed at by the late night guard who was oblivious to his demise.

As the burning stench faded he wondered, "Was it just another dream?"

[Rigwyn]

A Nicked Tongue

Having awakened once more, the Diaboli sat upright against the wall as he waited and listened for any conversation or new voices. It was silent aside from what sounded like the occasional flip of a page or perhaps light scratching of some sort.  He barked, "Is it morning yet!".

With a generous pause, the guard continued to flip though his book - looking up over the top and then back down where he had left off. Having read to the end of the page, he replied in a carefree manner, "Its late morning. You've been here for three days."

Annoyed, Rigwyn stood and shuffled his feet with his hands held forward until he reached the bars. He yelled again, "Why hasn't anybody come to see me? I told that other guard that I wanted a note posted in a public place. I need people who can vouch for me. Nobody has responded yet!"

The guard chuckled as he shook his head and flipped the page once more. His eyes traced left and right as he slowly glided down the hand written page. When finished, he glanced over the top of the book and at the blind Diaboli once more. He took a breath and replied, "Fine. When I'm done with my shift I'll get someone to post a note."

"Please!", the Diaboli pleaded, "I need this to be taken seriously. I'm being set up by people who detest me  because of my religious affiliation and my choice of magic ways. It's not right. Can you write something very specific for me? Just a few words is all I ask."

Slapping his book closed with a somewhat annoyed expression, the guard lifted a quill from his desk and blank sheet of paper. Positioning his hand over the page, he replied, "Fine, what do you want me to say?"

The Diaboli pressed himself closer to the bars then said clearly and at a rather slow pace, "Rigwyn has been jailed and is in urgent need of council by a member of the Golden Hand Society. He has also requested a small amount of salve for a little cut that he says is forming on the base of his tongue. He fears it might fall off if left untreated."

Having written the last line, the guard quirked an eyebrow at Rigywn and stood up. He walked towards the bars and asked, "Do you have a cut? I can arrange for salve to be prepared. We may even have some stored at the Sanatorium."

"No", he snapped. "I mean... no, thank you. I have my preferences. There's an aromatic blend with a dab of honey mixed in which I'm more accustomed to. It doesn't have that icky medicinal taste which alchemists don't seem to care much about. I would gladly yield to you if you wished to inspect it before allowing me to use it."

Rolling his eyes with a cynical laugh, the guard tucked the note into his belt and returned to his desk. With his feet crossed and his book in hand, he returned to his reading while the Diaboli laid down for another lazy nap. At the end of his shift he left and posted it in the plaza on his way to the tavern.

[Rigwyn]

The Smooth Faced Elf

His dreams were filled with terrible threats and images of people tied to trees like scarecrows and burned alive as they screamed and sputtered in the wind. He could smell their smoldering corpses both while asleep and awake and feel the warmth and blistering heat which they seemed to give off. To the guards whom he inquired about said odors and sensations, he was met with laughter, mockery and genuine concern. As he basked in one such dream, a slender, young elf approached from outside. Rigwyn's body flopped about on the floor as he tossed in his sleep - leaving his legs and torso straight and his arms stretched apart like an intersection at the crossroads. Above his head was a thick image of a triangle traced upon the floor in blood.  Coincidentally, his head laid just below it. It was as if a triangular hat was drawn just above his head. How grotesque. Startled and scared upon being woken by the elven stranger who had evidently seen the public notice requesting council, he crept backwards into a corer where he perched and listened. Gawain was rather young and his face was smooth like a child's. His seemed almost timid, though well educated - so he said. When offered money, favors and other forms of compensation for his utmost effort to defend and free him, the elf replied that he already had these things. He only wanted to help. Upon Gawain'srequest, the Diaboli gave his version of the story; it was as unbiased as Rigwyn's twisted mind, and as straight as the poker face that he would use to rob his own mother. He pushed once more for the elf's promise of devotion, but the elf slowly slipped away. Hearing his voice fade, the Diaboli shouted, "Please! Don't abandon me!" but before long, there was no sound be heard - not even the beating of his heart or the crisp whisper of endless breath. Saddened and confused, he sat once more.

[Roled]

Poor poor Rigwyn

[Candy]

Surely evading the guards had been yet another crime to put in her file. If only there was a way to get a hold of that little stack of paper, to engineer a spill right on the incriminating parts. She could make it look natural. It’d land her back in her cell, though, and probably earn her a few of the infamous beatings the more thuggish of the guards like to give. Not that it would be the first time she’d received such treatment.

Aleeane remembered bruises so large they melted into each other, broken limbs, once a forcefully extracted tooth she wasn’t sure she’d healed correctly, desperately sending piercing pulses of Crystal energy into her gums while holding her canine in place. Was she any better than her father, who had repeatedly caused her such injuries? Her own hands caused one more as she accidentally pricked her finger on the needle. She’d lost count of the times it had happened this morning - the cloth was now decorated with tiny dots of blood. So much for a better disguise.

The other Ynnwn in the cave grunted and awoke, briefly distracting the girl from the weight on her conscience. Aleeane may have once thought Ceitile and Rigwyn two of a kind - both scary, burly criminals with dreadlocks, though she was certain that despite the woman’s odor, Ceitile washed hers more often. However, the more time Aleeane spent in Ceitile’s presence, the safer she felt. Ceitile seemed to inexplicably find something she liked about her meek little former employer, too.

“Catch me some breakfast?”
 
Aleeane answered by passing a plate of fish and boiled kartoffels, garnished with trefoil, to her associate.

“Tryin’ to put me in a suggestible state, huh?” the mercenary asked, pulling the fillet apart with her hands.

“That isn’t nearly enough to do the job. You’d know that if you’d actually read what you stole.”

Ceitile grunted again. Aleeane’s thoughts turned back to her guilt. How could she atone for blinding a man and conspiring to murder him? There was also the matter of her stealing his glyphs, but she only did that out of self-preservation. The man had done terrible enough things without magic. Besides, theft had become far less serious in her mind since leaving all of her own possessions behind for the second time. She missed the books and jewelry, but those existed everywhere - she’d spent the last few days placing such items in neat piles, part of her arrangement with Ceitile in exchange for sharing her warm little space.

Perhaps, she thought as Ceitile passed the empty plate back and she scrubbed it with a scrap of damp cotton, she should switch religions. Talad was the forgiving one, after all, and there probably wouldn’t be some long process of gathering rare incense and whatnot for a mere two-minute ritual. Aleeane dismissed the thought; it would have been more of an affront to Laanx than another way in which to let go of all the similarities she shared with her father. Not to mention, it wouldn’t be a genuine conversion - it’d be a selfish move, like one of his.The same way he’d have also blinded Rigwyn and the same way that punishment wouldn’t have felt like enough to her father, either.

“You’re thinkin’ too hard, kid.”

“What?”

“That look on your face - you’re gonna get a wrinkle. I mean, you worry about that kinda stuff, right?”

“That’s the least of my worries.”

“Whatever. Get in front of that mirror you made it so easy to find. Let’s get you something more suitable for hiding than that pile a' rags.”

Aleeane watched in fascination as Ceitile laid out her azure glyphs and selected one of the less valuable necklaces from its nook in the cave’s wall. There was a brief glow, a slight hum, and then the spell was expertly finished. The fine jewelry disappeared as soon as the clasp was done up at her nape, and for a moment, her crimes were forgotten as an entirely different face smiled back from her reflection.

[Rigwyn]

That Pool of Thoughts Unknown

Now scraped heavily and blackened with dust and clotted blood, the Diaboli's meaty finger tips throbbed with pain and the fine stone walls surrounding him were littered with archaic symbols drawn in blood. There were random arcs, hooks and circles smudged into the floor and walls. Among them, a wide variety of cross shaped markings adorned with triangular tops - some inverted, others not. Despite his success in creating a metallic stench that drew in flies and moths, he could not stop scratching and smudging. He was crazed and determined to blurt something out. One would swear that this was not the man they saw before. The thug who strolled so carelessly though the plaza just a week ago. He was now devoid of that charisma and jaded smile that he flashed at Zalya as she backed away from the creepy woman with the ornamental mask. He was no longer the punk who held her up for her tips and offered Eleese the flowered dress which she wore. This Diaboli resembled a man who knew that his days were marked, that the remainder of his life was nothing more than an obstacle to his last breath. One might say that the "writing" was on the wall. Now laying shamelessly amid his sanguine scrawls, his mind drifted once more to that place where thoughts and dreams twist and fight.  He could feel his body ache with frozen ice and smell a waft of piss and day old ale. Feeling his flesh weld to the stairs as he drifted out of his drunken stupor, he could remember the sound of Aleeane's voice and others left and right - chattering back and forth like dhergirs in an unintelligible, noisy strife. In the midst of his recollection, the sensation of a dark, ominous presence was felt. He could hear the sound of its rotten wings flapping as it hovered over the small crowd by the stairs. He could feel its enraged eyes burning golden white as it stared down at him with unfathomable disgust. He trembled from the inside out. His legs began to spasm and jerk as his awareness of this horrible figure festered and bloomed. Rigwyn shook his head left and right and screamed, "I won't do it! I swear!" but the figure's presence intensified and its face drew closer to his own.

With an unexpected blast, it screamed unintelligibly with an intensity that left the Diaboli's ears bleeding and his trembling, red-soaked hands and crooked knuckles jammed against his head to block the din. He clenched his teeth and tried to turn his head to face the other way, but the image was lodged in his head and could not be cast off. As he dug his feet into the floor in a futile attempt to scamper away, its voice boomed once more.

"I will NOT let you die, you are mine!"

Screaming in fearful agony, he shook his head and wailed as the voice overwhelmed his senses. He cried at the top of his hateful lungs, "Oh no my master, I could never do that! I could never, ever stoop that low!", but deep down inside he knew that he probably would should the opportunity arise. A prisoner to his own urges and festering desires, he knew his fate was not the fruit of his labor nor of the path that he chose. He knew that his fate was rooted deeply in the emerging ideas from which he chose -  and that those ideas arose from the darkened pool within his soul.

He pondered in the silent aftermath of his horrible half-real dream, "What stirs beneath that pool of thoughts unknown?"

[Rigwyn]

A Maggot on a Stone

The cell floor was sopping wet as was a water-logged bucket and scrub brush that laid on the floor on the opposite side of the jail. Surely there was a rather unhappy guard to found somewhere. Despite such low class citizens and their frequent troubles, the Hydlaa guards had a reputation for being honest and unmistakably good willed.

Butted up into the corner, Rigwyn laid. His arms were bound to his hips and wrapped tightly with a white bed sheet. At his hip and shoulders, a thick leather belt was buckled securely. Where his hand met his hips, deep red stains soaked through. With the clack and scratch of the thick, metal lock, the armor-clad guard let Gawain back in. Upon approaching Rigwyn's cell he spoke. "Rigwyn, I have researched your case and come to a conclusion. It is Gawain. From before." Rigwyn slowly turned his head to face Gawain's familiar voice, but said nothing at all. After an awkward moment, he curiously replied, "Have you seen the man burning? The man in the fields with the hat on his head?" Gawain's head turned to the right, and his violet eyes narrowed to slits. He whispered, "What...?" Then, after a moment with his mouth slightly open, asked in a low tone, "Is this a dream of yours, Rigwyn?" Rigwyn hissed sharply, "No, its not! I see him in my head and in my sleep. He stands in the open fields with his arms drawn side to side like a scarecrow. Sometimes he wears a hat to shade his head, sometimes his head's on fire - sputtering and smoldering as he screams and convulses! Why? Why I am seeing this?" Gawain licked his lips as a bit of sweat ran down his forehead. He whispered to himself, "Brave, Gawain. Be -brave-," then spoke aloud with a slight tremble, "Perhaps because you're something of a ra...ra-rabid dog, Rigwyn. Nightmares tend to affect the guilty." He swallowed.

“You bastard! Now you're conspiring against me too?”

His comment left a wry expression on Gawain's mug which was replaced with a tremble as Rigwyn swung his own head back and smacked it against the wall with a hollow thud.  "I need your help!"

He swung it again with another sick crack! "I need someone to stick up for me!"

"Help? You, Rigwyn Setson, are a rabid ulbernaut disguised as a hapless blind Diaboli. You are a disease and a virulent one. H-how DARE you insult my integrity, and ask for my help? How DARE, DARE you claim to be a victim?" He paused, chest heaving. "YOU are a criminal, filth, a murderer! A torturer, a fiend, a threat to all civil society! I have found out your lies, and you will soon be punished for your sins!"

Rigwyn grew silent upon feeling the insightful cut of Gawain's words. Rolling the back of his head against the wall from left to right, he sighed aloud as if without a valid response. "So they've convinced your of their story? Did they present real proof that you could actually touch with your own hands, or did they force their story upon you and manipulate you into changing your opinion?"

Before he could reply, Rigwyn shouted, "WHAT KIND OF WEAK MINDED COUNCIL ARE YOU!"

Gawain's hands began to shake. He clenched them making the veins on his arm pop into visibility. His face turned reddish as he clenched his teeth, and stared at Rigwyn with widening eyes.

"I-I was trained in Octarchal law, not to defend murderous, vile filth! I believe in justice and the Gods, not in the profit or lies of your kind! I have heard the word of your victims! I have sought the guards' notes! I have researched, and cross-referenced. You are guilty, without a doubt!" Gawain spat on the ground and stepped back.  "I have, have SENT a letter to the Vigesimi and one to the Officers of the Hydlaa Guard, to advocate True Death for you Rigwyn Setson!"

"You scum! I pray with all my heart and soul, with every fleeting ounce of fervor left in me. May my very soul be taken from me in exchange for the curse I'll place upon your head, you rotten bastard! May you feel the full weight of my goddess's anger and hatred, you cruel worm! May you fester and swell with lumps and cysts that leave your reeling in pain!"

Rigwyn's words continued to flow abnormally - speech and diction clearly obstructed and jittered by the rage that shook him from the inside out.

Gawain's breathing became ragged and his hands shook rapidly, despite clenching them. With clenched teeth, his head followed suit as he set his unyielding gaze upon Rigwyn. "I have seen the depredations of the living, and I-I hate them, and I hate their authors. You are my enemy, Rigwyn Setson. I know now your crimes against the living, and YOU will SUFFER for them. I will author your destruction, have it at my word!"  With that, he headed for the door to leave.

Rigwyn leaped from his bench and ran towards the bars until his face slammed painfully into them. Leaning on them for support, he screamed, "I WILL HAVE MY REVENGE!" After hearing his words resound and echo, he began to bang his own face against the bars over and over again.

Gawain stepped back in shock, until he hit the slightly open door to the cell block with a smack. He gulped down air, eyes nearly popping out at the sight of Rigwyn. He took one last look at Rigwyn and opened the door with both hands, rushing out to safety.

Rigwyn continued to bang his own face into the bars as he screeched with frustration and angst. Gradually, he tired and slowed like a child who had suffered a temper tantrum. As the reality of his impending doom became all the more clear, he dropped lifelessly to the cold, stone floor. Laying in silence, punch-drunk and throbbing, he turned and wiggled slowly into a comfortable position like a white maggot on a piece of rotten meat and prayed to his god, "Get me out of here.. please master. Let me go."

[bloodedIrishman]

A Plan Hatched

Kull took brisk steps toward Rigwyn’s cell, after dealing with the guard. The Ylian had been reticent to allow visitation, but light persuasion had sufficed. The tall Ynwwn Hemmel followed suit, book in hand.

First came the sight of Rigwyn. His body was wrapped in a tight linen sheet. Blood stained the area where his hands were covered. Laying on the cold ground close to the bars, the sheet was buckled with two sturdy leather belts. His face was swollen and bruised. The cell was clean and damp. On the far side laid a water-logged wooden bucket and on the ground a wet scrub brush.

Rigwyn rolled on the ground and shouted: "What kind of defender are you?! Have you come back to spit in my face while I'm tied down and defenseless?!”

Kull raised an eyebrow at the outburst. He looked to Hemmel, and then returned his gaze to the prisoner. “I am not your defender, Rigwyn. I see your blindness has left you unable to tell differences between friend and foe.” Hemmel unclasped his notebook and began to write.

Rigwyn raised his nose to sniff the air, pausing to twitch at the catch of a scent. “Who is that? Jonoth? Zhoree? One of Emmara’s litter?” Sniffing again, his lips began to stretch as if about to say something, but he held back.

His ears perked up at the recitation of names. Stepping forward, the Akkaio said, “I am called Phanterol in some circles. Perhaps they are circles you are acquainted with."

The prisoner mouthed the name silently, then waited as if searching for a memory to attach. "Are you one of the Golden Hand Society? Perhaps a friend from the Red Crystal Den?” A pause. “Wait, I know that name.”

“Indeed?”

Rigwyn spoke again. “Why are you here?”

“Allies. I heard you were skillfull, and a Dakkruist. Hearing of your predicament, I could not help but make haste. I see a strong Diaboli bowed to indignity in this prison.”

“Ah, a fellow servant of the Dark Lady. While faithful, I am not a religious person. I…I make her offerings when I can. Mostly animal sacrifices. I’ve found few who are truly worthy to offer up.”

Kull folded his arms. “I see. Tell me – as memory abandons me – what is Dakkru intimately connected to in Her Realm?”

"To death ultimately. What everyone fails to realize is that regardless of the God you worship, when you die, your life is Hers and Hers alone. Eventually everyone will die and become Hers to hold."

Kull nodded. "Of course. A respectable answer. Tell me, though, what item in Her Realm is she tied to?"

Rigwyn fumbled as he spoke, possibly revealing uncertainty. "Some say the crystal which Oriven stands by night and day, others have said that she has a great throne, but I have not seen this for myself."

Stonefaced, Kull said: "Of course. All these answers are respectable. But tell me...your sacrifices. Why do you make them?"

Rigwyn bit his lip. A bead of sweat rolled down his left cheek, paving a dust-lined stream. With a nearly broken voice he said, "I do it…I do it…I do it to give her life?” A pause. “To give her life. Life worthy of sacrifice.”

“As a Dakkruist, I place meaning on sacrificial ritual to our Dark Mistress. Before I proceed to help you, I must ask for a vow of loyalty to Her. Here.”

Rigwyn replied, “What shall I kill to prove my faithfulness? A bug or a rat? I can do more in this position.”

A small smile played on Kull’s lips. “No deaths necessary. Such trifling sacrifices would do nothing for the Lady. Issue a vow of loyalty to Her, here in the cell, and from the heart.” Hemmel turned to watch Kull curiously.

Rigwyn nodded slowly, and hesitantly rolled toward Kull’s voice, and faced the Enkidukai. “I solemnly swear loyalty to our Dark Mistress. May the Goddess strike me down if I disappoint her.”

Hemmel turned back to Rigwyn as the Diaboli shouted in fervor: “May She strike me down!”

Kull inclines his head to Rigwyn with the same smile. “Good enough. For now.” He pauses, and then says, “I will help you, with the resources and connections available to me.” Kull motions to Hemmel. “This is a trusted employee, Rigwyn. I call him Weith. Forgive my rudeness. I must be careful, at all times, to test the quality of potential allies.”

“So be it. I trusted no one else either. How can you help me? Can you make my enemies eat their words?” He barked: “You could twist off their fingers and soak them in wine!”

Hemmel smiled. Kull returned to normal posture. “I can liberate you from prison. This will cost you, depending on the path chosen.”

“I have connections and tria. All you might want.”

So went the conversation. Negotiations went back and forth. Kull spoke calmly, collected as a Enkidukai might be with all the chips and cards on his side. Rigwyn was desperate and gleeful at his new-found prospects. Names were exchanged: of Aleeane, Zalya, Roled, and others. Hemmel continued to watch, and occasionally wrote in that ever-present book. Even a masked elf called ‘The Swindler’ came to the discussion. Not long for the end of their allotted time, Kull finished their dealings.

As Hemmel and Kull left the prison, and Rigwyn mused over this victory, these three were joined in a plot to free Rigwyn Setson from prison one way or another.

[Mariana Xiechai]

Casually, the thief, more widely known as The Snitch, tossed a bag of goods onto the table for the Filch to inspect. She cast an indicative gaze at the scroll, but the thug merely shrugged as he ran greedy fingers over the stolen bounty. “Haven't noticed anyone quite yet,” he grunted. “I think you're putting too much faith in the general rabble to figure out where they might find it.”

The woman tossed her head. “Give it time,” she answered. “It's been what, two days?” Walking over to the scroll, she rolled her eyes faintly at the name scribbled there, 'Peaceflower the Second,' and sat down at the table. “Gods, I do wonder about the general state of the populace. None of them, none of them want to try something new? A little danger, a little exploitation? How are they all not dead of boredom?”

The Filch grunts. “The Diaboli used to stir up a little trouble now and again. Though since he's blind he's not been of much use.”

“Blind and arrested,” the woman answered, “And I'm going to need incentive before I break him out. Beggars can't be choosers I suppose, though that one is going to bring trouble down on people's heads if he doesn't curb his habits. Though I suppose,” moving herself forward to drape over the table in a languishing fashion, she heaved a dramatic sigh. “I suppose I could be forced to do something anyway, if that's what it takes to get this proverbial ball rolling.”

The Filch laughed. “You're going to break someone out of prison? Really? Come now, pretty little rogue, I doubt that even you have that kind of prowess.”

Feigning indignation, the masked nolthrir gave a haughty snort. “I take that as a challenge. I do so love challenges. Now while I go do my devious thing, do me a favor and make sure nobody runs along deciding to take my things? I would be terribly put out.”

All she got was another grating sound of acknowledgment as he began sorting the things and storing them away, and she waved as she wandered out of the camp.

[Rigwyn]

A Smug Elf and his Companion

As Rigwyn he waited helplessly in solitude, the heavy outer door clanked and creaked open - allowing a slender, but strong elf though. He whistled rather obnoxiously as he approached the cell, calling Rigwyn with a casual,"Hey."

The sound jarred him causing his wrapped body to jerk and wriggle on his side like a little white maggot squirming on the floor. The voice was all too familiar, but one could never be too careful. He muttered, "Who is that? Is this who I think it is?"

The elf pulled up a chair and made himself comfortable, crossing his legs at the ankle out in front of him. "Gods only know who you think is it. But you're probably right."

"I need your help."

"Good luck with that."

Rigwyn sighed deep inside, knowing just how thrilled this elf must have felt to see his old acquaintance wrapped up like a dirty rag and discarded on the floor. This pleased little smile that veiled his smug sense of satisfaction would eat at him once more - touching a raw nerve that Rigwyn refused to reveal.

"I serious! I need your help! This is bad!

"The guards will let you out when they let you out."

"No wait!"

"I'm not going any where. Just had to come see."

He didn't need eyes to know that this elf was just gleaming with joy and satisfaction. He tried once more to convince him of his need - telling him of his encounter with Gawain, and the way in which his foes were plotting against him, but the elf did not appear to be moved at all. He pleaded with him to silence his oppressors, but he would not budge. Some friend he was. In desperation, he finally crossed a line - one that he had never dared to cross before.

"If you are implying that I should pay you, I will. But understand, that its not just me that this affects. I will not fall alone, if you know what I mean."

The elf didn't get it. He was far too subtle, and so he tried again. Rigwyn licked his lips - lashing his pointed tongue around in his mouth like a snake burrowing out of a hole. With a horrible contortion of his face, he bit hard on the side of his tongue - cutting it and causing it to bleed.

"My tongue is cut, brother. I fear if may fall of should my brethren fail to provide me with some balm or ointment."

Somewhere around that time, a fenki silently slipped in.

The elf continued with his sarcastic suggestions. "I know I'll pull out a magic potion and tip it on you and make you all better and then just pick you up and run out of the jail through a hole in the wall ill make with my little finger..... Please"

Making his implication a bit more obvious, Rigwyn asked, "Have you ever seen a loose tongue take down an entire army? I will not be the only one to be tossed into the crystal if you do not get me out of here and put the kibosh on my enemies. Many good men and women will fall... with me."

Threatening to out this elf and as many others as he could as a member of the Black Flame was no tiny offence. The punishment for so much as hinting at a member's affiliation as documented in the cult's archives, was far more severe than death. In fact, death would have been a blessing to a discovered tyrant. He had threatened to not only out him, but every member he had ever met should the elf refuse to help him, but the stubborn bugger simply would not let in.

The fenki's face formed a small smile as she continued to just listen to the two bicker. She did what she could to intervene and surprisingly seemed to take a liking to the diaboli. Taking note of his needs - which consisted of his glyphs, an escape, and the silencing of his oppressors, she seemed to be willing to comply. Or was she just placating him for the moment?
 
When they left, he was just as uncertain of their willingness to assist him as he was when they had arrived. Perhaps his new Dakkru worshipping friends would prove to be of more use.

[Rigwyn]

You Can't Con a Con

Just minutes after the elf and fenki left, Kull returned to the jail only to see Rigwyn laying in the corner of the room facing the wall. Still wrapped in sheets and strapped with belts, he was muttering something as if he's talking to someone.

"Rigwyn. Weith and I have returned"

The diaboli's muttering suddenly stopped. With a pause, he slowly began to roll back towards the bars until he bumped into them. Wriggling and bending on the floor, he managed to scramble to his feet and press himself against the bars. With a grunt, he rose to his feet to face Kull's voice. He grinned broadly as he slipped his bloody tongue between his lips and licked around his mouth. He sucked his tongue back in, and tilted his head back to export his gaping maw. Inside, the black coin that he was given earlier rested atop his bloody tongue.

Kull stared into the flat-fleshed eyeless sockets. His lips tightened together."Plans have advanced. You will be freed six days from now, Rigwyn. But I have some requirements that need satisfying."

Shifting the coin to the inside pocket of his cheek, he replied, "Requirements? What are they?"

"First, who was the fenki you spoke with just now, and why did you speak with her?

Hemmel leaned against the wall, crossing his arms in front of him. His head was tilted down and his eyes were closed.

"She came to visit me. She wanted to tell me what a piece of excrement I am now that I'm locked up and unable to slap her stupid face."

Kull stepped closer to the bars. "What is your history?"

"I robbed her a long time ago. Held my hand over her mouth and threatened to break her neck if she didn't pay up. She was one of my more cuddly victims, she felt so soft and pushy against my flesh. It was a shame to leave her beaten and bruised, but it had to be done. I wanted her to have incentive to keep her mouth shut. Now, I fear she won't have much incentive to keep quite. I can only imagine what she has told the guards."

Kull nodded slowly as a vein throbbed on his forehead, and his clenched paw laid in his folded arms. "Quite." A pause. "Now, who was the Dermorian?"

"The elf apparently, was her boyfriend, perhaps a body guard. He sounded pretty tough from the other side of the cell."

"Do you know anything else about him?"

"No, I'm afraid not. Do you?"

As time passed, it was clear that Kull's questions were carefully crafted. He seemed to be forulating or piecing together a plan - a way to free Rigwyn from this jail. He played along, answering and following his lead while growing terribly impatient at the painstaking process. Finally, Kull shook his head and spoke again.

"You will fulfill my needs before and after the jail break. I want a depost of tria in advance, and knowledge of your connections. This will increase chances of success."

"Very well. There is a scruffy little red haired rogue named Grabbeh. He was the treasurer from my old family. He can sometimes be seen near camp banished."

Kull's ears perk up at the sound of 'Camp Banished'. "Former treasurer. He owes you tria?"

"Tell him, 'The oiled sword cuts faster' and he'll hand you a payment. If he askes who sent you, tell him my name."

"Anything else? If the tria is not sufficient, you will not receive freedom."

"He will give you 100 circles for saying this phrase. He will know not to pay twice or repeating the some codephrase. He may be small, but he's not stupid."

Unsatisfied with the pittance of a reward for setting this prisoner free, Kull insisted on receiving more. He pushed and even threatened to withdraw his help, but the diaboli would not comply. A seasoned con artist, Rigywn knew that Kull's proposal was far too dis empowering. It would leave Kull with no reason to stay true to his promise.

Angrily, Rigwyn spat the black coin on the floor in a gesture of rejection and disgust, and with an exchange of angry words, the two men left - leaving the Diaboli to fend for himself.

[Rigwyn]

A Twinkle in the Dark

The night was filled with lucid dreams of falling from high places and screaming along his deadly descent as he awoke again and against clutching to his bench for dear life as perspiration streamed from his face and neck.  He had tried to stay awake in protest, but whatever god was responsible for sleep and the world of dreams was beckoning his eyes shut each time.

After breakfast – which was spoon fed to him as he sat with his arms and hands bound, he took a seat upon his bench and began to reflect and meditate upon the stream of voices that passed through his head – many of which he swore, were not his.

The sound of the lock releasing followed by the sweep of the door as it opened alerted him to the presence of a visitor. It was a voice that he had not expected to hear – at least, not in this context.

Roled's voice was soft and kind and came with an offer to heal what damage had been done to Rigwyn's eyes despite his conviction that he should still be punished for his hienous crimes. He heard Roled's words not once, but twice as he repeated them in the back of his mind.

"No one should go through this harsh life without sight- e'en you. So I come with an offer. I be a skilled mage as ye knows, in Red and Crystal. I be a bit of a field medic too, and have been studying anatomy of late... So me offer to ye, Rigwyn, if ye wishes it, is, I will attempt to, to replace yer eyes with an operation and with magick to heal it.”

His demeanor softened, as he wondered why … WHY would this elf possibly want to heal him after what he had done – not only to Roled, but to so many others over the years. For the briefest moment, he could feel his throat knot as if choking on a cheap tefusang steak. He inhaled a bit more deeply than ever before as the prospect of being understood and forgiven began to unfold in his mind.

He scoffed, "That's impossible. How can anyone give sight to the blind? I don't have eyes, Roled! Thanks to Aleeane."

The conversation moved from why to how, and from how to “with what”. Roled had suggested the use of rat eyes, but somehow the diaboli had managed to take offence to such a suggestion. He made no secret about his desire to gaze with Zalya's pretty eyes at their gourged, spasming bodies as he laughed and shed a little tear of joy upon seeing Aleeane and Zalya in so much agony - her tears, and from her eyes.

As the repulsed elf continued to make a best effort at righting what harm he had done, a figure adorned in Dakkruist symbols and a black veil slipped in. With passion, she declared what an atrocity it was that a fellow worshiper was denied of his ability to practice his devotion to the goddess of the dead.

Immediately spotting a cleft to grab onto, Rigywn chimed in - agreeing with her every word. Although he was no true Dakkruist, her words seemed to suggest a way out, and Roled's, though tempting, suddenly took the back seat. He wanted his vision back as much as his glyphs, perhaps more, but with freedom, he could eventually pursue both. With eyes alone, he could see the world shrink and vanish as his body was flung into the air from a Pterosaur and hurled into the crystal. Suddenly, sight had lost its shine.

As Roled left, perhaps regretting his final attempt at mercy and kindness, the Dakkruist sliped her hand into the cell as if to pass him a small stone. It dropped to the floor with an audible tap, then suddenly vanished.

His head was awash with fragrances unknown, memories of a battle with a Dermorian elf from long long ago. It was one of many that flowed through his head like a mudslide - along with sounds and voices near and far. His mind tingled as it did with some of the Azure way spells he had dabbled with in the past, but was different - unlike anything he had ever experienced. Suddenly, a message unraveled in his mind, a hopeful smile stretched across his bruised and swollen face.

"Do it", he whispered, "I will follow."

With that, the azure spell faded and the veiled Nolthrir woman walked out the door.

[Rigwyn]

Of Cinnabar and Light.

With the passing of another night, and a stomach full of nutrient rich mush, the Diaboli slept once again. In this hazy place where dreams and terrors of the night are reborn, he found himself walking atop a black and white checkered floor that spanned in all four directions. The terribly dim light obscured his sight so he could see no more than a mere stone's throw away.

With each step, he could feel the clump of his feet, but hear no sound. He called out to see if anyone would reply, but he could not hear his own voice. It did not at all strike him is as odd, rather he took it at face value - he had no drive to ask or doubt - what was, simply was.

The white tiles atop the floor turned bright orange. He looked up and saw fire above him  - silently swirling and knotting itself into its folds. His stare was quite blank as he waited and watched it fall closer and closer until it was upon him, around him and within him. He stretched his hands outwards like a cross as the fire raced up his arms, chest and face, but he was not alarmed.

A resonant voice bellowed and boomed from every direction. It was feminine in nature - strong and unyielding. It spoke with authority, leaving no room for question.

"I will cleanse this world of you with a fire that burns pure and white. There will be no ash nor smoke left behind.."

He waited silently as the sound of the trumpeting voice receded, then looked down at the tiles upon which he stood. Another voice broke, but this one was quiet and calm. It brushed against his skin like an autumn wind, leaving the hairs on his arms and legs standing on end. As it whispered, he could feel its words pass through him as the orange glow eroded into darkness.

"With the kiss of fire, quicksilver shall flow from your heart and poison the light. Be not cinnabar, clacker, but quicksilver."

He continued to walk along the cold, checkered floor until it faded away, and when he awoke, he found himself with an unfamiliar weight atop his head. Presuming that he was back in his cell and got up to shuffle across the room as he muttered to himself the dialog from the tail end of his dream  - wondering what it meant.  Upon reaching the bars, he leaned forward to rest his aching face against the cool steel.

His head stopped with a hollow thump and an irritating jab to his throat.  He tried again , but failed once more. Puzzled, he bumped and rolled his head against the bars and the walls only to realize that his head was somehow enclosed. His litany of shouts and demands were eventually answered by a short, female guard.

She stood with her creamy hands on her hips and an amused grin on her elven lips as she watched the self destructive figure clamor around with a wooden box fastened over his head. The front had a feeding hole bored in it, and along the sides were two more hinges which allowed it to open like a clam and fasten snugly around his neck. It was fastened shut with a steel latch.

"Rigwyn," she sighed as she approached the confused Diaboli. Do understand that this is for your own good. If you find another way to harm yourself, I'm afraid we'll have to strap you to the bench until the day of your trial.  Now be a good boy and be careful not to drool on your box. It's the only one we currently have.