[RP] Brimstone and Fire

[Shangshi]

The Camp

A man, hands stuffed in his pockets leisurely headed out through the Hydlaa East gate treading an infrequently used path off to a likely well known camp. The Dermorian had collected a pouch of food from Jomed before leaving and had just about finished it as he arrived. Picking some slithers of meat out of his teeth as he wandered into the unusually quite camp he looked over at a Nolthrir and Enkidukai who were arguing about something, both sat at the collection of small tables.
 
By the time he had reached the tables and taken a seat the Nolthrir was already on her way off. This was apparently due to the Enkidukai saying "Ah you are not whining and complaining Snitch? You have much to learn." As he sat down the Enkidukai decided to keep her cards close to her chest as her face stayed blank as if she didn’t know him. But she did.

Snitch laughed. "She thinks she has much to teach me. You're what, twenty? Maybe? Please. I've been knocking about this gig for far longer. I'm afraid between your apathy and that one's," She jerked a thumb at the Dermorian, "I'm quite spent. Farewell, darlings." She turns, and makes to wander off.

The Dermorian had no time for whatever was going on so he announced his business immediately. Leaning against the table he said towards Snitch "Have you been to see the fool who got himself locked up?" This took her somewhat by surprise. Pausing, she turned to look back at him, mildly interested, at least, in the words he just spoke.

He continued "I'll take your pause as a yes, no doubt he has been asking everyone he knows to help, you included." Snitch sighed, making a flippant wave in the air with her hand. "I haven't been to see him. If I could muzzle and leash him effectively I might be arsed to try and free him, though I honestly haven't yet decided. I don't have much use for the mentally handicapped." The Enkidukai snickered as she looked down, deciding to finally listen before participating.

The Dermorian replied “Harsh words, but not entirely off the mark. But if you did think about it, you would own him. Your little gang would have its very own 'give it to' guy for stuff you don’t care for doing yourself.” Snitch seemed almost uninterested as he made another waving motion. "Like I said, I could use a rabid animal, if I knew for a certainty I could keep it contained. Rigwyn is now blind and harmless and utterly at the mercy of others. He might be worth saving. I just have to decide if I'm willing to go to the trouble."

He sat up and ran a hand though his hair, picking out what seems to be a bit of tree which much have fallen in on his walk over. "He has mentioned some skill with magic. Eyes aren’t entirely necessary for that. He works out some way to get about without others helping him, and maybe gets taught some common sense. Well.... who knows"

Snitch shrugs lightly. "The possibilities are quite expansive yes, I agree. I simply don't want him running around drawing massive amounts of attention to us with zero profit. This is a business, not a den of the criminally insane. Some amount of order can be necessary, even amongst chaos."

He dusted his hands off, the pieces falling to the ground "Tell him, or get someone to tell him. You could consider it a probation. You don't like having him about, you steal his cane and dump his ass at the city gate or in the howling well." Snitched chuckled. "Oh, it's not a matter of that. It's a matter of whether facing the city guard to get him out is worth the cost of the risk itself. I'm still weighing those options. I am always looking to come up in the profit margin." With that said she wandered back and sat crossing her legs on the grass. Clearly more interested with what he had to say than the Enkidukai. "We shall see what I can come up with."

He looked off towards Guile's tent "Maybe ask your land lord for help. Some real masks would surly help hide such a pretty little face." He began drumming his fingers on the table, looking between the two women. The Enkidukai looked over at him, trying to figure out his motives as she just continues to remain silent. "My comment was not about /your/ mask. And more about the masks only someone like Guile could help you get. I understand they are quite adept at hiding everything about you. As I'm sure you probably know."

The Enkidukai’s curiosity was peeked. As Snitch looked towards him the Nolthrir said "I know. I've used one of Guile's masks before. I've considered employing them for my part of the scam, if not for all of my members, to ensure they have some backup against the guard spotting them." The Dermorian began to rub the palm of his left hand. "I'm sure that would be a good idea, and one quite easily obtained. One full pocket, one favour. Normally how things go."

Snitch rolled her shoulders, listening to the faint grating sounds this makes. "Careful, Dollface. It sounds rather dangerously like you want him freed, which is equally dangerously close to caring." He glanced at the Enkidukai briefly, smiling as he does. Looking back at Eleese he said "Caring is something you should avoid. But I have no doubt each of us has their own reason for being here."

Snitch then laid herself back in the grass, cradling her head in her gloved hands and peering up at the Dome. She murmurs something to herself in nolthrea, likely to be utterly lost on the other two, and then hums a slightly eerie, disjunct tune.

For the next short while the conversation turned to small talk, covering how each of them how each of them had met Rigwyn.

Snitch answered with "Mmm. I met him here, in fact. He seemed quite level headed at the time, but I must admit the more I hear about him the more I think he has...some sort of problem. I have actually been considering trying to enlist an azure magic practitioner to see if he could not be helped."

The Enkidukai "....I’ve, worked with him. We were close once."

And finally Dollface "You know how you normally meet thugs. Outs Laws get an order and off they go."

There was far more to tell than this, but the other two present seemed either to just accept it or uninterested in asking anything further at the time.

Another short conversation followed. Non present were really too interested in the content. All just trying to work out what the other wanted with Rigwyn. Whatever the reason the Enkidukai was at the camp for it quickly became apparent getting Rigwyn out wasn’t part of it when she said "I didn't come here to become a part of something, sorry."

Snitch hardly seemed bothered as she replied "I'm not concerned. I already have a plan to free him. All I'm working on is the motivation." And with that said, she nodded to the two, one at a time. "I should prepare to meet with him," she said, "Lovely conversing with you two." She then left.

It wasn’t long after this when the Enkidukai also left back into city. Leaving just the Dermorian and the rogues. He was sat there for a few hours until the crystal faded and night came. As he waited, sitting patiently until Guile returned he thought on exactly what Snitch would do to get Rigwyn out, a few ideas came to him but he couldn't be sure any were right. A few few figure had come and gone from the camp but none were who he wanted. He knew she would arrive sooner or later and he needed something from her...

[Rigwyn]

Tough Love.... and an enki who thinks eyes smell yummy.

The smell of books and burnt falka was thick enough to taste, and Izalox was patiently waiting for Jayose to make up his mind about the validity of a new volume on Laanxism which he had presented. This volume contained personal letters supposedly between Galeran Tarbius - the very man through whom Laanx reestablished her religion, and Shindrock, his early mentor. Jayose was concerned with how it conflicted with the rest of Galeran's works and hence did not seem to represent his known views. Izalox held that the views in the secret volume were authentic but hidden from the eyes of the lay so that they would not become confused. Jayose was not convinced and gave the book back with an apologetic smile. Hiding his frustration the best he could, Izalox flipped his hood over his head to protect his pale skin from the crystal, then slipped out the door with the book tucked under his arm. His cloak was scarlet with a jade and gold serpent-like twist embroidered into the back of it - quite similar to the symbol seen in the Laanx Temple. As he approached the archway leading to the plaza, he made eye contact with a Menki. The two exchanged casual greetings, then stopped to chat. A casual blessing followed as he prepared to depart. They were joined by an elf who was on his way to tend to a sick man who was injured and without means to mobilize himself. When asked if he might lend a hand, Izalox and the Celrau agreed and followed - as any person with any semblance of morality would. Roled lead them to the guard's station in East Hydlaa, and then into a dimly lit cell. The cool air sent an erie shiver up Izalox's spine. Roled spoke softly and with a trembling voice. He quietly asked Rigwyn if he would like to have his eyes replaced and eventually received his consent. Roled called the guard over and asked that the box be removed that he may bestow a blessing. Without question the guard did so, then stepped outside - leaving the four of them alone. Having given Rigwyn a bottle of the strongest liquor he could find, Roled sent Celrau off to fetch pure water from the secret garden while be prepared his poultices and compressions of various sorts.

As the level of intoxication rose, Roled began to joke about his inexperience and lack of success as the two men positioned themselves at his command. Seeing that the diaboli had passed out, Celrau grabbed his legs and feet as instructed while Izalox wrapped his hands and arm around Rigwyn's drunken head, holding it as firmly as he could. He gripped the familiar face harshly - digging his fingers into the diaboli's evil skin while he waited for the Celrau to nod - indicating his readiness.

With the first incision, Rigwyn awoke from his stupor and let out an agonizing scream. He arched his back as he struggled painfully beneath the weight of the two men who dug their feet into the floor and climbed on him as they fought to hold him down and keep his head steady.

As a stream of blood rushed from his flesh, Roled tried again to administer another pain killing concoction, but it was no use. Eyes blurred, he apologized, then raised his fist and struck the diaboli's face as hard as he could - slinging his head to the side and sending a sleek stream of blood though the air. He shook the pain from this fist, then grasped a foul smelling cloth and harshly stuffed it to Rigwyn's face to ensure he would not awaken again.

Continuing with his work, Roled dug the knife deep into Rigwyn's face - making an incision where his eye once was and letting the blood and bodily fluids inside drain and spurt. He told Izalox to ready the needle as he removed a set of Comati eyes from a sack of water.

Izalox watched as Celrau leaned in to sniff the sack and the eyeballs as if they were some sort of enki snack. The scene drew a stifled chuckle from Izalox and a mild rebuke from Roled. Grinning at the possibly hungry menki, he glanced down at the helpless diaboli and lowered the needle into his eye socket. He poked and stabbed at the optic nerve, then the muscles as he fought to suppress a sadistic smile.

Unamused with the lemur's exploration, Roled took the needle away and instructed him to hold the head once more. He placed a comati eye into the exposed socket and attached the muscles and nerves the best he could by means of knife, needle and magic.

Once again, Rigywn started to awaken and cry for mercy. His body twisted and spasmed as the two men yelled and fought to hold him down -Celrau twisting and grabbing his legs to pin them to the bench as Izalox grasped his chin and teeth to pry and force his mouth open as the diaboli wailed and screamed at the top of his lungs.

Quick to act, Roled shoved a potion into his mouth, then held it shut - forcing him to swallow as much as possible. The putrid liquid streamed out his nose and down his face as he coughed and gagged - eventually leaving him in a drug induced haze. With a loud crack, Roled punched his head again and again - leaving him unconscious once more.

Having finished his work on the new eyes and his infected tongue, They wrapped the head and eyes with a long, clean strip of cloth then walked to the door - leaving the head box unlatched and discarded upon the floor.

Roled began to sob and his hands shook quite noticeably, catching the attention and sympathy of Izalox. He hurled - splashing bile and liquor all over the floor as Izalox watched with his jaw lowered and his hand covering his nose to block out the stench.

He held Roled to still him and offered to clean the floor, but the elf refused for reasons that made no sense to the confused lemur.  Not wanting to raise his suspicion, Izalox wished Roled well and took his leave - grateful that didn't really have to clean up after him.
 
As Roled discarded the soiled rags and instruments, the guard returned from his break with a merry smile and casually approached the diaboli's cell. He placed the box over Rigwyn's head and gave it a firm shake to enure that it was on tight.

Rigwyn became conscious once more. His groans turned into screams as the guard stepped out of the cell and locked the door. He shouted, "The pain ! My face! Please help me!", but the guard just shrugged and walked back to his desk. With a drawn out sigh, he he replied, "That's what happens when you beat your face against the walls. I'm not rewarding you with liquor each time you hurt yourself."

Roled began to protest but then stopped half way though. Exhausted, he slumped back into his seat and looked at Rigwyn with a mixture of disgust and yes, pity. Wanting to block out his agonizing screams for mercy, he held his hands over his ears and lowered his weary head.

[Rigwyn]

DON'T Talk to Strangers!

Awakened by the throbbing pain in his eyes, Rigwyn struggled to fall back asleep. It was a long, painful night and he knew that there would be many more to follow.  As he tossed and tumbled, he heard an elven voice in the distance and smelled an all too familiar aroma. Still groggy, he laid still and basked in the tail end of a dream while pondering its meaning.

A soft voice slipped from the shadows. "How terrible. That can't be normal."

Rigwyn rolled on the floor as the wooden box over his head clunked and clapped upon the floor. He groaned in pain, wondering if what he heard was real or just another dream. The voices in his head had become so real that dreams and thoughts were terribly hard to separate.

"I've seen people locked up before," his voice softly caressing the air, "but never in a box." Shocked, Rigywn froze in place as he wondered who that could have been. While the lavender fragrance was the same as the once that Vayl often wore, the voice was clearly unfamiliar. He hissed though the feeding hole in his head-box. "Who are you!" The visitor did not reveal his name and when he spoke, he was careful in choosing his words - never quite revealing who he was or exactly what he wanted with a blind, helpless prisoner. As the hour passed, it was clear that this man was of Rigwyn's ilk. He spoke of making connections and seemed to express an openness to deeds that most would never consider.  Finally, he inquired about a real job - the spilling of blood. With an embittered heart, the diaboli spoke of those he hated most, his reasons for feeling this way and the sadistic desires that stirred with his heart. The man did not hesitate or falter in his speech, nor did the second man who had unexpectedly arrived. "Riiiigy!" Rigwyn cringed and snapped his head in the direction of the second voice as the first occulted himself from Stashka's site. He was shocked to say the least, yet pleased. The elf sounded quite sane, though somewhat hoarse. As they spoke, Rigwyn's head was awash with memories of their first encounters. They were Outlaws and working in secret to abduct female citizens to be auctioned to men and women who were just as vile as them if not worse. At the time, Stashka was a bit of a lunatic - changing his mind and failing in his promises to assist. As crazy as he was, Rigwyn hoped that he could be of some use. Having had the chance to vent and list his litany of gripes, Rigwyn mentioned the eyes in his head which Roled replaced. He was puzzled as the two elves questioned why the same man who blinded him would want to restore his sight, then realized that it might have been nothing more than a rotten scam.

Sickened by the waft of stench that drift about the cell, Shashka removed the crude wooden box and let the bandages around his head fall. Dropping the box, he stepped back to see the mess of a man that stood before him.

His face and hair was caked with thickened cheese-like pus and thick, tar like-blood. His cheeks and head were swollen and terribly bruised. From the slits where his eyes once sat, fresh pus ran down his cheeks - staining the white sheet in which his body was bound. He insisted that Stashka open the slits in his face to see if his eyes were there as promised, but as Stashka did, the first figure reappeared and drew a knife.

Rigwyn was shocked at first, but then smiled as the visitor proposed a way to leave and offered to guide him back through Dakkru's realm. Trusting more in his old companion, Rigwyn insisted that Stashka be the first to die.

With three throats slit and a fine splattering of blood all over the bars and walls, their bodies vanished - leaving behind the discarded head box, the sheet and the pus encrusted bandage which continued to release its putrid smell.

[Rigwyn]

Reflections on Poison

Mister Shadow's knife cut though like a crisp sheet of paper dashed between one's fingers. A lick of cool air touched the newly exposed flesh followed by a forced gush and spray of fresh crimson blood. Tiny streams zig zagged down the cold steel bars as Rigwyn fell to his knees and held his arms open. His neck gushed again with each beat of his heart, his mind weakening by the second as it raced with horror and panic. Although death was all too familiar in Yliakum, the fear of true death was quite real.

He collapsed onto the floor with an unresponsive thud as his head became light and images swirled and fluttered before his eyes. The spots aligned in strange geometrical formation. They echoed and clashed as a bead of drool escaped his lips. He licked the glistening mess from his mouth the best he could - not wanting to look the fool should he fail to slip away. Before long, the patterns before his eyes subsided and passed, leaving him at the dusk of common death.

He found himself walking alone in the dark once more. Twigs and dead leaves crunched and kneaded into the blackened soil as a cold chill ran up though his bare feet. Using his hands to part the branches and cobwebs that approached his face, he noticed an orange glow blocked by a figure in a hunter green robe. As he crept, the figure hunched in front of a metal canister that sat atop of roaring fire. A metal pipe rose from the top of the barrel and was fitted to a huge glass tube that spiraled down into a thick, glass flask with a crude spout on the bottom. Not knowing what to make of this man and his contraption, he barked. "Who are you? What are you doing here?!" Oblivious to his voice, the figure continued tinkering and fussing with the makeshift furnace - opening its top to fill it with violet-red cinnabar crystals, then sealing tightly and locking it in place. Cursing under his breath, the gaunt figure hobbled to the collection flask with a wide, shallow bowl in his hands. He placed it under the flask and turned a small, metal knob to fill the bowl with its contents. "What are you doing, you old fool?" The old man coughed and cringed - still ignoring the diaboli as he struggled to close the valve on the flask. With it shut tightly, he rose to face Rigwyn, holding the bowl in his trembling, shaky hands as he approached - whispering maniacally, "It burns the brimstone from the crystal!"  His face was contorted as if insane. The glimmer in his eyes and the changing smile on his face reeked of chaos and violence. "You see this, diaboli? Look at it!" Rigwyn smirked at the old man, then slowly leaned forward to gaze. The bowl contained a liquid more brilliant than polished sword-steel. It beaded and spilled like water as the old man coughed and shook. He touched it with his finger, depressing the warm, metallic fluid as he gazed upon his distorted reflection. With a fiery burst of anger, the old man's face reddened and stretched as his throat strained and the spokes of his neck stood out. His body shook as if about to explode. "A hex on you, betrayer of the gods," he shouted, "She knows who you are!" Rigwyn swallowed as if about to vomit. His fists clenched and his jaw tightened as he realized what the man had said. He screamed a second time - clearly straining his throat, "She will destroy you over and over again! She will never let you die! Ever!" As Rigwyn looked up, he could feel a great taloned claw grasp the back of his head. He tried to resist, but his head was shoved down towards the concoction. In the reflection, he saw his own mother's tormented face. She was screaming as quicksilver streamed from her nose and her mouth. He screamed in response and pursed his eyes shut as tears of agony met the splash and foul taste of mercury. Once again he was left in the solitude of night. The voice of two elves could be heard to his side. He climbed to his feet and stood - placing his hands upon his face to feel his eyes. His skin was smooth and cured and he could feel the lumps of his closed eyes where there had been none. Slowly, he cracked them open, dreading the thought that he might still be blind. His eyes slipped awkwardly in his skull as he struggled to keep them still. His world looked different now, distorted and unfamiliar. Dizzy and off-balance from his horrible, new sight, he staggered and fought to keep his footing as Stashka and the elf known as Mr. Shadows started him on his journey through the realm of death.

[bloodedIrishman]

[Rigwyn, the last post had higher quality imagery than before. Good writing again.]

[Candy]

“We could hypnotize people for you, y’know. Free of charge, seeing as you’re a friend and all,” a blonde Ylian told Aleeane. The Ynnwn and Ylian were accompanied by Ceitile, sitting on a hilltop not far from the cave. They had long since devoured the spread Aleeane had prepared, but were still too full to get up.

“No thank you, Rae; I can only see that leading to more trouble. Besides, hypnotizing people is wrong.”

“Oh c’mon, you let your petty morality get in the way of everything fun!” Ceitile interjected. “I knew we could use someone like you when you told me about blinding that guy. This’d be perfect to get the Coven back to work.”

“I don’t want to join your coven!”

“Why not?” Rae asked. “Don’t you like us?”

“Yeah, but it’s just – well – I don’t fit at all. I mean, I’m not even Azure!”

“Under my leadership I’ve decided to change that requirement,” Rae said, straightening her back and gesturing gracefully as she spoke. “The Coven will accept – and is looking for – clever mages of all ways. Genders, too, if I can get the other girls to support it. With enough smart, capable people, we’d be so powerful the guards would tremble in their boots at the mere mention of us. Nobody would ever dare lock you up again, darling.”

“Look, I’m hiding out in the cave in exchange for doing the housekeeping. That was the deal – no joining any covens, no more crime. Just. Housekeeping. If Ceitile led you to believe otherwise, that’s on her.”

“I did no such thing! I just suggested you might be a good candidate.”

Aleeane grew tense as she watched a familiar figure ascend the hill over the other womens’ shoulders. She scrambled to grab the necklace from where she’d dropped it, but Ceitile’s hand caught hers, and Rae shook her head at the Ynnwn.

“I knew it was you even with that thing on,” Thawaye said as he stopped a few feet from the women. He smiled gently. “You’re not very good at hiding, but it doesn’t matter. I’ve been ‘encouraged’ to retire after you and Rigwyn both escaped. It was about time, anyway.”

“He escaped, too?”

“Daddy told me this morning – he came in and I guess there had been a jailbreak,” Rae said. “The other guards managed to pin it on him. You might want to limit your excursions to Hydlaa for a bit.”

Aleeane looked between the old Ynnwn and the Ylian. There wasn’t much resemblance, but then again, she’d seen all the dyes and makeup Rae used. She didn’t doubt there were a few glamors on the woman, too; it was probably where Ceitile had learned the trick with the necklace.

“You didn’t really think I was coming to arrest you? Stalking little girls isn’t my job anymore.” Thawaye took a seat next to Rae, throwing an arm around her as she hugged him.

“You wouldn’t be the first stalker,” Aleeane muttered. Ceitile grinned knowingly.

“I know that. Know why your father hasn’t been sending anyone after you lately?”

“He hasn’t…”

“He has. One of his mistresses told the guards there everything a while ago; he’s had his trial and been found guilty. They’ve sent a copy of the file up to see if anything is relevant to your case. It’s a shame I only got a glance at it before I left. You could really win folk over with the right testimony, y’know.”

Rae gave Aleeane a look. The girl frowned softly, hoping it was enough to be taken as a ‘no’.

“Are they going to execute him?” she asked.

“I don’t think so.”

“Where’s the ‘well they should!’?” asked Ceitile.

“That pesky morality’s getting the best of me again.”

“But not enough to have you go turn yourself in,” Ceitile pointed out.

“Of course not! If both me and a man recovering from eyeball-surgery could get out of jail, the justice system isn’t trustworthy at all. I’ll talk to more priests, see what I should do to at least clear my conscience, if not my name. C’mon now, let’s let Rae and Thawaye have their family time.”

“What was that about eye surgery?” Rae asked, confused.

“Those trips to Hydlaa keep her in the know. I keep telling her she should’ve iced the surgeon that did it…maybe I’ll have to do something about him.” Ceitile shrugged and jogged away.

[Volki]

Rigwyn, you write good stories. Keep doing that. thankslol

i've had too much tea

[Rigwyn]

Death is a Journey, not a Destination

Rigwyn's feet throbbed and his thighs felt heavy like lead as they continued tread upon broken rock and tattered paths lined with rusted matrices of re-bar and mortar bound stone. The once familiar path seemed to go on forever - as if it had grown or changed with time, though the stone was still aged and falling apart. The death realm was indeed a bizarre and terrible place - constantly twisting and morphing with doors and portals being in one place today, and another tomorrow.

A violet, blue haze illuminated the musty fog as the trio crossed the carcass enshrouded bridge. Their steps slowed as they approached the ancient citadel and the flapping sound of fire carakas grew. As Rigwyn stared at the huge, stained glass windows, he wondered if what he had dreamed was really true. Did Dakkru know of his allegiance to the Black Flame, or was a just another frightful dream? How was it that he could pass through her world - right under her nose and then return safely to the dome? She was a goddess after all, didn't she know this somehow or was she oblivious to this terrible secret? Perhaps it was the will of the great and powerful Whisper that she never know. Having reached the great library, they stopped to rest, then split up - each having needs to fulfill and matters to attend while below.

Hours upon hours passed as the diaboli sifted and flipped through each and every book in search of the meaning of his dreams. The cross with the triangle on top, the burning man, brimstone and quicksilver. They kept repeating in different ways and forms. They must have been a message, an omen, or some sort of sign. The last was clearly related to alchemy, but there were no alchemical texts to be found. Pissed off and sickened by the dust and mold that danced in the rays of light that stretched though the air, he obtained a parchment and fashioned a note.

I need the assistance of an alchemist, a messenger who is willing and able to go topside, and someone who can supply me with dark way glyphs. In return, I can arrange for almost anything you need from the dome to be strapped to a screaming warm body and delivered here via corpse mail.

Meet me near the citadel if you wish to flesh out a deal.

Rigwyn

With haste, he left the citadel and found a wall to which he affixed his note, then wandered off in search for a nook or care in which to hide and sleep.

[Rigwyn]

A Deal Gone Wrong

Another day had passed, possibly two. Without light of day it was impossible to know for sure. The diaboli perched himself on an old, stone ledge that ran along the towering library ceiling where he waited and watched the entrance to see if anyone would respond. As he switched between sitting and standing to relieve his feet, a distinct voice with a heavy dwarven brogue rang through the air - labeling him as a lost one, or perhaps a vandal or a thief. His words were so  jumbled and warped that only Stonehammer might fully understand his small tongue.

An armed Jotrix approached with a shield and an axe in his strong, stubby hands. They spoke of the glyphs which Rigwyn wished to procure as an oddly abrasive messenger appeared from he shadows with a note. As Rigwyn opened the note, a silver coin slipped out with a pop and a flash of azure light that left a clear message in his mind and an all too familiar tingle in him palms. It was Snitch with her azure way tricks once more.

The dwarf named his price, a fifth of Moon Silvah, a sack full of tria and the slaughter of the messenger to whom Rigwyn had just given his reply. Moon Silvah was a new kind of drug that was sold in dark corners and ultics in the seedier sections of Ojaveda. Though silvery and sweet, it had a magical kick that both heightened the high, boosted one's magical skill. The rogue walked away with his reply and the deal collapsed  - leaving the to two to depart. Their exchange of parting words turned to slurs and before long blades were drawn and tempers flared.

With a two handed, white knuckled grasp and a grunt, Jotrix swung his axe at Rigwyn's legs.

He leaped back and away to avoid the attack, dislodging a stone as he landed and sending it to the floor below with a shower of pebbles and sand.  Rigwyn lunged - jabbing his sword at his gut only to be met with a metallic clang and the clash of steel that knocked his sword from his three fingered hand and onto the floor one story below. Without weapon or glyphs, he leaped forward to tackle the dwarf - grasping his helmeted head and wrapping his arm round his thick, bearded neck.   [ neckbeard, get it? hah hah... oh, forget it ]

With another swift chop, the axe met flesh and bone, lodging itself in Rigwyn's knee with a thud. It was that deep thump of a sound that a tree makes when struck, followed by a spirited, yet agonizing scream.

Jotrix lost his footing as the diaboli howled in pain, then fell from the ledge, pulling his foe with him. The floor was met with a sickening crack, breaking Ringwyn's arm near the elbow, and the dwarf's ankles or shins. As they rolled on the floor grasping for the axe, an all too familiar voice was again heard.

"Riggy! Should I kill him?"

Stashka appeared with his axe - slumped and worn out. Amid panicked shouts and demands for his death, he gripped his axe and swung. With a clean chop, the axe caught Jotrix's beard and cut clean though his neck.

With a spin, Jotrix's head flew off - flipping in the air and leaving a trail of wet blood on the walls, books and floor as a crimson stream rose from his neck and shot overhead - arching neatly before it spilled to the floor.

Staring in disbelief at the fresh, pink meat of the decapitated stump, he watched as the arms and fingers twitched and the body tilted -toppling forward to the cold, stone floor.

"Quickly! Rob him!  Turn him upside down and shake him for all he's worth!", Rigwyn yelled.

Apparently, they were not the words Stashka wanted to hear and it no way at all did they resemble a "thank you" or any semblance of praise. Begrudgingly, he shifted though the dwarf's pockets and sacks until he found what Rigwyn had wanted. A glyph, small and black with a red image of a tree.  Holding it between his fingers, he gave it a flip as the dwarf's mess of a body slipped away.

With the glyph charging in Rigywn's hand, he motioned to Stashka for a lift. He got up as he chanted silently in his mind, the words to a spell he had used so many times. As he slung his arm over the elf, a smoldering fog emerged and shot out. It smelled like rot and burnt hair, it was putrid and thick - leaving a taste on the tongue that resembled ash and oily soot from the forge. As the cloud festered and swarmed, the elf's legs gave out - sending them both to the floor.

Eyes rolling to the back of his skull, as a litany of words forbidden and old left his tongue, Rigwyn laid upon his host  and drained the very life out of him. As the smoke thickened and rose to the ceiling, Rigwyn's knee bubbled and sputtered with soft, mushy skin as clots and lumps of foul smelling waste drizzled down his calf to the floor. His arm twisted and jerked as he howled once again in pain. The smoke swirled and wrapped around his wounds like a python around a tree. Sinews grew and bones fused as flesh bubbled, sputtered and joined - healing all but a huge, festering scar.
 
In the distance, that cursed dwarven brogue returned, this time louder and laced with a smattering of hate. He was on the hunt and seeking revenge, calling for Rigwyn by name and no doubt with that heavy axe in hand.

On the brink of killing Stashka, he slowed and stopped, then slapped his face to see if the elf was still alive. There was no response, just shallow breathing and a pulse. Panicked and pissed off, he hefted him from the ground and carried him out.

Jotrix began to call out to Dakkru, his accusations were inflammatory and damning. He shouted things no one else could ever know - awakening an awkward sense of fear.

Terrified of what the goddess might believe should she be listening, he quickly fled for the exist - hopping it would be where he had seen it last. He battered Stashka's unconscious body along the way - throwing it down cliffs and holes and dragging like an old rag doll it when it became to heavy to lob, but before long, his weary legs had failed him. The slipped and fell to their death with a fading scream followed by blunt crack and a thump.

[Rigwyn]

A Feast for Dakkru

Her realm was bathed in eternal night and the very stones and crude paths of twisted rock were the only things the eye could see. Had it not been for the few crystals that glowed with violet light, the realm would be inescapable. Was poor lighting perhaps a sign that the goddess had a heart, or just the remains of some travellers who had lost their way?

Caressing the filthy air like the fingers of a harpist came an old, drunken Klyran dirge, full of the ripest kind of melancholy. Rigwyn stopped in his tracks as he hard the delicate Klyran voice. Taking off his plated boots to snuff the noise, he crept, then jogged in the direction of the tender, female voice.

The song ended abruptly with a thump and and swear, then picked up once more. Standing at the entrance to the great Library, he spied on a thin, klyros as she stood before a great shelf with a book in her hand.

Evirea slammed the book back into the shelving, harshly. Dust motes rained down from the neglected beams. She threw back her head and shrieked!

"What, you give me nothing, you flamboyant, green, be-jeweled little bitch?! Oh, but you'll run around plucking souls up willy-nilly and toss them into the crystal when YOU deem it good, but you're too haughty taughty high and mighty to fess up to it! Well fuck you, woman! FUCK YOU WITH A STICK!"

Rigwyn's face crumpled inquisitively at her words. Eyes dashing as if looking for reason, he kept his cover and waited to see what else the klyros might say. As time passed, he began to squint and stare as his crappy eyesight messed with his mind. His foul, yellow comati eyes were not designed to mesh with a diaboli's mind.

She hurled an empty drinking flask at the ground and it promptly bounced with a metallic clang. It would explain the slight hints of slurring and the way she wove as she paced, pointing a clawed finger at nothing and everything at once.  "Oh sure. Sure! Take it all. The family wasn't enough, you've gotta just take it all. You and the rest of your bloody kind. What is it, what, some kind of game with you? Are you sitting incorporeal with your little voodoo doll and just cutting off all the limbs, slicing off all the strings, waiting to see how much more I can take?!"

She flung her hands out. "Well BRING IT ON, BITCH! C'mon, hit me with your best shot! Right here!"

Rigwyn's hands balled into fists at the all too familiar sound of her shrieking voice. Neck pulsing with rage, he stared intently at the woman as one and only one name exploded in his mind - Evirea! He couldn't help but to think, That rotten bitch! If only I had my sword or my glyphs! Waiting as if searching for an opportunity better than what the present had afforded, he dashed into the Library with his hands splayed and fingers bent as if about to grab her by the throat!

Hearing Rigwyn approach, she spun around with eyes blurred from the effects of strong liquor. With her throat in his clutched hand, she raised her hands to wrap them around his wrists, her feet kicking out in futility. Her eyes were wide and white in shock at seeing the Diaboli, and then her brow furrowed down as she snarled out loud.

"Rigwyn!"

An unintelligible, primordial scream flew from his lips as he slammed the klyros into the book shelf, sending down a shower of books and dust in both directions and causing the gigantic shelving structure to rock and teeter as if about to fall and collapse. "You god-damn traitor! After all I did for you, you horrible, immoral winged daemon! I'll tear every scrap of flesh off you and make you eat it after I bathe this stupid library in your bile and blood!"

A tall figure clothed in an ankle length robe with a filthy white shirt and frock beneath shouted from behind the shelves. With his tall, knobby staff strangled in his fist, he slammed it onto the floor, sending a shock wave and thunderous din though the small room.

"NOT IN MY STUDY! YOU SHALL NOT DISRESPECT THIS PLACE OF ENLIGHTENMENT!"

With a flash of violet light, the two were instantly banished from the study and transported to somewhere far away.

Evirea squeezed her hands more tightly around Rigwyn's wrists, curling her claws in an attempt to gauge him as she attempted to ram her black, sharp claws up towards the man's genitals, hard. She was choking, unable to offer any rebuttal to the man's accusations, adrenaline clearing her mind of some of the effects of the liquor.

Her grip sent an instinctive fright up his spine. In a sudden panic, Rigwyn raised his head and smashed it into the woman's nose, weakening her grip and the threat of her reptilian claws. She nose gushed with blood as her eyes rolled dangerously in er head, effectively knocking her out cold.

Holding her limp frame, her head slumped back, exposing her frail and scaly neck, the sight of which distracted him from the oddly paved floor beneath them. A spiral of cobblestones radiated outwards - forming a giant circle surrounded with a stream of unfamiliar letters or glyphs. In the distance, a giant doorway the width and height of a small house towered up and out of sight. It was made of dark wood and reinforced with thick wrought iron straps dotted with huge worn rivets and spikes.

The sound of muted laughter arose in the distance. Hushed whispers and cackles arose from every direction hisses and whispers were exchanged until finally, silence returned. Pairs and trios of beaded, glimmering eyes shone in the dimmest of light while a waft of rotten flesh and blood blew in.

And there was his enemy's throat, so tender and green, just waiting to be torn, twisted and snapped. Her warm head and chin fit snugly in his bare hands, her eyes to dreary and and now pointed at him. He could smell if not taste the very scent of fear as eased from her pores. He screamed, "I should snap your neck, you foul little back stabber!", only to hear a rising cheer in the background. A harmonious chant began to rise.

"She is worthy! Offer her! Offer her! Dakkru will be pleased!"

An apathy stronger than even the horror replaced her fear. It was one born by a certain brokenness, as though something inside had been shut down. Not even the chanting seems to succeed in riling her back to action. She murmured in response, her words barely clipped out past lips glazed with her own blood, "Knock yourself out."

Rigwyn dug his fingers into her cheeks and temples. The veins in his neck and forehead pulsed and raged as he slowly twisted her head to the side. He waited in silence as seconds, then minutes passed by. Seeing her surrender or perhaps a loss of will, he let go of her head, then sets his eyes into the distances as if looking for something that didn't exist.

The voices cried, "THE GODDESS WAITS FOR HER SACRIFICE! KILL HER! KILL HER NOW!"

Evirea's head falled form his grip. It stayed there, resting in her arm as she tried to catch her breath. Her neck poped softly and the tendons ground quietly against one another as she raised it upwards, filling her lungs. But even as the chanting for her blood spilt continued, and even as she regained her senses, her eyes tracked the designs and emblems sitting on the floor. She hissed in a whisper, "Rigwyn. Rigwyn don't. This is some kind of a trap, Rigwyn." Her claws scuttled across the designs, but being one unversed in particular magicks, she was unable to really make anything of them. She seemed...oddly unafraid of the Diaboli, despite his violent behavior.

A torrent of whispers erupted along with a few decipherable words like "coward" and "disgrace". One figure stood and shouted with blood curdling passion, "She awaits her sacrifice! Do it or we will!"

Distracted by the strange lettering, Rigwyn let go. He traced the thick iron letters with his fingers, but could not decipher a single one. The clusters and letters crafted from thick, black iron slowly began to glow red - casting a dull, ambient hew upon and around them. In the distance, great machines lined with sprockets and chains could be seen. Upon them, stretched and broken skeletal rermains dangled from huge, cruel manacles on chains. He whispered under his breath, "This is not how I.... we better go!"

Evirea stumbled to her feet, and reached out for the Diaboli having noticed that he had something wrong with his sight. "C'mon!" She cried, swiping her opposite palm over her own vision to clear away lingering traces of blood. She looked about frantically, trying to pull the Diaboli away from the circle and the designs etched so painstakingly and forebodingly into the ground. Anxiety is nearly palpable as she observes all of the onlookers.

Grasping her cold, scaly hand, they ran as quickly their feet and legs will take them. As they blindly dash into dark without much direction, a gigantic column of fire burst upwards from the center of the circle with a deafening roar. The brilliant orange and yellow light illuminated the gigantic city below - revealing tremendous stone statues of horned Enkidukai with stretched and oversized nostrils, and eyes that shimmered in the fiery glow.

"I WILL CLEANSE YOU WITH FIRE ! THERE WILL BE NO SMOKE OR ASH WHEN I AM DONE!"

Evirea looked about frantically as the fire rose, her breath came in heaving pants, but she seemed determined. As they raced, her feet begin to pound the ground, in a way that seemed magically enhanced, harder. It sent ripples in either direction, and slowly, small walls of stone pulled up around the racing pair, not enough to stave off such flames for long.

With their backs blistering from approaching heat and lungs frozen as they gasped for breath, they saw ahead of them, an orange glow that flashed and wobbled like a pond, but it stood up and down, on it's side. It was like a shimmering mirror but made of liquid metal. Beneath it, another spiral of stone and glyph-like letters made of thick, blackened iron sat. Behind and beside them, an angry crowd following with jagged femur-like bones and maces in hand.

Evirea pulled up just as she reached the doorway. A portal, surely, of some sort. But knowing where it lead was another matter entirely. There was something almost manic about her as she said, "Hah, well, it's now or never!" She cast a glance over her shoulder at the barbaric masses rushing towards them, seconds away on their heels. "GO!" She shrieked, and clutching Rigwyn's hand tightly, she moved to wrench them both through that molten pool.

Rigwyn's hand wrapped around her's tightly as they approached the gigantic portal. From it, small beads of cold, liquid metal splashed and split upon the floor. As he entered the portal, he proclaimed out loud, "With the kiss of fire, quicksilver shall pour from your heart... and poison the light!" Grasping Evirea's hand as the fiery torrent twisted and blared towards them, he shouted as he leaped in, "POISON THE LIGHT!"

Evirea felt her bones grind together, small and delicate as they were, beneath the scaly flesh of her hand. But she did not lessen her grip on the Diaboli's meatier fingers. At his shouting, she flinched, her eyes widening, orange instead of white, reflecting that glow, dotted by the strange fluid. She spluttered as it splashed her face, soaked into her skin, and touched the flesh below. But as she fell into the light she clung still, disoriented and semi-delirious, praying to gods she did not worship that they'd come out some other side somewhere alive.

[Rigwyn]

A Fine Line Between Monsters and Heroes

A rush of cool air could be felt as they passed from quicksilver to air. It grew like a mild gust of wind as a sudden glow of muted light filled Rigwyn's eyes. Below, a cruel stone floor raced up towards them with jarring thump and set of painful groans as a shower of quicksilver beads bounced and split about them. Looking up, the silvery pool shrunk and faded away.

The two were left puzzled and with a lack of words, each wondering if their experience was real or just some sort of sick trick.  They quickly ruled out drugs as they would have had recollections that differed, leaving azure magic and reality as the only to options, the latter seeming more likely.

As Evirea spoke, she showed sympathy, and possibly gratitude along with a hint of curiosity. Her touch was strangely soothing, and warm despite her cool skin, but it made the diaboli defensive and distant and prompted him to yank his hand away.

His mind raced as he thought of what had transpired. That choir of Dakkruists who chanted and demanded the death of her in offering to their goddess. The very thought of giving that terrible shrew an offering made him sick and tremble with fear. What would the great and powerful Whisper think if he was watching? Would he think him a traitor to the Flame? Would Dakkru look closer at him and see the stain of defiance in his soul? Would she smell the stench of tyranny that he bore?

As he flashed back to that moment, he could see Evirea in his arms again, her frail neck exposed and waiting to be slit. It was only a week or two ago that he had proclaimed to be a devout Dakkruist before her and his accusers. Would she see this inconsistency and ask herself why?

Troubled at the thought, he snapped, pushing her away with a quick accusation and a show of arrogance. They argued about morals and the right to one's will. She argued the need to adhere to laws and justice that served all, while he claimed to follow the law of his own will, and his will alone. He plead his case shamelessly, exposing the source of his warped desires and his brokenness in mind and heart, knowing full well that she would despise him as he sometimes did himself -hoping she would remain focused on just that, and that alone.

As she left, frustrated and perhaps pitying him for his brokenness, he held his breath and bit his tongue - hoping, if not praying that his conversational diversion had worked.

She was right in so many ways. Her insight cut through his foggy quagmire of emotional scars and self fulfilling lies, but that part of his heart and mind that should have blistered and burned from the light of truth did not so much as quiver or ache. That part had been numb since he was drowned as a child. The conscience, that tiny sliver of humanity that separates monsters from heroes had died long ago.

[Mariana Xiechai]

[Wonderful writeup Rigster. The facets of your character never fail to impress me.]

[Rigwyn]

[ Thanks, Mari! That was fun. Hopefully we'll see some more of your characters in the near fture. Its always a pleasure to rp with someone as clever and innovative as you! )

[Rigwyn]

The Mistresses of Enlightenment

He sat upon the old stone floor surrounded by tiny beads and globs of quicksilver that joined and bounced, forming larger blobs as he pushed them together with his fingers until he had a fist sized ball. The strange, reflective liquid spilled and bounced when dropped. It seemed harmless, even useless at that

"With the kiss of fire, quicksilver shall pour from your heart..."

No matter how many times he repeated that phrase, It still made no sense. -This? This will pour from my heart .. perhaps as I've seen it in dreams?  He shook his head in frustration as he tossed a blob at the wall on the other side of the room.  -I don't get it.

He mumbled to himself in thought,  "...and poison the light.  Wasn't this supposed to have happened already? When we were chased and damn near scorched with fire?  What is this nonsense!?"

Having given up for the moment, he took his coin pouch and dumped it on the floor - keeping only the circles, which he had room for in his nearly empty glyph sack. He then filled the pouch with the strange liquid metal. Pulling the drawstring shut, he hooked it to his belt and wandered off into the dark in search for a safe place to sleep once again.

As his senses escaped once more and the dawn of dreams returned, the sound of feminine giggling and whispering filled his ears. A smile grew upon his face as his slit-like eyes fell shut and orbs beneath began to rock and shift.

The scent burnt of falka and incense flooded his nose and the deep, quiet roar of flame rose with an occasional crackle and snap. Feeling it's heat, he opened his eyes to see the warm, orange glow emanating from two iron braziers and casting color upon the Black Flame temple walls. Between them was a sight that made him gawk and stare.

Two dwarven women with heads shaven as smooth as eggs sat before him, bare legs crossed at the knee with pointed black shoes. Their eyes glimmered like black glass beads as they stared at him silently. Around their necks were thick, black iron collars, and from those collars hung chains strong enough to restrain a maulbernaut. They were bolted to the walls. Their clothing consisted of thin leather strips, black as the hate in their hearts.

He began to climb to his feet, feeling disempowered and weak as he laid on the floor beneath the points of their shoes like worthless slave at its master's feet.

"DOWN!"

Their voices were like a clap of thunder, but louder, and when they spoke, his body was thrown to the wall with an agonizing crack of his head. The sensation of unnatural warmth rushed from the back of his skull as a sharp pain formed in the front. He waited in agony as his body, suspended from the ground remained pinned to the wall, then slid down and fell without warning.

"Stupid man!", the one on the left huffed as the other giggled and laughed. Her sparkling eyes explored the diaboli as if gleefully looking for something to snap or break.  The one of the left looked back and snapped once more.

"YOU WILL POISON THE LIGHT!"

Her voice was steep in magical terror, the kind that made one quiver from the inside out, vomit, and shake. Despite his mastery in the darkest ways, the terror inflicted was far beyond his grasp. Feeling his hair stand on edge, smelling his own fear steeped sweat as it poured from his back, he shouted back.

"What does that mean! How can I poison the light!?"

"SILENCE!"

He could feel his throat constrict with those words, his neck thickened as he strained to breath, but his airway was clogged and his head felt light. The panicked feeling of suffocation took hold. His arms raced and grasped at his own throat as if feeling for something to pry, but nothing was there. Eyes bulging, he looked to them for mercy, but only got mocked instead.

The woman on the right smiled, as she gazed over the tip of her shoe at the diaboli, then chimed with a cocky, smart-ass kind of tone. "Poison the light, Rigwyn." She watched him with an amused smile on her lips and glimmer in her eyes as if waiting for him to catch on, but she knew damn well that he had no clue.

He knew just what that smile meant, she was enjoying his state of confusion. She was waiting for him to expose his hand and admit to not knowing what she meant.  -What a dastardly game, these priestesses play.

As if reading his mind, the one on the left rolled her eyes and shook her head  in disgust. With a condescending huff, she hissed at him like a wretched mother to its small, neglected whelp, "What a stupid man you are... Cheat if you must!"

With those words, the image faded slowly and the stench of Dakkru's realm returned. He could feel a sharp, gnawing ache in his side, a cutting, pinching, tugging and tearing!  Jarred and shocked he shouted and leaped to his feet as a bloody wrath rat screeched and scurried round his feet with a piece of his flesh dangling from its filthy little mouth. Kicking it away, he mumbled mindlessly.

"Poison the light.... whatever that might means."

[bloodedIrishman]

From Darkness And Danger, Opportunity Strikes

Kull approached the sewer entrance behind Kada-el's Tavern. With each step, the darkness grew. Still, weak torches kept normal visibility sufficient. He brought his own in case his contact needed it. Nevertheless, the Akkaio was blessed by the Gods with perfect eyesight, even in darkness. Kull walked onward, down a ladder, and deeper into the sewers. The drip of dirty water and skittering of rats formed a background of noise. As the Akkaio rounded a corner, he heard the creak of plate. He quickly put out his torch and drew weapons; his right paw held a favored long-dagger, the left a short-sword.  The sewers grew darker now. Kull used this to his advantage and speedily made his way down another descending set of stairs. He rounded the next bend.

The stalker's movements were quiet; but Kull heard the enemy coming closer, and his ears perked up. Was I betrayed? I will have answers. He grabbed the torch fixed on the stone wall, and threw it into a pool of water and excrement. It went out, and the sewers fell into darkness. Silence ensued on part of the pursuer. The drip of dirty water and the scurrying of rats continued. Tense seconds passed. Kull gripped his weapons and peered around the corner. He saw a pair of plate boots on the ground, and a Diaboli, or perhaps Ynwwn, retreating up the stairs.

Capitalizing on the instinct to hunt, Kull dashed around the corner after the Diaboli. He pressed his natural advantage, and moved as fast as possible. They reached the entrance to the sewers, but Rigwyn rushed on through a hole in some rusted bars. Kull jumped through, and they both ran down another set of stairs parallel to a weak river of water and excrement. He threw a dagger, aiming for the middle of Rigwyn's back. It missed the original target, but managed to cut the Diaboli's arm. With a sense of anger at his failure, Kull drew his backup from a boot and continued on. This bastard will pay.

As Kull rounded another corner, he recognize the stalker in full view. A tall Diaboli was poised to strike, long-sword in hand. He wore armor, but most striking of all were his bulging, yellow, strained eyes. They had the likeness of a Cormati. It was Rigwyn, and the madman's eyesight had returned: by what manner, Kull did not know.

Rigwyn stepped forward on his right foot and struck down diagonally with the blade, aiming to cut through Kull's collar bone. The Akkaio brought his short-sword up just in time to stop the attack. The blades scraped on each other, making a screeching noise. Kull stepped backward while keeping the taller and stronger man's attack at bay. Then, in an instant, he was free. The blades scraped off each other one last time in a downward arc.

Rigwyn followed through with the swing, raising it back up to his left. Then he shouted, at the top of his lungs, "Who are you?!".

Kull spoke in a low growl. He said, "Rigwyn Setson, we meet again. I thought you were an assassin. But you don't know me. Thus I wonder, why follow me with weapons drawn? Or has your behavior lost all reason or cause since Stashka freed you?"

Rigwyn's yellow eyes throbbed and bulged. He teetered on the edge of lashing out once more. The Diaboli's face began to contort, as if hearing something, or perhaps as a man in deep consideration. He slowly lowered his sword. Then he said, "How do you know that? No one else was there!"

Kull maintained a defensive stance, wary of another attack. He spoke in a steady voice, "I am Phanterol. It is my business to know what goes on in this city."

Rigwyn said, "Phanterol... the menki who wanted to pick me clean in exchange for my freedom." He looked Kull over once more before saying, "Again I ask: how did you know Stashka freed me?"

Kull chuckled. "You know, I regret not accepting your offer. We could have been good...friends." The Akkaio paused before saying, "A prisoner in the jail. An arrival, possibly a friend. The guards arrive. Blood on the ground. No signs of struggle or escape. Then, news of men fitting the descriptions of Rigwyn Setson and Stashka the Berserker in the Realm of Death. Two and two, as they say..."

"Do you think I really care what the guards think at this point? I'm dead if they ever get a hold of me."

Kull stood up slowly. He kept his weapons out, however. The Akkaio said, "I run the Syndicate in Hydlaa. We can aid you, Rigwyn. Help hide you from the guards; perhaps, help you destroy your enemies. I apologize for leaving you at the prison. I was too greedy. But we can still cooperate and profit."

Rigwyn watched Kull silently, not giving facial queues. He wandered to the side as he inquired, "And why would you want a partnership with me? Are you looking for tria to fleece? "

"I have tria, though I always want more. No, perhaps we can exchange services, Rigwyn."

Rigwyn sheathed his sword. "I could do that." He continued, "I have need...for glyphs, and revenge...in the worst of ways."

Kull put away his short-sword, but kept the dagger in his right paw. He said, "We are in accord."

Rigwyn fondled the weakness glyph in his hand and eyed Kull. He asked, "What about the tria I already gave you? I told you where to find a fat sack. As far as I'm concerned, it's as good as lost."

Kull shook his head. "Though we may be criminals, I hold to a code of honor, twisted though to some it may seem. I did not take the money from your friend near the Banished Camp, Rigwyn. It likely remains there."

"Show me something that interests me, and maybe I'll play along. So far of all the people I've sought for the return of my glyphs - or someone else's glyphs, not one has delivered. People are terribly unreliable these days."

"The Syndicate is powerful. We will find glyphs for you. Tell me what I need to know, Rigwyn."

Rigwyn said, "A service for a service." He spoke of a list of items he needed. Then he said, "Do this, and I'll take anyone of your choosing, and fill them with terror far beyond anything they'v experienced before. I'll will drive them to the point of insanity, or cause them to slit their own throat in order to end the terror."

Kull inclined his head. "A fair trade, Rigwyn. The deal is struck."

Rigwyn's cheek tugged and twitched. A grin began to spread across his face. He stuffed the glyph into his sack, and extended his three fingered hand to Kull. He said, "Bandit's honor?"

Kull sheathed his dagger. He stepped forward and took Rigwyn's hand in his own paw. "On my honor, and yours. Once this is done, our relationship can flourish. May you profit and terrify your enemies."

"And may you cripple Ojaveda with your addictive concoctions."