[RP] Brimstone and Fire

[Candy]

She was considering ending it, right there on the Plaza. No more withdrawals or psychopaths to deal with. No more questioning the promises she'd made herself, in stronger moments. No more values and morals slipping away, one by one, replaced with a hunger she couldn't sate. Even as she tried, futilely she knew, to get rid of the man pestering her, the thought was in the back of her mind. Useless, addicted, no real home to go to – Ceitile was the only one to seek her out, when she was lost, and even then only because she liked to have brunch waiting around noon when she woke up. The idea of letting this world go gave her a strange peace, even when Rigwyn took on a Daemon form right in front of her. It wasn't until she felt his claws plunge into her flesh that she realized how desperately she wanted to live.

Would this be her final moment? She wondered as her limbs twitched – both involuntarily and in an attempt to fight her assailant off. Hot liquid crept down her neck and chest. Hydlaa faded from view. For a second, she thought she heard her mother's voice, in the distance. Would the true death reunite them? Her eyes snapped open to the sight of dark stone, the voice forgotten. Her head was clearer than it had been in months. She drew her sword as she realized who her attacker had been. Surely enough he appeared moments later. She let him get up and remember whatever he'd done to get here before standing up herself. An easy kill wouldn't have felt right.

"Oh, the lovely dreams you inspire.... "

“Gross,” the Ynnwn deadpanned. "You clear-headed enough to finish this?"

Rigwyn spread his hands, inviting the attack.

"Are you going to kill me? How many times, my love, shall I die? How many times must I search for you and hurt your friends in the process? Slice me! I dare you!"

It hadn't struck Aleeane that while she'd been cowering away in a hole in the ground, the Diaboli might go after her loved ones. He mentioned names when she pushed for them, getting a couple she cared about, with a few she didn't know quite as well. Did he mistake them for her inner circle, or did these people care more for her than she'd thought? It didn't matter – she couldn't let them get hurt because of her any more, even the ones she was indifferent to. What she'd planned to be a fight turned into a conversation. She was given one simple task, and promised peace in return. Not that she trusted the Diaboli to hold up his end, but it was better than nothing.

Now she just needed to find her victim. She knew who it was to be, who deserved it the most. She knew where he was, but it was a long ways off. This trip would require some planning, some help, and an antidote for the drug that she craved. Asking Rigwyn would be as bad as asking Kull – after all, the madman hadn't hesitated to admit that slipping her the poison had been part of the plan. Someone else had to have obtained and replicated the antidote by now, though.

Before all of that, of course, she'd have to find her way back out of the Realm.

[Rigwyn]

[ Nice writeup, Candy ]

[Rigwyn]

Hubris Begot Death

Words have a way of slithering into the mind, probing what is there, and releasing their venom. Words change us whether we like it or not. If there is one thing the mind cannot resist, it is the formation of memories. We can argue and deny what we hear. We can tell ourselves things that are contrary to what we have heard. We can try to forget, but we remain contaminated and defiled.

It was all he had left to defend himself with upon awakening on the Death Realm floor. Before him stood Aleeane -  alert, prepared, and with sword in hand. A moment of hubris had suddenly gone wrong.

Although their brief encounter had ended without further loss of blood or limb, he left wondering if he should have simply let her be. Perhaps Snitch was right about learning to be a bit more subtle and cunning as opposed to resorting to his usual moronic attacks. But to do as Snitch advised would feel insincere, as such actions would originate more from the head than from the heart.

There was something in the heart that was seducing him. A portal occulted from the light of reason, locked and protected by magic dark and old. Perhaps she was the voice beneath his reason, the darkened flame that whispered poisonous words of rapture in his ears. He wondered, "Will I ever find her, or must I only look within?"

Reflecting upon this inner realm of mind and soul, he disappeared into the blackened fog of this dead-man's world . It was time to start listening to the quicksilver - that little voice within, to take her prompts and direction without resistance, and reap the rewards of obedience.... well, maybe not obedience.

[Rigwyn]

Awkward Turtle

His return to the dome was without notable incident, and life above was just as is was when he left. No robed men waiting for him in the plaza, no whispers of caution from within the alleyways.  Feeling comfortable enough with traversing the plaza, he kept his head low where possible, avoiding attention where he could.

There were conspiracies plotted over the next few days, money and weapons were liberated from their owners and hidden in various pick-up locations. The transfer of goods would require no more than revealing the location of one of these spots. It took only a sentence either spoken or scrawled to conduct business within the dome using this technique.

Kada El's tavern was a bit busier than usual, and was proving to be a great place for spying as people had a tendency to loosen their tongues as the liquor was poured and the laughter rolled.

He had spied from time to time on some of the locals, Aleeane, Prreta, and a Ylian named Suno. The latter had something about his appearance which was of interest. They spoke briefly before the Ylian departed.

Rigwyn left, not quite satisfied with what he had seen, then returned a bit later to spy once more. He climbed the building from behind, stacking a few barrels, then monkeying his way up the woodwork and chimney until he reached the roof. Seeing a few folks casually chatting, he dusted himself off and proceeded down the stairs and into the tavern.

As he made his way down, he spotted Stashka and some rather tall, cloaked woman. Not sure what to make of it, he headed to the lounge below and quickly climbed atop a chair to better hear what was being spoken of above.  It wasn't long before he figured out that the woman in the robe was Aleeane.

Another patron had arrived given the sound of footsteps and Stashka's prompt greeting. As he struggled to listen, he could hear footsteps moving over the stairway above.

"Dammit!"

He scrambled for a place to hide but was caught crouching nervously in the corner with a terribly guilty expression on his face. It was not just Aleeane, but Stashka. Both of them seemed to be curious about his presence, but he was in no position to answer either of them about their questions.

Awkwardly making his way up the stairs and and towards the entrance, he spotted Sarras sitting at a table and facing him. Up was the only way left to go. Up, around the corner, and behind the building. He would explain his presence later if needed, and before one person at a time.

[Volki]

[This is heavily edited because the original logs were far too sexy for the forum. Also, AutoCorrect was the worst thing to happen to Microsoft Word.]



   Stashka stood back to survey his work.

   "You know, I think I've waited for this for a long time. I'm sorry it had to be you, Sarras, but you were the one what interrupted me while I was in the middle of rounding up Aleeane.”

   As Stashka searched a pile of clothing on the grass, Sarras twisted onto her side, keeping a thick root pressed to her back. She needed to keep him in her line of sight. The first breeze of night air brushed her bare skin, triggering a shiver.

   She wondered if the Xiosian priest would return and if he would notice the predicament behind the sacred tree. But Stashka had an advantage in that he could see through the garden’s enchanted wall while none could see in from the other side. He could quickly silence her if needed. However, if Sarras could reach her glyph sack, she could project illusions on the wall and scare her captor away. Breathing heavily, she looked for the glyphs. Her belt sat in the grass only a few feet away but out of reach.

   A sharp kick in the ribs caught her attention. Stashka stood over her vulnerable body, wielding a dagger. She twisted again, pulling in her feet like a spring, hoping to kick the mad elf away. He took an axe in his other hand and tilted his head.

   “Come on, Sarras. Don’t make this worse than it has to be.”

   Her body stiffened at the sight of the axe. Fighting was no use. It would only worsen the punishment.

   Defeated, Sarras buried her face in the ground. The axe swung and resounded with an earthy thud, embedding itself in the dirt by her feet. As Stashka tied her ankles to its handle, Sarras felt a sinking chill. With all the effort he was going through, it could not end quickly. She focused on her breath.

*    *    *

   The pain ceased. Sarras was uncertain how much time had passed. The grass crumpled, and she jerked her head off the ground to glimpse Stashka looming over her with the axe in his hand. He stepped on her right arm, clamping it between foot and root. The bark stung as it nipped open wounds.

   He raised the axe. She felt a sudden drop in her stomach.

   “Yeah, I’m surprised you didn’t realize I was lying about not knowing about Riggy’s hand before. I’ve been after yours for a while, now. You should have realized you wouldn’t get away with what you did to him.”

   Her fingers flexed. Sarras had never been more aware of the presence of her hand. It felt strange, as if it never belonged to her. The arm seemed to retract, dissolving into its surroundings, endeavoring to escape.

   The axe-blade fell.

   Eyes refocusing, she witnessed a muddy face staring back at her, warped along the edges of metal. A lone stream of blood jetted across the reflection.

   Sarras remained motionless as Stashka moved. The blade lifted from its notch in the tree. The hand absent, only her wrist laid on the splintered bark, bleeding into the veins of the root. She flinched as a wave of heat fell over the sputtering stub. Red Way. Stashka was attempting to weld the wound shut.

   He growled and redoubled his effort, but gave up with no result. Instead, he tied the woman’s own green tunic around the open wound in a small effort to stop the bleeding. He disappeared for several seconds, then returned wearing a shirt.

   “Maybe next time you’ll know better than to mess with Riggy, hmmm? I always tell you to stay out of trouble.”

   Before he could pull the gag from her mouth, Sarras spat chunks of ashes from her mouth. “You coward!” she coughed.

   Stashka drew back his hand in slight surprise and paused. “Coward? Probably. But not the first thing I’da called me.”

   “Untie me. Fight me as I am now! I dare you!”

   “Ah, see, that makes sense to call me a coward now. Of course, I ain’t goin’ to fight you, just ‘cause I gotta get your hand to you-know-who. I’d call him the real coward, but then I’d kinda be in fear of my life if he somehow heard me.” Stashka turned to walk away.

   “Stashka!”

   “Yes?”

   Sarras struggled in her bindings, following Stashka’s silhouette with stinging eyes. Her mouth felt dry and her voice hoarse. “Is he your friend, or do you fear him?”

   “I think the closest word I could get would be respect.”

   She laughed. It hurt her throat.

   “Did you know he’s the only person in all of Yliakum that hasn’t hit me after knowing me more than a week?”

   “Respect for a man who--who can’t even avenge himself? He sends you!”

   “Yes, respect ‘cause he knows how to get things done. I’d send me if I was him.”

   “You’re nothing to him, Stashka. He’s mad... On a mad quest.” Her spine arched as the pain set in.

   Stashka laughed loudly. “And what do you think I am, Sarras? You know, I really don’t care what his reasons are for anything. Hell, I didn’t even know why he wanted your hand until you told me, but I was goin’ to take it anyways. I just can’t help followin’ him.”

   Besides the unnatural throbbing in her arm and the fresh bite of the exposed flesh, she could only think what an idiot Stashka was, and what a fool she was for trusting him. Her head spun. “I thought you were my friend,” she choked.

   “I thought I was, too, but I had to choose.”

[Rigwyn]

Ohhhh, It's Coming!

A painful, labored moan filled the sewers, echoing off the old, stone walls. Each burst of breathless anguish grew louder as a choir of sub-human voices chattered in between. There was a kind of silent backdrop to all the commotion, as the sound of scurrying rats had stopped, possibly frightened by the wailing and sighing, perhaps they were waiting in anticipation of a fresh meal.

A fleshy hand gripped the wall, it's fingers skinny and swollen at the joints. It tensed with the next agonizing scream, digging its tips and nails into the loosened mortar between the stone. There was something different about this cry, it was the loudest, and tapered off with a sigh of relief.

Crouching in pain, two fingers emerged from the Gobble's rear end, followed by a thumb, knuckles – which caused the loudest of screams, and finally a wist – severed nice and clean. It fell into the shallow stream of swill beneath the gobble with a small splash followed by what could only be described as a chorus of curious sub-human grunts and hisses.

As the small tribe waddled off into the distance, the trickling water rinsed the fetid mud from the strange hand. It unfolded to reveal two fingers and a thumb – the middle two cut off at the knuckles.
 

[Rigwyn]

Stashka's Law

When working with Rigwyn, Stashka always seems to get burned.

A few ripe, firm apples fell from the tree, bouncing off the table and crates below and onto the grass. Not far away, the clang of metal and aroma of burnt wood and coal crept from the forge as voices chattered in the background. It was a mix of conversation and haggling.

Running, and skipping, Stashka appeared, this time with a big wooden instrument of some sort – a lute to be precise. If he wasn't annoying enough already, the lute and his amateur playing would surely make up for it. Rigwyn cringed at the very thought.

As they spoke, Stashka revealed that he had hidden something inside it, and playfully hinted at what it might be. There was indeed a cloth stuffed inside. He handed it over to let Rigwyn have a better look.

Rigwyn balled the strings in his left hand and managed to rip them off along with the bridge and some small screws. Throwing it to the ground, he reached inside and pulled out the cloth-wrapped Bundle. It was soaked red and sticky to the touch. Unwrapping it just enough to take a peek caused a wicked smile to grow on his face and it was confirmed by the glimmer in Stashka's eye. 

Sarras's hand was milky white with a slight blue hue – not Nolthrir blue, but the sort of blue that one turns after they've been strangled to death or left without sufficient means to breathe. It was smooth and silky to the touch, delicate and slender.

Together, they dashed off to a place where bandits gathered to hide from the law, and began to talk about the ordeal as a large, brazed porg roasted upon a spit.  It sputtered and crackled as its juices and fat dripped onto the hot coals below.

Having paid for the elf's broken lute and a lifetime's worth of lute lessons as previously promised, they began to work on reattaching the hand to Rigwyn's wrist. It would take more than physical sutures and bandages alone as the wrist and hand were full of tube-like veins and squishy looking things that didn't quite look like they could ever be connected just right.

Having borne the heart breaking pain of cutting the end of his amputated limb off, and nearly bleeding to death in the process, Rigwyn watched in agony as Stashka stitched the hand back on. Each jab with the leather worker's needle made his brow soak with sweat and sent bolts of pain though his arm. The tugging of his flesh as the coarse thread grabbed and snagged was enough to make him want to vomit. But finally, the work was complete and the hand, though limp and not functional, was attached.

This is where things began to go quite wrong.

The plan was to straddle a consumer, grasp a fold of its flesh and drain the bastard for all it was worth. It was an elementary dark way spell used for both attacking and healing, quite effective when conditions were right. Well, the conditions were quite wrong.

As they approached, the neotens became aroused and wailed as they rolled and flopped on their bellies with legs kicking and pushing as they turned around. Rigywn's clothing suddenly caught fire – sending his arms into a fury as not one, but two neotens approached. 

Feeling his life draining much faster than he could leach, panic set in and his spell had come to an abrupt end. He found himself running in search of safe ground, as Stashka was burned and rammed amid the rogues who watched and laughed as death took hold.

With a furious shower of blackened smoke and burning arrows, the beasts were subdued and brought to a pathetic crawl. They twitched and thumped helplessly like a spider with his legs torn off, and before long, were straddled and drained of what life they had left.

The wrist was now functional, bending and twisting on command with limited control of the fingers and a moderate amount of pain. Without much concern for Stashka who always seemed to suffer in the end, he mounted his drifter and set off in search for something less feisty to leach.

[Ascomanni]

Azhord Seventeen
Oh sweet Talad, I don’t know how much longer I can hold this darkness at bay. I feel it grow inside me. It threatens to consume me. As it grows it gets harder and harder to control. Do the elders suspect something? Now I am getting paranoid. Every time someone gives an awkward glance, I am afraid that they know that I am … different.

***

Azhord Thirty-three
It’s happened. I don’t know exactly what, but it happened. Czard Happling came into my parent’s apothecary and was so rude to me. He made me so angry. I felt the darkness swell with my anger. It felt so … invigorating. And now he is sick and not even the elders can tell why. I don’t know what more is frightening, that I did that or that I liked it.

***

Ylaaren Four
Czard is still sick and getting worse. He is seizing in pain and the neighborhood is beginning to whisper of the screams in the night. Whenever I hear about him and his condition I feel the darkness swell and hunger to be released again. I know that I cannot let it out, but I long for the ecstasy of it again.
I think the Elders are on to me. I’ve seen them and their messengers coming around the shop more and more. How much do they know and how long have they known it? I am probably jumping at shadows. I just need to keep everything under control and everything will be fine.

***

Ylaaren Eighteen
An official notice of summons to the elders came today. Not just for me, but for my whole family. I cannot let that happen. I will not let them drag my family’s name through the mud. I will leave before they can banish me. I will make my way to Hydlaa. There are so many people there that I will be able to hide and be safe. I feel so calm knowing this is my last night here at home. In the morning when I am supposed to be doing my morning errands, I will simple walk out the front gates and never look back.

***

Ylaaren Twenty-Eight
I have arrived in Hydlaa. It is so massive that it is hard for me stop gawking at the buildings. There are so many people moving about and so much going on. It is so easy to get lost. It is perfect.
I have become an apprentice for an herbalist in the city. It is easy work for me. I have been doing these sorts of things for my parents for the last ten cycles. It is nice to have a job and I can still continue with my parents’ wishes for me. I can carry on the family dream.

***

Ylaaren Twenty-Nine
I have seen the beauty of the darkness. I have embraced it. We are now one.

[Rigwyn]

[ Nice posts Ascomanni  and Volki   ]

[Rigwyn]

Strangers with Gifts

The Crystal darkened once again, summoning the creatures of the night. Chirps and creaks emerged from the woods as nocturnal beasts snooped and roamed – snapping dried branches where they stepped. The fire now filled the camp with a warm, flickering hue.

Feeling a spell of nod come on, Rigwyn reclined and gazed into the fire, replaying in his mind, the things that had last transpired.

He recalled the music played by a visiting bard named Lonirod. He was an elf with a large, leather hat that looked like it was designed more for providing shade than appearance. Even odder was the strange looking lute-like instrument that he brought. He played much better than Stashka did, and he could sing too – bringing on a round of applause from a less than polite crowd.

With the end of his song came distant footsteps, and a voice he had not expected to hear anytime soon – given the verbal spat which split the two apart a day ago. Once again, Stashka had defied logic and returned – this time with a warning of woman bearing a poisoned potion and Rigwyn in her sights.

At first, the warning was dismissed, but before long, an elven woman in a long dress was spotted mulling around the outskirts of the camp with a bottle of liquid, and peeking from behind a tent. She was met with words of fury, but they slowly faded into a deceitful voice of sincerity and gratitude as the former approach had proven ineffective. That was the first appearance of the mysterious elf and the ending of what peace or lack of hostility existed between Rigwyn and his ... purchased helper, otherwise known as "Meat.".

The sound of some inebriated rogue hurling the last of his beer pulled him back to into reality – causing his memory to fade. He closed his eyes once more having found a less uncomfortable position, then started to replay the scene in his mind once more.

He thought once again of the odd elven woman with the long flowing dress, and recalled her most recent visit to the camp. Whether she had come to say hello or just to piss "Meat" off was unclear, but her intentions suddenly mattered little to Rigwyn. She had willingly allowed him to drain her of her strength and had returned the next day offering herself once again seeing that his wrist was not fully cured.

There was something very odd about this one indeed. Rigwyn knew it since they first met. Her reactions were unlike those of most. She didn’t seem moved by his words of violence and cruelty, and when he had grasped her hands to drain her of her very life, indeed she suffered and collapsed, but with an odd little smile that should not have been there.

It ate at him. It was like an invisible flake of corn stuck between the teeth, it was there, it could be felt, but not grasped or seen. Determined to break that smile, he lead her into a tent and laid her down atop a table. With his hand over her mouth and nose he held her still and watched as her arms and legs kicked instinctively as she suffocated, but there was a constant effort to remain still and once again, that bizzarre little smile when he let go.

He tried to break her with magic, filling her heart with terror beyond words. She shook and screamed, he balled his fist and punched her mouth, sending her to the floor, but when the spell broke, she arose shaken and hurt, but again, with that strange, twisted smile. It was dark and eerie.

Feeling a bit disturbed, he rolled to his side atop the dusty ground and nodded off to sleep.

[Rigwyn]

The Seals of the Summoner

Unlike earth, Yliakum was constantly showered in magical energy from both the azure crystal above, and the darkened shard below. It soaked into the rocks, plants and animals, forming glyphs upon their flesh and perhaps even putting magic into their hearts and the depths of their mind and soul. It had resonated from the highest peaks to the deepest hollows and darkest holes.

Under the crystal dome, he slept and returned to the world of dreams. It was a place where reality was twisted and could change on a whim, where logic was trumped and memories, fears and aspirations reigned. Form unconsciousness, a dream emerged.

The consumer’s back was smooth and warm, yet pitted with pores that opened and closed in odd, rhythmic patterns. They were like toothless mouths that puckered and sucked, but when he placed his hand over them, there was no suction or pull, just a terrible, sense of weakness and lethargy. He could feel his hands become like dough as the consumer drained what strength was left. They flopped at the wrists, and he fell off it's back. He looked at his hands and saw that they had melted at the wrists and were just hanging lifelessly as if made of soggy, wet bread.

Looking up, the consumer’s mouth opened, and it's three, talon-like teeth parted like that of a sand worm, stretching the opening of its mouth to reveal its gut. He stuck his arms and head inside too see, and was promptly swallowed whole.

The dream had faded, and soon another began.

A vision of a man with a weird leather hat grew in his mind and as he looked below to see him strum his odd looking lute, he noticed that the man’s finger tips had been chopped off, yet he still strummed the blood splattered instrument. It was an awful cacophony of a tune, though it made no sound. He held his hands over his ears to block it out, nonetheless.

Where the fire and roast once was, there was now a giant, dark disc upon the ground surrounded by thick, black letters of unknown origin. The thick, iron disc was quite threatening, and was somehow blacker than black. He approached it slowly, but then stopped upon hearing a voice.

"A voice beyond the portal calls you, Rigwyn, yet it cannot be entered by mortals."

"What should I do?"

“With the kiss of fire, quicksilver shall flow from your heart, and you shall poison the light.”

“What does that mean?”

Suddenly, his chest was on fire and the flesh began to melt and fold back. He could hear his ribs cracking and breaking, but felt no pain. As he looked down, he saw his heart beating inside, and then it opened up as if sliced with a razor-sharp knife. From his heart, a stream of quicksilver poured and landed upon the large black disc – setting it aglow.

A klyran voice rasped in the distance, "Oh gods, This was such a bad idea." The very sound of it put terror in his heart as the disc began to glow scarlet red. The sky turned midnight blue as the light intensified and spread - poisoning the grass and plants around them.

As he gazed into the wicked light, the quicksilver flowed to the edges of the the disc, forming a reflective ring around it. A familiar voice resonated from the glowing disc and shimmering ring.

“Summon it, and it shall answer you. Bow to it, and it shall destroy you.”


The next morning he awoke with just the tail end of this dreams still swimming around in his mind. He raised his hands to his face to rub his bleary eyes, then noticed something odd when he removed them. On the webbing of each hand between the thumb and forefinger was a small black mark shaped like one of the strange symbols that surrounded the disc. From his lips came a curious phrase. Although he had never heard it before, it flowed out naturally, as if he had said it a thousand times before.

"Behold, the seals of the summoner."

[Rigwyn]

[ edit: Corrected Lonirod's description. The hat was leather, not straw. Hope to see and hear more of Lonirod in the future! ]

[Rigwyn]

Slap and Burn

Entering the plaza from the Arena, Rigwyn watched Aluna as she sat atop the stone wall beside the stairway going into the plaza. His stalking of her had become a habit which often lead to long conversations. Although riddled with abuse and dysfunction, this bond was starting to look more like friendship than ownership. Although she was not bound by leash or chain, she obeyed begrudgingly and followed as if bound by some linkage of the mind.

He noticed that she was writing in that book of her’s again as if she had some sort of compulsion to document everything, or perhaps just a piss poor memory.  He inched closer to get a better look when a thought popped into his mind. - What if she’s writing something that could be used against me?!

“Meat!”

He screamed from behind – startling her, then demanded that she hand over the book. He flipped though it, carelessly letting the words slip from his mouth as he read. There were general notes about those who she had met as well as personal feelings – which anyone with tact or even a shred of decency would have refrained from reading aloud for everyone in the plaza to hear. Angrily, he threw it back at her.

Some of her notes were quite disturbing. They revealed some of the motivations and connections of those he would now consider enemies and rats. As they conversed, the elven woman whom they had met at the camp stopped by – flashing a little smirk that beckoned Rigwyn to turn his back on Aluna and focus solely on her.

An argument arose between the two as a hurt and angered tone could be heard in Aluna’s voice. She confronted him about ignoring her in favor of Allena, but he denied it. She insisted, but he raised his voice and threatened her. She would not let go of her stance and pushed once again only to be met with the back of his hand and a reddened cheek to match the chilling slap.

Allena cut in between the two to tend to Aluna and temper the tension that was growing out of control, but Aluna continued to speak her mind despite being shaken and hurt.

From the revelations that followed, he grew enraged. He was not really bothered by the fact that Aluna was cornered into an ally by his foes and threatened, after all, it was her own damn fault if she had failed to watch her back. Rather, it was the threat of her outing him in some damning way that sent him though the roof.

The diaboli demanded to know more about these enemies, but she refrained from telling. He threatened her out loud, perhaps humiliating her deeply in the process, but she held back. He reached over Allena and grabbed Aluna by her dress and screamed at her once more, shaking her violently and threatening to put the hurt on her like never before, but was instead met with a sharp, piercing pain in his arm as Allena bit into it – tearing his flesh  free.

He backed off – reeling in pain and shocked by both Allena’s actions and the bloody chunk of skin quivering between her teeth. With that, he screamed at Aluna one last time – demanding her to leave. With her gone, he turned to Allena with a conspiratorial grin that matched the wink she gave when she first cut in.

Having used a weakness spell to leach her life force once more, he offered her a place in his network of crime, a name, a role and the protection and aid of the secret members of Poisoned  Blood, but she turned him down. He was shocked and deflated, but did not insist. Surely should would change her mind if he persisted enough?

He left the plaza shortly after, shaking his head and mumbling to himself as he examined and rubbed the summoning marks upon the webbing of his hands. They were glowing with a violet shade of darkened light and the flesh beneath was starting to burn. Perhaps it was a reminder of his next goal. There was something calling him, beckoning from the other side of this strange portal from his dreams. It would need to be summoned and questioned, but he hadn’t the faintest idea how.

[Ascomanni]

The night was painfully quiet and the only source of light was the dim glow of the oil lamp that sat beside Allena in Joyce’s library. She found her eyes loosing focus and desperately rubbed her tear ducts with her thumb and forefinger. She had been through had been through 48 tombs, 138 leads, and had dismissed 147 different roots, herbs, stems, flowers, and fungi. She normally didn’t keep track of this sort of thing but she wanted Rigwyn to know just what she had gone through. She slammed the tomb before her, Jaspper’s Field Guide to Gugrontid City and the Surrounding Area, with an audible sigh.

“How many hours has it been” she thought to herself as she added another tally to the sheet of paper before her. She was beginning to get frustrated and she knew it. She had found several candidates that would work, but this was not something that good enough was satisfactory. She even thought of a handful when Rigwyn had first asked, but she knew she could do better.

She had to do better. He had already offered her a preferred place in his inner circle but it was nothing more than a passing comment. She would prove herself and have him beg for her to join him.

She found herself smirking as she leafed through the next book before her. It was a dull read like much of what she had wadded through already. She cross referenced the text with her notes and found that she had already eliminated several of these from contention.  While she bounced from her notes and the book she found her mind wander.

Allena was lying on the table in the small tent again. Rigwyn was standing over her. His mouth was moving but she could not hear the words but felt herself nodding. She knew she could not move; knew that that was what he wanted. Darkness began to fill the tent. The essence of shadow was spewing forth from the tall Diaboli and consuming the air around her. The shadow reached her and all she knew was pain: agony in its purest form. Her very being screamed with terror – and vibrated with pure pleasure.

They were impossible to separate. They were one and the same. The darkness about her intensified had so did the pain, terror, and pleasure. It grew and grew until that was all that there was. The tent faded away. The table faded away. The world faded away. All that remained was Rigwyn, the darkness, and her. The unbridled ecstasy flared as her body screamed and she floated in the void. This was beyond anything she had ever felt before.

She blinked and there was a new book in front of her and new tallies on the paper before her. She didn’t want to check, but was certain that there was a few more pages of notes on the stool beside her as well. She had continued to work as her mind wandered. It was a trick she had learned from the tutor her parents had hired for her when she was little. What was his name? Alren? Something like that. She had separated her mind into several rooms. In one room she had continued to toil away in the poorly light room and in the other…

In the other she relived that perfect night. Her body was still tingling with the memory of the memory. Even with how powerful it still was, the effect of reliving it was getting weaker and weaker. She needed to experience that again at any cost. But with this she would earn it again.

The volumes around her were getting smaller but she would not allow her hopes to dim with them. She picked up the book before her. It held no obvious title and was quite old. It had been nearly a cycle since she had done research like this, but nothing new to her. Her parents were always looking for new remedies as well as old and forgotten ones. She always delighted in being the one that found what it was that they sought when she was little. Holding this old and unmarked tome reminded her of her younger days when she thought of becoming a scribe in the Hall of Records. Like her parents would have allowed it.

Allena gave a smirk. Like her parents would allow it? Her old life held no sway over her anymore. She cracked open the book like she had turned the page on her life. This was a new beginning… and she would make the most of it.

The old volume was different from the others. The others were scientific works on biology. This one was a book on past cultures. It was quite interesting, but contained little on what she searched for. It frustrated her but the scholar in her would not let her close the cover until all of the stones had been turned.

 It was an old habit that she wanted to toss to the side at the moment but she could not help herself. Her lips curled painfully around her teeth. Her feet began to tap on the wooden chair leg and her fingers on the table top but her eyes remained glued to the leathery pages. She longed to vanish into one of the other rooms in her mind but there it was before her.

She was deep into an old and long dead tribe of Diaboli when there was it was. It was so simple and in hindsight it seemed like an obvious place to search but there it was.  Her eyes bounced back and forth across the passage and every time she reread the words her mouth lifted further into a bright and violent smirk. She smoothly grabbed the pen from the well and began to add pages of her notes. As she began to record what she had longed for for so long, Allena let her mind pass into that locked room in her mind.

Allena was lying on the table in the small tent again…

[Rigwyn]

Tiny Fists of Fury

Returning to the camp once more, Rigwyn had noticed that Aydken, Filch’s pet gobble, had an apprentice. There before him, Aluna squatted upon the ground looking at him in awe. He couldn’t help but wonder if she was deliberately imitating the sub-human waste of life, or just seeking companionship of some sort – perhaps from someone too dull and placid to put her down. He sneaked closer, careful not to snap any sticks or twigs, then shouted to get her attention.

Meat!

The jolt and shudder that ran though her brought a smile to his face, but like the drawing of her little wide-eyed gobble friend that she had been patiently working on all that time, it was quickly spoiled with a few choice words. 

He had come to her with an old, black glyph and insisted that she learn to use it. When asked why, his only response was that she would be brought somewhere nasty, where resistance and skill in the dark way was required. He insisted repeatedly that without it, her life would be destroyed.

Why she went along with the training that followed was a mystery, but one that Rigwyn knew not to question. He put the glyph in her hand and held it shut. It tingled, and by the look on her face, he could see she felt a bit off. She looked uncomfortable, perhaps ill. It brought back a memory of the first time he had held such a glyph.

Guiding her with words and the infusion of magic as he held her fist shut, he got her to tap into her anger and pain. The glyph began to charge and glow and before long, the air about them darkened and stunk of soot and rotten flesh. The spell had struck her sub-human companion as it crouched by her side, causing it’s glassy eye and tender cheek to pucker and rot.

Furious with the unnecessary cruelty, she began to yell and punch at his chest.

Taunting her and inciting her with insults and swears, he raised her rage to a new level. She screamed,  “You do not own me! I am not your slave!”

The pummeling of her furious little fists was laughable, but the mesh-like waft of smoke that emerged from her fists came to life – wrapping around Rigwyn’s throat like snake about the trunk of a tree. His eyes widened with excitement as he saw her first bout of success in the dark arts, and hence, a small step in his master plan accomplished.