[RP] Brimstone and Fire

[Rigwyn]

Deja Vu

Over the days, Rigwyn sought to learn more about this Syndicate of which Phanterol spoke. In his search for Moon Silver, he had stumbled upon a quirky looking Ynnwn beside the fireplace at Kada El's who referred to himself only as "Swift". He was well spoken, but somewhat odd, constantly stopping mid sentence and writing things in his strange little book. The book was perhaps as odd as him as it had a sort of aura of its own, an energy or vibe. As the conversation dragged on, it became known that he was the man who was with Phanterol when they visited him in jail.

It was this book, his cane, and overall appearance that led Rigwyn to open up somewhat and tip his hand. They spoke of their knowledge magic, and the state of Hydlaa's undergound network - though he wasn't very forthcoming about the later. Seeing some potential in this unusual man, he made him an offer to consider - one that he would hopefully care to entertain when he returned.


On the advice of a fellow member of the flame, he traveled to the desert city of Ojaveda to meet with an alchemist for consultation and assistance in deciphering his dreams. Bamly was a tall, solid Ylian with a thin, black choker style chain around his neck. He was balding a bit, but sharp as a tack. He lived in a stone house, just around the corner from Jirosh's shop and to all appearances, he was just another average looking, hard working alchemist. He was pleasant to speak to, friendly and cordial.

In the privacy of his home, they sat face to face. Rigwyn described his visions and dreams in as much detail as he could recall. He was careful to describe the faces and objects that he saw, the pain and suffering he endured, and the prophetic warnings received - the validity of which, he questioned.  Upon dumping every memory he could recall, Rigwyn asked, "What do these visions mean? What is this brimstone and quicksilver for? How does a person poison the light?"

Bamly reclined in his chair, chucking at the Diaboli's confusion. His brown eyes glimmered like polished beads as they caught the light from the aromatic falka lamp beside them. Crossing one leg over the other, he spoke in a matter of fact sort of tone as he pointed the tip of his black boot towards him.

"What does it mean, Rigywn?"

Rigwyn froze. The whole scene was discordantly familiar, but he had never seen this man before, nor had he ever conversed with an alchemist or man of science. Uncomfortable, he snapped with a sudden flash of anger.

"Idiot! Why do you think I came to see you? I'm asking YOU what it means!"

Unphased, the man bobbed the foot of his crossed leg in the air as he studied the confused Diaboli. Rolling his eyes in the back of his head, he replied "For now, just ... decide what these symbols mean. Pick any meaning."

Flustered, Rigwyn shot back, "But ... wait. I can't just make up what these things mean? That's cheating? What kind of head-game nonsense is this? I can't just assign any meaning to these visions I need to know what they mean!"

"The symbols are coming from YOUR head, not mine. What they mean to you is what matters, not what they mean to me. So shut up and do what I say. In silence, meditate and decide what each of these symbols mean to you: quicksilver, brimstone, fire, light, and poison. Write them down so you don't forget."
 
Silence followed as Rigwyn sat in a stupor. He gazed at the wall thoughtfully as Bamly smiled and watched as if mildly entertained by his confusion and loss for answers.

"Fire changes things", Rigwyn said - his tone more questioning than asserting.

"Very good. Now how does it feel?"

"Its.. hot, destructive, if feels like rage, resentment, anger, revenge."

"Our master knows that you perceive these words this way. He knows all the emtion and history that these images invoke in you. That his why he used them."

"But I can't poison the light!? I'm not even moderately skilled in crystal way. How am I supposed to poison the crystal?""

"Who ever said you were to poison THAT light?"

Now tired of tying to make sense of his loopy logic, he replied once more, "If it's not the crystal, then what is the point in this? I really don't see how this will benefit our cause."

"We don't question, Rigwyn. We just do."

Uncrossing his leg, Bamly stood up and walked to the door - placing his hand on the latch. With a quick clack, the lock clicked and the door swung open a crack.

"I think you have quite a bit to think about, Rigwyn. I don't think you need my assistance anymore, you seem to be on the right path."

With that, the Diaboli left the old, dusty city on his drifter in search of a place to ponder and reflect. There was much meat to tear apart and chew on. With new meaning and possibilities, he muttered to himself absentmindedly.

"With the kiss of fire, quicksilver shall pour from your heart, and you shall poison the light."

[bloodedIrishman]

[Dear Rigwyn,

I hope you find -meaning- in life. I did not think you needed counseling, but then, I have always been too manly for such matters.

Sincerely,

Phanterol

P.S. The writing is solid. I'm always interested to see how Rigmeister develops.]

[Rigwyn]

[ Thanks, man. As for meaning in life, Rigwyn *does* have his reasons, and from his perspective, what he is doing makes perfect sense! ]

[Rigwyn]

And the Light turned to Poison

Sanguine fingers wrapped around Cepht's reins as the Diaboli leaned forward and whispered for the drifter speed away. They left a trail in the air that stunk of rusted copper as the blood of a fresh Maulber Lord's heart trickled in his sack. His own heart was pounding with fear and exhilaration as he fled the angry mob of untamed beasts – each one growling louder than the next as their feet shook the ground, and their hook-like fists swung though the air.  The kill was well earned and quite necessary having acquired  some more insight into his dreams.

A week had passed since he had sewn the heart's arteries shut with a steel needle and the hairs of a Rivnak's tail. He kept it beneath his shirt and against his warm chest as his own heart pumped and thumped beneath it. With that rotting heart against his flesh, he sought out Evirea, stalking her by day and haunting her by night. He left her letters and notes, voicing his need to open up and let someone in. He left her little beads of quicksilver as a reminder of where they had been and what he had not done.

It took convincing, but Evirea took the hook, trusting him  - perhaps hoping that there was a shred of humanity in him, a sliver of something worth saving? Perhaps it was just a case of curiousity, they type that's been known to kill the cat. Either way, she followed him into the sewers that he might bear his soul.

They trekked though the filthy tunnels beneath Hydlaa. Much like that dark pool in the base of the mind from which ideas emerge, the underground tunnels were full of life, but unseen. There were things ticking in there, but obscured from view. He had told her that he wished to tap into the unknown corners of his own mind; to find out what made him kill and steal, that only she would be smart enough to see though his mental cloudiness, to spot the forms beneath the matter, the very dancers that cast the shadows upon the fire lit walls.

Unbeknownst to them, they had been followed by two elven women, one Dermorian and the other, Nolthrir. His plans would have been utterly foiled if it were not for the sudden flash and disappearance of the room they were in. For one moment, they were in one room, and in the blink of an eye, they were somewhere else.  It was utterly confusing for them, but more so for Dannae and Sarras who saw them vanish without a trace – erasing their progress.

Now occulted from the view of spying eyes, he beckoned her to let him cast a spell that she might understand his madness. He reassured her that it was just a minor spell of fear, nothing that would hurt her. He waited for her to nod and give consent, then turned his back to stand several steps above.

A waft of foul smoke leaped from the glyph and snaked towards her, crawling into her flesh, up her arms and legs. She begins to tremble violently, her teeth chattering in her jaw as she stumbled sideways, leaning against the wall.

"Oh gods," she rasped, "This was such a bad idea."

Rigwyn hissed angrily, "This is what it feels like when daddy comes home. When mother drops the scrub brush into the bucket. It's the feeling that happens before he strikes her on the face, before he instructs her to start beating me." Glaring at Evirea, he chanted again, intensifying the power of his spell, raising the level of fear and terror in her soul.

Evirea sliped down the wall, her hand leaving a strangely clear path behind as her palm scraped off the grit and grim. She let out a wail, soft at first, but it grew steadily louder, not unlike the sound a frightened child might make, hiding somewhere in a cupboard where the hitting and the shouting cannot reach.

Rigwyn raised his voice as he stepped closer. Streams of blackened smoke billowed from his hands and broke off, forming putrid clouds that resemble daemons and grendols. "This is what it feels like when the lights go out! When sight is removed, and you can only imagine where the next blow will come from. When your mother is screaming and wailing in the darkness. When you feel more than one person beating on you at a time, and you know damn well that mother is one of them!"

Evirea cringed away from Rigwyn, from the smoke, and from the booming of his voice. She whimpered, and then screamed through gritted teeth, scooting herself along the wall and thumping backwards along the stairs, one wing folded over herself as though to form a shield from phantom blows. She was muttering something. It was the same words, over and over again, but it was difficult to hear precisely what those words might be.

Rigwyn dug his fist into his sack and removed all three glyphs, Entropy, Fear and Shadow. He shouted at the top of his lungs.

"And now even more frightening! When the shadows that hide in the darkness come to life. You scream and wail in the dark, wanting not to see such things! You purse your eyes shut in terror, knowing that they are watching you, crouching over your head, and preparing to strike!" Raising his hands again, he cast another spell, bringing Evirea's shadow and his own to life. Angrily they swirled around her!

Evirea ducked her head at the shouting from the diaboli, covering it protectively with her clawed hands. Finally, whatever she's been muttering to herself over and over again makes it out as a scream, a sort of desperate shout. But oddly, it is no plea for mercy or begging for the man to stop. As she curls into a fetal position on the floor, the dark shadows whirling furiously around her and tearing at her clothing with a near-deafening howl, it is these words that she casts into the wind until she's breathless: "I'm sorry Rigwyn! I'm sorry! I'm sorry Rigwyn! I'm so sorry!"

With the room now darkened with an abundance of thick, sulphuric smoke, Rigwyn removed one more glyph, a red one. Holding it firmly, his whispered a chain of words which caused the glyph to glow, and his body to be surrounded by a wall of fire. As the flame burned, it illuminated the shadows, increasing their contrast, stretching and distorting them as the flames flickered and she shadows moved.

Evirea curled up tighter, clenching her eyes shut as her words once again dissolve into nothing but a pitious wailing. And no matter how tightly she clenches her eyes shut, she can still see the red contrast and can feel the assault of the shadows, cold tendrils digging towards her skin greedily. The femros' tears stream down her face as she cradles her head in futility in her arms, her wings wrapped around her prone form.

From beneath his shirt, Rigwyn removed the huge, rotting maulbernaut heart. He held it up before her as quicksilver dripped from the sewn arteries and onto the floor. "Behold the terror of light! In darkness you cannot see the terrors that lurk within. In light, you can! Light is the enemy, Evirea! Do you want me to snuff out the light?! Drink from my heart, Evirea, and I'll poison this terrible light!"

Evirea could not uncurl enough from her form to take the heart from Rigwyn, too terrified to even move, tetanic in her state, still-wailing. But as he held the offering over her, some of it dripped into her wide-open mouth, slithering insidiously down her tongue and into her throat.

In the distance, Sarras crouched at the edge of the stairs, her fingers gripping her rusty baluster.

With passion, Rigwyn squeezed the Maulber heart, holding it close to his own as the silvery liquid squirt out. With a sense of exhaltation, he shouted.

"With a kiss of fire, quicksilver shall flow from my heart! AND I SHALL POISON THE LIGHT!"

Sarras twisted to see Dannae over her shoulder. Sarras's face betrayed confusion and helplessness.

Evirea began to convulse violently as the toxicity of the mercy ravaged her internally. Bloody foam started to fleck from her mouth, though the process seemed to be a slow, grueling one, because of the minimal amount she inadvertently consumed. Her eyes bulged in the whole new state of fear: panic of dying.

Rigwyn's eyes lit up like those of a pyromaniac watching a barn fire. Moving closer, he kneeled before her, and wrapped his hands around her throat. He stared into her eyes, as Sarras unsheathed the longsword from her back and approached, carefully trying to not make a sound.

Evirea's body convulsed rather violently, her eyes wide and terrified as she feelt the visceral, deep-seated ache of an inner burning. Her eyes gave no hint of Sarras' approach, nor did she have the capacity to flick or try to pull away as Rigwyn pressed his fingers against her flesh.

Sarras held her longsword in both hands, the tip hovering between her and Rigwyn's form. She took the first step down the flight of stairs and into the darkness.

Holding Evirea's cool, scaly neck once more he couldn't help savoring the moment, watching, taking in the intensity of it all. Feeling a pulse in her throat, he tightened his grip, pressing her flesh beneath his finger tips as a sadistic smile stretched across his face. Unaware of Sarras, he hissed loudly, "And this is what its like when mother takes the last of your breath away. Mommy loves you, Evirea. Mommy loves you this much!"

Evirea's claws flew up in futility to Rigwyn's forearms, and her eyes rolled dangerously in her head as the diaboli pressed down upon her windpipe. Her breath began to wheeze out, desperate attempts to bring air into her starved lungs, as the man savored in strangling her to death.

Sarras suddenly stepped down and thrust her sword between them. The blade shot in line with Rigwyn's neck, but only with enough force to graze his skin lightly.

Rigwyn looked at Sarras as if terrified, but still holding Evirea's neck. With a quick smile he shouted.

"And now you will know what its like when daddy watched mommy kill the kid! Stop me daddy! "

Suddenly, Rigwyn's eyes widen, and his arms flex as he dig his fingers into Evirea's neck with full force.
 With a popping sound, her windpipe was crushed beneath his hands. Her convulsions ceased. Soon, red capillaries appeared at the base of her eyes.

And then she died. Her head fell back limply as her last breath whistled out from a decimated throat.
Her body softened in his hands and arms. She was like a scarf or a rope, laying there effortlessly, without rigidity or resistance, without breath or life.  Then she was gone.

[Mariana Xiechai]

Reflections

Twice Rigwyn had held her life in his hands and let her go. Third time was supposed to be a charm, really. And it was, just not exactly in the way she'd been anticipating. She'd never really been a fan of being strangled to death. In fact she couldn't remember having been strangled to death before, but it was definitely going at the top of her list of most unpleasant ways to die. And the insurance she'd brought: lovely needles coated in sedative, a dagger in her boot, a glyph pouch just in case she needed to launch a cobblestone at his head. These things had all been pretty much rendered null the moment she'd stupidly let him cast a spell on her.

Evirea kicked a rock aggressively with her foot, watching it skitter down a path and careen over the side into the abyss below. Walking precariously close to the edge, she peered down, squinting into the dank, frightening depths as if trying to make something out. An impossibility, really. But she could hear soft shuffling and scraping, and pulled away instantly, not wanting to have her face ripped off by an errant Carakas.

For some people, doing the right thing was easy. Beat the baddy, shoot some crystal, bada boom bada bing, you're done. At one point in her life, what seemed eons ago now, she'd thought similarly. And she supposed in certain situations she was still a lawful hard-nose. But now, when she thought she saw that glimmer of hope, that shred of lingering humanity, that hesitation to bring down the axe upon the victim, now she couldn't resist it anymore. She'd seen the other side of the coin; called more than one reconciled convict a friend. People could change. And she knew that if she brought about the destruction of such a person, her guilt would never allow her sleep at night.

It was this stupid drive that had let her follow Rigwyn into the tunnels. The reeking tunnels full of dung and angry rogues and detestable shadows. It wasn't a power trip, it wasn't that she wanted to be able to run around parading the diaboli and bragging about how she had converted him back to sanity. It was because she'd skirted so close to mania herself, so close to the black, bitter hopelessness that consumed the mind. She was certain this hopelessness was the breaking point for many of them. That it sucked out their emotions, their conscience. When one felt nothing, one really had no way to know what was right and what was wrong.

But she could not save Rigwyn. He'd been broken long before she'd ever even met him, broken by too many beatings, broken by people who were supposed to have given him love. And in all of the tragedies she'd faced, she knew she was unspeakably lucky for that. She had been loved. Was loved still, by some, even if the hatred others bore for her was like brimstone and molten lava. What would it be like, to have no one? What would it be like to be despised, glared at and taunted from every angle, when the leering faces turned irrevocably into the abusers from his sordid past? It would drive anyone mad. It certainly would her.

Feeling hot tears on her face, she raised her arm to her face and wiped her sleeve roughly across. Even now she felt for the man. He'd practically snapped her neck, but she still felt. Not enough to trust him again, no, certainly not enough to follow him anywhere. But when his time came, when inevitably someone went for him with revenge on their blade or drug him towards a crazed and blinded pterosaur, she would still feel this remorse. She knew that when others were cheering, she would weep.

Evirea slid hastily down an incline, kicking up dust. She banished the debris thoughtlessly, and it fell leaden to the ground behind her as she trudged forward, eyes fixed ahead. All she wanted was happiness. Not for herself, maybe that was beyond her now, she hadn't known it for a while. She just wanted to do right by those who had put their trust and their faith in her. She wanted to do right by those who had shown her care, and compassion. Those who had softened her from her rigid and callous ways over time. She still had bark, but her bite was gone. Though sometimes she wondered if this was such a good thing, she was at least in part grateful. It had opened many doors.

“I just want to know,” she whispered, pausing and staring down at the tops of her scaly feet. “I just want to know if I'm doing the right things. For all of them. With all of it. So many people ask me for my guidance. I want to help them. But I can't. I...” She uncurled her fingers and peered upwards, not really beseeching any particular entity, she would certainly never pray. “I want to know if I'm making the right choices, if I'm following the right path. I want to know that my decisions won't end in more corpses at my feet.”

The emptiness of the Realm howled back at her in the form of dank, rot-scented winds. No answer came, of course. She hadn't really expected one.

The klyros walked until her legs wanted to give out. Then she walked further, and they did, whether she wanted them to or not. Her wobbling knees bent and hit the dirt, and she crawled her way into a nearby hole in the wall, dragging herself up over the tiny ledge and curling, fetal and exhausted, within the sanctuary of the tiny shelter. Her head lolled to the side, and she had the mind to raise a protective section of stone over the opening, leaving a tiny crack. Light filtered down from it, streaking over her tattered tunic and face, leaving jagged lines of shadow.

She shuddered, and closed it off entirely.

[bloodedIrishman]

[Dope write ups. Evirea's masochistic selflessness and Rigwyn's insanity play out pretty well.]

[Rigwyn]

Seeing Red

Kneeling on the filthy, cobblestone floor beneath the city of Hydlaa, Rigwyn stared up at Sarras as if she was next. Feeling Evirea's body grow limp and her head lifelessly flopping to the side like a dead daisy, he let her neck go. The corpse fell to the floor with a light thump. There was no sign of life or movement, barring the reflection of torch light in her, hemorrhaging, slitted eyes.

Sarras's hair was damp with humidity, and her eyes were overly widened like a crazed sewer dweller. She looked startled as she drew back her blade, provoking a short lived smile on the Diaboli's face. It was promptly stomped off as she reared back and punted his head like ball. His whole body toppled back as he lost balance, landing him on his back with an putrid splash. He got half way up, crouched and daring to stand tall only to meet the point of her blade at his torso.

"Why did you kill her?!"

He slowly stood up and stepped back, careful not to provoke her, then stretched his arms out to the sides like a scare crow. Gazing at Sarras through his filthy, yellow eyes he tilted his head and chimed, "It came from deep down inside. The ME just did it, and I did NOT object. Perhaps you would like to see what I showed her, elf?"

Sarras tightened her grip about the sword, causing the tip of the blade to quiver. "What are you going on about?!"

Seeing the sword in her hands and the slender, Nolthrir woman with inky black hair, watching from behind a broken stairway in the distance, Rigwyn raised up a small, black, glyph. On the face of it was a distorted, fearful looking red skull. Fixing his gaze on Sarras's eyes, his face suddenly changed as if terribly disturbed.  From his lips, slipped the utterance of a powerful fear based spell and with that, a dark cloud spewed from the glyph, sputtering about until it reached her.

Sarras's breath sped up and grew shallow. She blinked several times, as if trying to get something out of her eyes. "Put it down! Stop!" Her voice was loud and fretful.

Ignoring her order, Rigwyn raised the glyph higher as the volume of filthy, putrid smoke grew thicker and darker. As the spell intensified, he taunted her while he cast his spell of fear. "They're coming to get you! They seep from the walls. They know what you're thinking! Can you hear them chattering, elf?"

Sarras's hands shook, intensifying the quivering of the tip of her blade. "Th... N... Stop it!" Panicking, Sarras lunged forward, the point of the blade aimed into Rigwyn's shoulder.

As she approached, Rigwyn flipped the glyph over his knuckles like a street magician manipulating a coin. Turning his hand, it dropped into his palm. He closed his fist around it, then opened his hand again, revealing two very different glyphs, an Entropy glyph, and a Shadow glyph. Closing his right fist around them as the point of her blade touched and depressed his shoulder, he pointed his finger between Danne and Sarras and whispered in a raspy tone, "Arise!".

Silently, the women's shadows detached from their feet and rose up high like undead soldiers. Their warped bodies were nothing more that twisted shadows, but their force was lethal and swift. As they arched and hunched with outstretched, twisted hands, Rigwyn screamed and stumbled backwards.

At the end of Sarras's sword, blood rushed from Rigwyn's shoulder. His foul eyes widened with surprise and shock as the blade slipped free. Futility holding his hand over the wound to stop the flow, he howled, then staggered towards the cage-like array of bars below to distance himself from her.

Sarras rushed forth and raised her blade in the air as Rigwyn instinctively raised his hand to block his face. With a swift arc and a downward thrust, she cleaved off his three fingered hand in one blow, while her shadow raised its fists to strike her from behind. Without warning, it shrunk and reattached to her feet as the spell wore off.

Dannae's shadow lingered longer, flitting its twisted, black fingers before her eyes. She hastened her footsteps in response as fright took hold. The shadow approached her from behind. She turns and backed away, falling to the ground, then scampering backwards like a crab. With her eyes wildly looking for anything that would make more sense, she gasped, "Wha..what's happening?"

Rigwyn wailed out loud as he raised his arm to stare at the wound. His yellow eyes shot open with astonishment and horror as a stream of blood shot from his wrist and drenched Sarras's face. Panicked, he flailed his arm wildly as blood pulsed and shot out. He saw Dannae's smooth, green flesh turn red with splatter, and weeping, crimson spots stretch and run down the walls. He grabbed his wrist with his other hand to stop the bleeding and flailing as his heart pounded in his chest, and "danger" flashed in his mind. Screaming in incoherent agony, he fell to his knees.

Wild-eyed, Sarras bounced forward and held her blade above to Rigwyn's collar as if about to end his misery.

Rigwyn's face reddened as he screamed, tinged drool dripping from his lips in a thin, clear bead, "The curses I'll bring down on your and your friends will be unbearable! You rabid, filthy piece of excrement! Go ahead, Kill me you piece of filth!"

Sarras's expression wavered between fierceness and shock, and suddenly her shoulders went slack as she pulls her blade back. "I'm sorry!" she shouted..

Rigwyn's forehead beaded with sweat that ran down his face like droplets of water on a rain splattered window. His arm, clenched in his fist was trembling and the pink meat of the exposed flesh is now coated with the same ruby glaze that oozed beneath his knees. Now more shocked than horrified at her cruel withdrawal, he shouted again, "Kill me! Kill me you piece of garbage!"

Sarras held the hilt of her sword to her ribs. "I didn't want to hurt you! You made me do it!"

Dannae's body, now backed against the fallen Diaboli was unable to flee further and her eyelids clenched tight awaiting pain or death from the shadow descending upon her. Suddenly, it dispersed on its own.

Rigwyn let go of his wist to reach for a weakness glyph with hope of leaching the two women and healing himself at their expense. As he let go, the arm streamed blood once again. He wailed as the pain increased, then quickly grabbed it once more. Stuck in his morbid predicament, he let go again and attempted to reach for his glyph at the risk of bleeding to death.

Seeing Rigwyn fumbling to open his glyph sack, Sarras threw her sword aside with a loud, metallic clatter as it hit the stairs and slid down. Hands free, she threw herself upon Rigwyn and grabbed his wrist, struggling to yank it away as Dannae opened her eyes and turned to see what was happening.

Rigwyn palmed the glyph and began to chant, but he could not focus.

With her full weigh on top of him, and knee on his wrist, Sarras grasped his horned head with her hands, holding it  to the ground.

He glared into her eyes as he tried once more to cast the spell.  Turning his head as he struggled beneath her, he strained to focus on the words to his spell. With his mind split in so many ways, the incantation of this simple spell had become a daunting task and it sputtered and failed each time.

Suddenly, Sarras's hand lit up with a faint azure glow. With her free hand, she held the uninjured arm in place as he bucked and rocked beneath her, trying to violently throw her off. As the azure glow brightened, his body slowed in reaction to her paralyzing spell. His body finally stopped, and eyes glazed over as if dead.

As Dannae managed to roll over to take in the struggle, she slipped her fingers about her waistband in search of a pouch. Finding it, she watched as Sarras's spell diffused in the air.

"Dannae," Sarras says, her voice strained as she pushes herself off the Diaboli. "You there, Dannae?"

She replied with a question. "Is... is he dead?" As she slipped a hidden object  back into the pouch attached to her waistband. Unbelievingly, she blinked at Sarras.

Sarras shook her head as she slowly stood.  "Help me carry him out of here."

"Huh.. what.. is he dead or not?" Dannae asks anxiously.

No!

No, Are you crazy!

Sarras swiped her sword off the ground. "What? We need to fix his hand, Dannae!"

Dannae stared at the diaboli without attempting to rise.

As Rigwyn laid upon the ground, he could see the filthy, stone ceiling above, and hear their words, but could not so much as shift his eyes.  In the distance, he heard the faint sound of rummaging rats scurrying about and splashing in the filthy water. Silent fear set in. - Oh damn them, They better not leave me here for the rats!

Sarras sheathed her longsword. "Dannae!"

Dannae's jaw dropped in amazement, "Did..didn't he just try to kill you an me both.. and what about Vire?"

Sarras took in a deep breath, and then let it out with her eyes closed. Opening them, she said to Dannae, very genuinely, "We need to keep him alive. Evirea would want that. Besides, she's down there, and he might go after her if we killed him... Please, Dannae."

Dannae rose to her knees, then looked at Sarras once more.

Sarras raised a blood-soaked eyebrow at Dannae.

Dannae frowned and grudgingly rose to her feet. "How do I let you get me into these things?"

"Dunno... We'll have to carry him together, since... We are..."  Sarras groaned, "Small people."

With a sigh, Dannae asked, "And what if he tries to do more of whatever that was?"

Sarras looked back down at the ground. On the floor, Rigwyn's three fingered sword-hand laid in the filth. In the exposed palm, several glyphs rest, waiting to be stolen once again.

Laying there helplessly at their mercy, his mind screamed as his face silently, and serenely stared up at the ceiling. He could hear the spiders and rats coming from every direction. The little noses breathing, their claws ticking and scratching on the cobblestone floor. He could feel his wrist bleeding and pulsing, throbbing with burning pain as Dannae and Sarras chatted ever so causally about what they would do next.

[Volki]

[ MY FACE HAIR? You saying I got a mustache?! I swear I didn't type that. xD ]

[Rigwyn]

Sarras's face hair was damp with humidity

Sorry about that. Fixed. 

[Dope write ups. Evirea's masochistic selflessness and Rigwyn's insanity play out pretty well.]

in·sane
inˈsān/
adjective
adjective: insane

    1.
    in a state of mind that prevents normal perception, behavior, or social interaction; seriously mentally ill.

I'm not sure I would call Rigwyn insane. From his perspective, everything he is doing makes perfect sense. Sure, his perception is different and this causes him to act differently, but we could say the same about politicians, artists, nerds developers and socialites. As for mental illness, I think that's subjective too. Shrinks tend to be a little nutty.

[Rigwyn]

Feed Me!

The torches crackled and flashed with autumn light, casting long, jittery shadows though the windy tubes and tunnels as two blood spattered women dragged an unconscious diaboli up the stairs and to the entrance. The guards held their noses and turned their heads as they passed by, hiding his severed arm from view as his head hung forward with his long, black hair covering his face. He could hear the clack and creek of a door, then feel the divider upon the floor as they dragged him trough the doorway of the Red Crystal Den. The aroma of wine and finger foods began to rouse his mind - conjuring memories of the days when he worked as a guard. As they dragged him beneath the balcony, he recalled the opening night, the songs and plays performed, the clinking of glasses, the murmer of random conversation, and the hurling of a heavy, glass beer mug from the balcony to the curvaceuos diaboli on stage. It was the first time he had met Semutara, a free, firey spirit with a habit of speaking her mind at the risk of being stomped on. Had it not been for Orgonwukh's intercessions, she might not have made it out alive. With some discussion, Dannae and Sarras dragged him down into the wine cellar and pressed him against a solid foundational beam. As Sarras began to tie him up, a flash of crystal light grew between a slender pair of Nolthrir hands. It had caught his eye in the worst of ways. He shreiked, "NO!" ordering her to stop. For he knew that crystal way did no good, its effects had ceased to heal him, and as of late, was doing far more damage that good. Dannae immediately stopped her spell at the shriek, withdrawing her hand quickly. She grimmaced, "Why is it that everyone I ever try to heal with crystal is hurt by it instead! Sometimes I wonder who even called it healing!" Looking at his hand, then back at Dannae as if worried, he replied, "You don't understand, that light... it doesn't mesh well with me. I need to drain something to heal." Leaning to the side, Dannae looked at his severed stump. It was raw and red with thickening blood, singed on the edges from the spell she had begin to cast. "Please!", Rigywn shouted, "I don't want to bleed to death, or loose my... my hand. Where's my hand?" Bewildered by the explanation and the request, Dannae asked, "Hand? Sarras?" "What did you do with my hand!" Peeking out from behind Rigwyn, momentarily pausing her work, Sarras asked, "What?" "My freakin hand!" "The hand Sarras...", Dannae asked, "did you uh... bring it?" "Um... No." With this, Rigwyn clamped his eyes shut as his head fells forward. - how the hell could they forget my hand. They forgot MY hand! Dannae shrinked back instinctivly expecting another outburst.

"How could you do this to me? This is so wrong...That's a part of my body! Do you realize how personal that is?"

"Um... I.. I'll go look for it Rigwyn... if I do that... can it help you be healed?"

Having left to search for his hand, Dannae returned with an unwillingness to make eye contact. He knew before she had said it, that it was gone.

As the day went on, they searched him, removing his glyhps, his sword, and a small book in which he kept a list of names and notes. Names that should never had met their eyes or left their lips, notes that would only lead to incurable trouble.

Still bleeding and in terrible pain, he urged them to give him just one glyph that he might heal his cut arm. A small, harmless black glyph with an image of a tree on the front. He asked, but they did not trust him. He explained, but they did not seem to understand how it worked. Sarras had tried to tell Dannae to let Rigwyn drain her while Dannae crontrolled his access to the glyph, but something got lost along the way.

Appearing confused, Dannae asked, "I thought he needed to point at you while drawing energy or something?"

"No," Rigwyn replied, "I need you to heal me by letting me take a portion of your energy, that's all. You will recover, though you may feel tired."

"Um... wait... I thought..." she continues giving Sarras a confused look.

Sarras asked, "What are you doing?"

"So, he points a finger at you with the glyph and it heals him?"

"How should he point at me?"

"I don't know. I don't know how any of this works"

Sarras smacked her forehead. "No! Gods, Dannae... Haven't you been paying attention? He's going to bleed out if you don't..." She grabbed at Dannae's hand and forcefully placed the glyph in the confused woman's palm.

Rigwyn looked up and rolled his eyes while shaking his head. Wondering if they would ever stop trying to figure it out and just do as he asked, he let out a gigantic sigh. Having finally gotten her to place the glyph between her hand and his, he grasped her sightly and began to chant.

As his foul, yellow eyes rolled up into his head, his grip around Dannae's hand tightened. A cold chill rushed through his body as he whispered a string of unfamiliar utterances. With his voice increasing in intensity, a huge, filthy plume of smoke sputtered and spilled from the glyph, surrounding them, and spreading across the floor.

Dannae's fingers clenched tightly around Rigwyn's hand in anticipation, already planning to yank the glyph away with any sign of trouble, "Doesn't he need to point a finger at you or some..." her sentence droped at the sight of the smoke as it enveloped them as the odd sounding sylables spewed from his lips. She drew in a gasp of air, eyes widening with fright already feeling things have gone awry and she is powerless to contain it. She could see the odd smile on Sarras' face as a sensation of her very life being sucked away into a blackened vortex of wind occupied her mind.

The smoke rose, swirling around them like a violent vortex, howling like a storm littered with bitter, remorseful cries. As it thickens, the black smoke spiraled up around Dannae's legs and torso while the flesh on Rigwyn's stump splattered and festered. Scabs and new skin formed and flaked. Seeing Dannae engulfed in the smoke, his chants grew louder and with a sense of frustration and fury, causing the smoke forms into long, octopus-like tentacles that wrapped around her limbs like serpents, and slithered up against her neck. Caressing her cheek, one slid along the side of her soft head. His heart now quikening, he hissed, "Your life... I need ... your life... your soul.... I need what makes you you.... feed me..."

FEED ME!

Dannae felt her legs fold underneath, and her knees approach the floor. Her eyes searched for a face through the haze and spotting it, she inched her free hand with all her effort to reach out while her mouth opened in a silent pleading scream as her body descended into Sarras's arms.

An arc of vile smoke formed a bridge between their finger tips as the glyph fell to the floor with a crack. He watched her face as it disappeared into the filthy smog, then waited silently for it to clear while fresh skin formed and dried over his stump.

Now layed out on the floor, the thick, putrid smoke thinned and slipped off her body, spreading across the floor and swirling as it collided with the walls. Feeling a strange, emotional bond, he looked the other way as if to dismiss it from his mind, then snaped at Sarras, "You should heal her. Use crystal way if you have to."

Sarras's eyes moved up to Rigwyn's face. Shaking her head, she stated, "I can't."

"Then find someone who can. What do I care..."

Ignoring Rigywn, Sarras took Dannea up the stairs and placed her lithe frame upon a bed of pillows to rest as the door to the cool, dank cellar closed shut.

Alone and in darkness once again, Rigwyn leaned back against the beam and closed his eyes, confident that the voices in his head had been satisfied once and for all, that his mission had been completed.  He had poisoned the light, but at a terrible price. It seemed like such a strange and terrible request for Blackflame to make. So pointless, and without purpose.

He wondered.... " Was was there more?"

[Rigwyn]

A Bowl of Fish

With a slow and rusty creak, the door at the top of the stairs opened a crack, casting a long, white ray of light down the steps, past the central beam, and to the stony, rear wall of the cellar. Slowly, it widened, partially illuminating the dark, damp room. Sarras removed her hand from the door and carefully descended the creaky, wooden steps one by one. With a twist of her slender hand, she lit a falka lamp before proceeeding forward. She had brought a bowl of cooked fish as she had the day before, and the day before that. It seemed like it was all she ever brought, no steaks, no jooniper jam or maaca pie, just .... fish. He complained about the fish and the way he was being kept captive. He argued about how terribly immoral she and Dannae were for lobbing off his hand, and keeping him as a slave - and not an active one, but just a thing in the closet. A mere, neglected pet in a cage. It was clear that his release would not be anytime soon if ever, but one thing troubled him quite deeply. He was alive, and being fed three times a day. They had allowed him to heal instead of just neglecting him. It was clear that they wanted him alive, but why? Just so they could have something to feed, something to complain to them about every perceive injustice inflicted on him? It made no sense. They were neither friend nor enemy. Something smelled fishy.

She had freed his good arm that he might eat with dignity, and all went well until it was time for her to leave. He pleaded with her to leave his good arm untied, but she refused, knowing the sort of stunts that he was known to pull. As the argument continued, she leaned forward, putting her face level with his to make his hypocrisy abundantly clear.

"It's amusing that a man like you would be preaching about man's rights."

With that, Rigwyn widened his eyes and took a deep breath. With an animalistic growl, he swung his left hand at Sarras' face and grabbed her hair - knotting it around his fist. Yanking her face forward, he wrestled his amputated limb free, raised it up over his head, and brought it down to strike her face. As he beat her face with his nubby limb, he stretched his mouth open and screamed incoherently as the blinding pain in his sensitive limb and pent up rage collided and lit his soul ablaze.

Rigwyn fought wildly, attempting to bite and snap as he grasped at her head with hand and limb. He had managed to bash his head into her face, but was shortly met with a fist in his eye that left it puffy and red, then a shot to the curl of his lip and the cracking of the back of his skull as it hit the beam behind him. His head sank forward, his body went limp, giving her the chance to bind him once again.

Having secured him, she waited for him to come to.

Rigwyn locked his bleary eyes on Sarras. Slowly, the two images of her face converged into one. With his left eye swelling, and a taste like rusted copper on his tongue, he waited as if choosing his words, then said calmly, "I WILL get you back for what you've done to me. It might not be today or tomorrow, but I promise you, one day you'll turn around or awake from sleep, and you will see me quite clearly before your pathetic life slips away."

Once again, they argued about morals, and who's fault it was that he was in this dire predicament. It was the same hypocritical argument all over again, serving only to illustrate his complete inability to see his own moral poverty, and his bizarre habit of projecting his wrongs onto others.

It would have gone on for hours, had Sarras not derailed him with a threat. "I could enter your mind right now. I could destroy your memories, your desires, your motivations. Everything that makes you -you-."  Her head shifted to the side in a curious manner.  "But that's nothing to you. It's happened before."

Rigwyn stared at her, but said nothing. Waiting motionless, terrified by the prospect of losing his memories, he replied after some time had passed. "What, are you here to see the freak show then? What do you want with me? Don't mess with my head! You DON'T know what you are about to get into!"

She had won that argument, and looked rather pleased.  Finished, she turned on her heel and walked toward the stairs as the stingy light in the room flickered as if threatening to go out. It was barely bright enough for Rigwyn to see Sarras as she walked up the stairs. She quietly closed and locked the cellar door.

In the dark of the cellar, Rigwyn closed his eyes and rest his head against the beam once again. Having given up for now, he waited alone until tiredness set in - taking him back to that strange and terrible place with dreams and visions collide.

[Rigwyn]

What Evil Lurks in the Dark

The sound of nibbling came to a stop as the cellar door cracked open once again. As the cold, white glow spread, tiny claws scratched and scurried across the floor and disappeared behind the crates and barrels. A Klyran voice pierced the darkness this time, feminine and strangely familiar. "Hello again, Rigwyn. Hasn't been terribly long. Not really long enough in my book, honestly." There was no answer, only dead silence. From behind her, Sarras held the door open for Evirea as she gazed into the darkened cellar, staring as if something was a bit off. "He might be unconscious," she whispered. Several moments passed. Evirea glanced briefly back at the dermorian behind her, sighing softly. She then stepped downwards, thumping one step at a time, using her crutch for support as she went. "I wouldn't attack me if I were you, Rigwyn," she called simply. Her call was met only by its echo as her voice bounced against the vacant walls. With a rustling sound, she pulled a small rod from her pocket, the top aglow with a single stone. She flinched slightly at the light it cast, disgruntled, before taking a seat on the stair. "So we can do this the easy way or the hard way. You can come up and hear what I have to say or you can stay down in that darkness, and wallow." Again, there was no response. She turned her head slightly and nodded, indicating that Sarras should shut the door. Sarras shook her head to Evirea and took a few steps into the cellar. "Is he not... Where is he? He should be tied! ... He's loose. Careful." Ahead of them, the beam to which she had tied him was freshly scuffed at the corners, but there was no body attached. Sitting now at the top of the steps, Evirea cautioned, "I wouldn't go any further, Sarras. He has the element of surprise." The klyros merely nodded at the dermorian's words. "You don't have a way to send a bright flash down there, do you? To illuminate him? If I could see him I could probably immobolize him."

Sarras's hand lit up with fire. With a lunge, a ball of flame flew across the length of the room, revealing the various crates and barrels lining the walls. It reached the opposite wall and dissipated against the cold stone. "I didn't see him. Did you?"

Click!

A small rat chewed on a nibble of dried corn in the distance.

Squinting, Evirea looked around the room, focusing on all of the dark corners. Unable to spot him, she thunked her heel against the stair upon which she sat, saying simply, "I suppose you could just light it on fire, but the property damage wouldn't be appreciated. He's hiding in here somewhere, waiting and hoping to get the jump on the both of us." She sighed softly. "Mmm...is the bottom of this cellar clay? Looks like..."

Sarras moved closer to Evirea. "I could go down there, look for him. You could watch my back."

Evirea pursed her lips tightly at Sarras. "I don't want him getting the jump on you. I'm not much use right now in a fight." The femros squinted slightly, and then stopped talking. She noded silently at Sarras, and then drew something from a pocket of her tunic, holding the long, narrow tube in her fingertips. She briefly pressed the hollow end to her lips indicatively, before drawing it away again, and gesturing. She spoke again, her tone normal, "But I suppose we have no choice."

"Suppose not!" Sarras slipped past Evirea and descended the crude, wooden steps, one steps at a time, testing, stopping, listening, and daring to creep deeper into the unknown.

With the cracking groan of the middle step, a cruel hand reached up from beneath the stairs and grabbed Sarras's ankle. Before she could react, the hand violently yanked her from the stairs as her hands shot out to reach and grasp! The figure screamed hatefully from beneath the stairs as he slammed her frame to the cold, hard floor.

Evirea swore at the sight of the hand and climbed laboriously to her feet as the scream collapsed.  Crutch forgotten, ignoring the shrieks of pain from her leg, she barreled down the stairs! Her wings splayed to balance her as she raced to the bottom. Spinning around, she gawked into the shadows, searching for a target to hit with the dart-gun.

"Sarras?!"

With frantic speed, the figure beneath the stairs pounced on Sarras, jamming its knee into her throat as his abraded wrist and blood stained hand raced about her waist. Feeling a pouch, it grabbed and ripped it off.

Evirea uttered a list of profanities. With little else to do, she shot forward into the semi-darkness, where she could barely make out Rigwn's form. Unable to get a good shot at bare flesh, she leaped onto his raw, scratched back - wrapping her scaly arm around his throat and anchoring her clawed legs and feet at his waist. She held on, tightening her arm around his pulsating throat as they sailed backwards into the darkness. She grasped her needle in one hand and positioned it as they approached the cold, stone wall.

As her body was crushed against his raw, bleeding back, the needle slipped and grazed a red line along his arm as her head violently thunked against the wall. Her grip loosened, her body went slack, and slipped and fell to the floor, releasing the needle with a fine metallic 'ting'.

As Sarras rose to her feet and charged in the darkness, Rigwn ran for the stairs with sack in fist. He leaped off one foot and reached for the first step with the next, darting towards the light as Sarras chased him from behind. She dove and flew though the air, tackling him, slamming his chest and legs into the stairs.

Scrambling to get free, he kicked and yanked his feet as Sarras blocked and grasped his legs - determined not to let him go. He climbed a step higher only to be yanked down once again. Grasping the steps to steady himself, his arms bulged, revealing the long, red scratch, now dotted with swollen, white bumps. He jerked his knee up, aimed, and furiously stamped Sarras's face, kicking her free. In a panic, he raced to the top of the stairs, ran out, and slammed the door shut!


Darkness filled the empty cellar once again, with only a faint, white glow surrounding the frame of the door. Seconds passed with only heart and breath to displace the dreadful silence.

Bang!

The door shook with the crash, and the light around the door glimmered as dust rose and swirled in its wake.  Another bang shook the door followed by the sound of wood falling to the floor. With each crash, snap and bang, the light around the doorway darkened, and then it came to a halt.

Sarras recovered and ran up the stairs. She slammed against the door. Feeling a weight against it, then backed up and yelled, "Rigwyn! Stop!"

Something was ticking, falling to the floor like a toppled sack of dried beans, but louder, harder. After a long, curious pause, there was a thump against the door and a blossom of yellow and orange light that slipped between the cracks along with the scent of burnt wood. It sounded like fire.

Sarras shouted from behind the door, "Rigwyn, listen to me!"

"Listen to you?!"

His voice was now labored, and slowed as if tired or weak. He forced himself to shout despite his increasing weight and lethargy. "No, you listen to me, you horrible.....  immoral person!" Shouting was now a chore, and he wondered if the smoke and heat had been wearing him down. "With the kiss of fire, I shall poison your light! May this light be cursed! May it choke you to death and horrify you in your sleep!"

Soon the sound of his footsteps and swearing was replaced with the crackling of fire and the stench and smoke that it brought.

[Rigwyn]

A Dark Place to Squat

He looked back into the Red Crystal Den and watched the pile of tables and broken chairs burn by the cellar door, but he was much too exhausted to laugh at the thought of Sarras and Evirea being smoked and charred to a crisp. He could feel his head trying to drift off to the side as he held onto the door for support. He closed it quietly, not wanting to draw further attention to himself. He could still smell the burnt wood.

From across the street, Shanghi stood. He walked over towards the door to the Den, holding a half eaten apple in his hand. "Nice to see you. Fate is funny like this." He nodded his head towards the plaza, then turned and walked that way.

Rigwyn wondered, Who else might have seen?  He was a complete mess with his right eye swollen and red, his right hand missing, and his body and clothes covered in dried, brown blood.  Behind him, a trace of smoke slipped between the door and the jamb - staining the painted woodwork blackish grey.

Seeming unphased, Shangshi continued walking calmly into the plaza, not at all concerned with what he was walking away from.

As Rigwyn followed his feet were like stones, and his knees were begging to collapse. The flat stonework around the plaza fountain looked like the perfect place to crash, and at this point, he cared more about sleeping than getting caught. He tackled the steps leading to east Hydlaa, then the steep hill leading down to the street below. Had it not been for the use of Shangshi's shoulder he would have toppled of the ledge and passed out on the way.

Shangshi paused next to a well used door after a dozen or so minutes of walking. Pushing a key into the lock with a heavy clunk and stiff push, the door swung open. He then gestured with one hand towards the open door.

Rigwyn looked over his shoulder to see if anyone was watching, then stumbled in like drunken vagabond. Too exhausted to speak, he could only watch as he leaned against the cool wall and slid to the floor.

"You have no need to be overly worried about people walking in on you here. Members with keys are hard to find."

Rigwyn looked around as he held his fleshy limb in his hand. "What is this place? Someone's home?"

"This would be the current home of the Dark Empire. Such that it is.  I have not seen another person walk these halls in quite sometime. Gods only know where they are."

Temporarily invigorated, Rigwyn's eyes shifted as a strong memory returned. It was that of a note posted in the Outlaws camp cycles ago; a bounty for the heads of a number of Dark empire members, along with a five figure reward for each one. It had been a profitable time as he was unknown to most and had luck on his side. Among the names on the list was that of the elf before him. Suddenly , the whole scene was strangely surreal... in an uncomfortable way.

"You should find your self mostly undisturbed here"

"The Dark Empire... How odd... how strangely odd this." Rigwyn returned a terribly uncomfortable gaze to Shangshi, then straightened his face to mask his expression. "Mostly... Well, that's better than being imprisoned."

Shangshi slowly turned to face Rigwyn as his hand slowly streaked through his hair as he said, "Do not think that the irony of this place being where you now find yourself is lost on me, Rigwyn."

"It was a job. We received orders to ... do what we had to do. At the time, Lhaa and Aiwendil had their reasons, and were offering a large bounty."

Shangshi lifted his arm in gesture to the hall "I no longer consider that time as open. Things are what they are and have become whatever is needed of them."

"I appreciate that. Things ARE different now, aren't they. With Phanterol and Swift peddling Moon Silver in Ojaveda and Hydlaa, Sarras and Dannae trying to enslave me against my will. I'd say the world is a different place now. Those of us in the know need to ... unite."  Rigwyn looked at Shangshi as if implying something.

Shangshi looked back at Rigwyn, his eyes sturn as he thought back to the time Rigwyn was sent after him. The time in open grass he was beaten by weight of blade." Things since that time have certainly progresses. Some things are settled, others are not."

Rigwyn raised his chin as he took a deep breath, perhaps wondering what he meant. "I'm sure we can settle past differences in ways that would be amenable to both of us.."

Shangshi nodded his head to Rigwyn, thoughts running through his mind as to exactly what might happen next. But he did not concern himself with petty thought. Instead he turned and walked up towards the library.

With the last of his nostalgic invigoration decaying, his eyelids collapsed, and his body fell over onto the floor. He laid there, unconscious in the foyer, vulnerable and open to attack. It was a dangerous place given his past, and Shangshi, though a strong ally, was questionably helpful, and someone who always seemed to be there when he least suspected it. Then again, trust was for fools.

[Rigwyn]

Archway to the Occult

His lids melted shut with exhaustion, as his body slid to the floor. With his arms parted like a “T”, he laid against a large crate upon which an odd shadow was cast – forming a triangular shape above his head. Once again, the symbol of brimstone had oddly appeared: a cross like shape representing the world, with a triangle atop – the symbol for fire. To some, brimstone was a symbol of masculinity. It was considered a pillar of sorts, a parent of the metals. To to others, the symbol signified the soul – the very essence that made a person who and what they were. Surely other worlds had vastly different interpretations, but like magic from other worlds, such rules did not seem to apply to Yliakum. This world had its own magic, its own mysteries.

As he slipped deeper into sleep, he became aware of the overwhelming darkness, and realized that he was not touching anything. There was no floor, nor walls or rigidity beneath his feet, but it did not alarm him, rather it was taken for granted. Dreams were like that, strange and out of place, yet readily accepted with little question.

“I am the straw-man burning.”

He felt those words with every fibre of his being and accepted them without question. They reverberated outside of him and within him as if the very vibration and glowing of his soul had made them, though the origin of the whispered words was terribly unclear.

Ahead, great vertical shapes began to contrast with his pitch black field of view as if night vision had begun to kick in. Above, the faintest hint of an archway seemed to take form. It was surrounded by thick black, symbols unlike any he had seen in the dome, though they were terribly familiar. From the top of the archway to the floor, was a fine seam.

Having only desired to explore, his body suddenly floated forward and his hands were before him, though not through any action of his own. The seam in the archway was clearly the crack between two massive doors. The wood felt coarse and solid, as if made in haste and more for strength than appearance.

He tried to see though the crack, but it was too tight to let even the faintest glimmer of light pass. As he hovered, he could feel a desire to see beyond the door build, but something held him back. A desire NOT to see beyond the doors, perhaps.

Slowly, the doors moved away. He could see the arches once again, and the great, black symbols that surrounded them. Moving farther away, he could see in the blackest of darkness, the edges and contours of what appeared to be great statues with nostrils flared and sharp horns and protrusions upon their heads and shoulders.

Once again, the world was in complete and utter darkness, and his senses were shut off. He wondered if he was alive or dead, dreaming or awake. He had no heartbeat, no breath, but that was of no concern. It *was*, and there was no desire or inkling to question.

A voice unlike his own, feminine and smooth resonated within and outside of his soul. It quenched him instantly. It was both familiar and alien, completely unknown and yet instantly known. It made sense. Something about it was indescribably right.

“I am the quicksilver.”

[Rigwyn]

Perks, Pacts and Payback

Awakening in the strange East Hydlaa home, Rigwyn pushed himself up from the floor with his left arm as he held his hand-less limb out for balance, then shifted his weight to his feet.

He wandered about and snooped though the cabinets and desks in search for money or glyphs to plunder,  but found nothing more than a few letters with familiar names, some books on cooking and magic, and inventory forms for tracking mined goods which reminded him of the days when steel and fine blades were in high demand. The search was soon terminated in favor of sating the rumbling in his stomach and seeking a bottle to put mind at ease..

It appeared that Shanghi had been awake well before him. Rigwyn had looked up only to catch a glimpse of the elf looking down at him from the balcony above. His strange gift for showing up at odd times and the sensation of being watched by those piercing, Dermorian eyes was starting to get creepy - and for reasons that so few would ever understand.

They sat at what appeared to be an officer's desk and talked about the events responsible for this latest turn of events, the people involved, the things stolen, and owed. He wondered why Shangshi was always so curious about such things, yet never seemed to do much about them. He appeared to be a spy of sorts given his sideline involvement in many matters, but who was he working for? The Dark Empire seemed to be gone. The last time he had seen a member sporting a shiny badge or pin was cycles ago... unless they had changed their M.O. and chose to hide their identity. It didn't make much sense; something was off.

There was a knock at the door, prompting Shangshi to answer, and upon his return, a guest with an all too familiar face. With a surprised smirk, he greeted the lithe fenki as she slipped in and took a seat.

Thidin was mysterious in her own sort of way as the company she kept made one wonder what her involvements might be. Perhaps she was just curious about the darker citizens in the dome, perhaps there was more too her than she let on.

Before he left, Shangshi removed a small, black glyph from his pocket. On it's face was a terribly familiar red symbol, a simplified image of a horned head. Such glyphs were terribly hard to find as there were so few in circulation, and rightly so as the spells produced with them were some of the most vile and powerful he had ever seen.

Taking the surprisingly generous gift, he departed from their company with a new level of mutual trust and a shiny new morsel to wreak havoc with. With a favor granted, surely a favor was owed and would be paid in time.


The days and weeks that followed were steeped with an eerie calm, the sort that's typically followed by regrettable portions of misfortune and sorrow. Although he knew that his consequences were coming with wrath, it was a new day, and a life of hiding was just not worth living.

He had come across a dark mage who sought advancement, a healer with questionable morals and a need for the sick and dying that he might learn, and a Nolthrir man with a proposal for regaining his glyphs. Then there was the beautiful elven woman who emerged from the fog atop a rivnak, and Aleeane, the one who had started this gigantic chain of unfortunate events.  At least, that was how he saw it.

The encounter with the Nolthrir man started with a fair offer from high priestess Reinor to Rigwyn - the return of his sword in exchange for Sarras's glyphs at a remote place and at a specific time. Rigwyn immediately took the note and crumpled it, repaying the man with sheer scorn and disrespect. For the offer had completely overlooked the loss of his hand.

They met again a week later, but this time, Rigwyn had put his own offer on the table. The amputation of the Nolthrir man's right hand at the dismay of those who had sent him, or the removal and delivery of Dannae or Sarras's right hand -  that he might bear the guilt and shame of a self preserving choice. Whether he delivered via action or inaction, someone would be going home with half as many knuckles; after all, fair is fair.

The rendezvous with Aleeane at the base of the fountain was the last of the more recent events. She looked sleepy, perhaps drunk, and in need of rest, or just a place to sit for the moment. Whatever her state was, it seemed to prevent her from seeing a face that could not be forgotten.

He toyed with her, trying to stir up a reaction of fright, but was met with a care free admission to her fondness for women. A spell of fear would have fixed that, but he no longer had the glyph. He did have Shangshi's glyph, though.

Through the utterance of a vile spell, his flesh was transformed into a daemonic figure before her eyes. Huge, black talons burst through the flesh of his fingers and his body grew and contorted, but she did little more than wave him off as if he was just another morbid hallucination or an annoying man trying to pick her up.

Perplexed, he plunged his talons into her neck and ripped out her throat - raising his vile hand in the air as crimson ribbons trailed down his arm and ribs. With a prideful roar, he threw the fist full of scarlet slop at the stone block by the fountain as an onlooker watched from the side.

As Aleeane jerked and swung her arms in a futile attempt to strike, he raised his clawed hand again for another strike as Sarras began to unsheathe her sword.

With a deep thump and a rusty, mineral-rich stench, his clawed fingers pierced the skin about her chest - breaking ribs and tearing meat. It took another fierce plunge and grasp before his fingers could burrow through her warm, wet flesh and wrap like weeds around her heart. With the sudden bulging of his forearm, he squeezed and yanked her heart out as Sarras watched.

Her body faded away along with the heart that quietly twitched in his palm. Turning towards Sarras, he raised his clawed hand again, this time placing it to his own throat. He waited as if frozen in time as he watched her, then with one agonizing tear, he ripped open a gash along the side of his neck and throat.

The red mist and splatter came with an unbearable pain and sputtering hiss. The disbelief and shock from what he had done to himself alone, sent him to his knees. Before long, he had collapsed onto the ground, leaving a warm, growing pool of blood upon the flat paving stones.

Surely, Aleeane would not be left to wander the dark, musty death realm all alone...



edit: made grammatical changes and did some rewording.