Post by Joliette Thorne on Jun 13, 2008 15:05:16 GMT -5
Darrien 's endless mind of astounding analytical capability was a gargantuan place to be right now. In the final moments of any semblance of fastidiousness, he vowed to himself he would find his roots once more and regain his structural integrity, both physically and emotionally. And then it was gone. All that was left was the emptiness that could only be sated by at least a hug. He yearned for it like a virgin housewife. So when Eyren proved to be as desperate as he, Darrien fell to his knees, his jaw muscle bouncing palpably. When he dared to open his formerly calculated aperture, the first few movements of his mouth produced no sound. Gradually, he forced quaking words from his throat: lies, the first in years. "Your lips are perfectly fine. They are healthy, as healthy as the kisses you will receive when we escape from this place." In truth, they could not be worse and those beastly growls only became more audible. The walls were now as red as Darrien's inundated eyes: he had been crying for over an hour, non-stop and it was beginning to worry him. "We must go!" Darrien exclaimed, "There's someone close who I know. She'll be able to get us out. Please, come with me now, my friend." Without allowing her protest, he snatched her by the hand and began running, clicking, and navigating. Between here and his destination, all Darrien could think about was that white lie and how guilty he would feel about it later when Eyren plummeted back into a world of darkness. "You! Nomad!" he expelled, referring to Deilakrion, "..are.. sleeping?" One look to Isen, and Darrien was again at his knees, his face colourless.
Isen 's blood seems to be pounding faster than ever through his veins, the giddy feeling increased tenfold. Around Deilakrion's collapsed body appear three twisting bits of shadow. They speak to him, call to him. Willingly, he walks forward, nearly jogging as he follows the three shadows. His hand remains steadfastly locked on the disk, despite the heat of the stone. He stops again, though, upon sight of Darrien and Eyren. Again the desire to kill makes itself known, but again is pushed back. This time, though, it is something within Isen himself that restrains him. The voices of the shadows screech at him, and he makes to dash around them, to follow.
Eyren fought down the urge to throw her arms about this strange being set before her, his eyes too far gone from any semblance of sapphire; instead they were as red o as the transformed wall, two pools of silent wounds in his face; the face of someone that had fallen prey to a desperation not unlike her own, she'd assume. The tracks were telltale testaments to this assumption and she wanted to pause and set aside her panic for a moment to make an almost-casual inquiry as to why he'd been weeping. Yet, timing, placement, they were the substance of everything, and there was no opening for such an exchange, as he spoke once more, of another that could help. Another, more, there was more hope of being dragged further from the white still silence that she'd first awakened too. the little girl and demon were long gone; and not quite know how it passed, the stranger was gripping her hand. she let her body set itself on auto-manoeuvring; chilled fingers clasping tightly about a hand that was that and nothing more, the hand of another; confirmation that she was not alone anymore, that that long expansive corridor of white silence, had been only a dream. Yet, was this world, bathed in the red tint of spilt blood any better? She cared not, for she was not alone, there were promises of others, and that was all that mattered to her taut nerves; she being the marionette, following his lead, running once more. Then, he was upon his knees before her; assuming this position which she'd seen him take it seemed only minutes ago. At his sudden halt, she'd fall head-over-heels in to him, crashing in a flurry of tangled hair, and soiled clothing, her arm twisting as she retained her deaths grip upon his hand. Stopped? What had made him stop so suddenly? Looking about through a veil of cylindrical ribbons that made up her hair, she spied a figure, that she knew must be familiar, yet her mind could not place him. He was drenched in red; seeming as if he'd materialized from the very walls themselves. She wanted out of here, she wanted to help, that was the call of her heart. To heal, to restore life, not to rejoice in the extinguishing of it. Yet all around her, everything screamed contradictions that left her shaking piteously beside the still unnamed stranger. "This ... must be where it begins, ... and where it ends" she murmurs softly.
All this time, the woman who'd been born with the name Joliette had been curled in a ball at the base of one of those endless, white walls, her rage and torment apparent in the blood that crusted her fists and the white stone behind her. Deilakrion's surge of magic had embraced her, and the elf had suddenly been no stranger, but kin, and the mind that had been split in two had merged... and Joliette knew, then, who and --what-- she had become. A monster. A freak. No wonder she'd been driven from her village, burning torches and hounds on her trail. No wonder everything she touched turned to... "Crap." The vampire sobbed, palms slapping the black stone below. "Crap. Crap... WHY ME?" The cry rose in a shriek that echoed faintly in the implacable emptiness-- for Creature and her odd troop had abruptly vanished, leaving Joli... Tenebrae... in that labyrinthine limbo she'd come to hate, almost as much as she hated herself. Why her, indeed. Bowing her head, a final wrack of grief shook her frame, and the Sineater, the Necromancer, the Vampire, the three-in-one woman upon whom Chaos had placed its hopes, and the burden of knowing that --this was all her fault-- rose and started trudging the paths of a worse hell than even Hell itself had imagined for her.
Darrien was courageous enough to come this far, but was only able to topple his fear knowing he would meet a comfortable acquaintance or two. But with Deilakrion unconscious and Isen ostensibly the culprit, Darrien hadn't the gall to continue. Still clutching for dear life onto Eyren's hands, he was bathing that wonderful Creature's naked torso with salty droplets of tears. Again, they were palpably salty and the taste made Darrien nauseas. He was shivering now, shaking his long sable mane to and fro, a weeping pine about to escape the eye of a hurricane. "No, no, no, no! What do we do now? What can we do?" This bottomless despair forgot the fear of Isen caked in blood in his tears, though the dread still inhabited his shaking body. An agonizing scream interrupted his sobs, flashing the entire network in his mind. "Tenebrae," he whispered hoarsely, beaming a rueful grin up at Eyren. "She's here!" He forcefully cleared his throat and filled his lungs to maximum capacity. Rather than an eardrum-shattering bellow, a ubiquitous voice swam through the passageways. "Tenebrae, please, you must come as quickly as possible. A man has knocked our Nomad unconscious. He's bloody, and..and..please..help. I can't do this by myself." The message began to fade as Darrien was losing his composure, though it was just enough for the former vampriss to follow.
Isen 's progress halts for a moment, the crazed-looking lycan flicking his gaze from one figure to another. "I...I didn't touch her," he says, pointing to Deilakrion. His words are rushed, running together as though he has not the time to waste speaking. "Don't call others. I have to go." He whirls, and begins to dash down the hallway, calling out for the shadows to wait for him.
Eyren flinched and shrank back from the comfort turned pain, as the man proceeded to squeeze her hand to a degree that she was actually sure she felt her bones scrape together. Yet she'd not give her in to her initial instinct; to gently extricate her own appendage from his grasp, for he was trembling as much as she; and she saw with a widening of frantic eyes that he had taken to weeping openly once more. The sea that spilt forth from the crimson depths of his eyes, were chilling with the wave of human compassion that crested in a wave of emotion that buffeted her against a jagged shore, representative of a certainty she was no longer sure she herself possessed. She might think to slip an arm about his shoulder; in that detached manner of stranger comforting stranger. Whisper soothingly of phantom promises of things getting better. But she knew better, and even more poignant, he knew better. Then he'd suddenly lift his gaze, and he'd call out a name .. Tenebrae was it? She knew that name, and she could not miss the lace of hope that fringed the call he sent out to the red space that surrounded him. It was contagious, the rueful yet tear soaked smile he offered up to her, and she'd eagerly look about for the arrival of their vampiress-turned savior, in the blink of a tear drenched eye.
She was hardly their saviour, not now nor ever, but the catalyst for corruption; for change forged and wrought in the will of her Masters. That was what they were, she saw that now, as clearly as she could see how this must all end. The runesword-hilt was tucked to her waistband. She had to find the source of it, here. There would be a source, as the arcane pool that infected the fortress she'd hoped would be home for her people was the source of power in that place. Find it-- and give herself to it. That's what they wanted, it's all they wanted, and all the suffering inflicted on those close to her would cease. They could go back to what remained of their lives, never troubled again. Yes, it was all clear to her now... And with that realisation came the breath of a wind.. no, a voice... a stir of air that carried sounds, called to her, spoke her name. Tenebrae-- Joliette-- whoever she was, she'd turn toward that voice and break into a light jog, then a full run, then a pell-mell bolt that led her closer to... a feeling? A sense of rightness, where all was wrong. It was familiar, and a thread she'd follow through this turn and that, only to lose it... find it... Now she stood, allowing the prickle of her skin to guide her. Where had it gone? There it was! As bare feet pounded on black stone, she at least found herself with the knowledge that what she sought was just around the corner. But when she skidded around it, there was only a brief recess-- and a blank wall. Whipping her head around, she'd find the same at the end of the short path. Canting her head up, she already knew the walls rose beyond the capacity of her eyes to find the top. She was tempted to sink down again to her heels, cry like the human girl she'd been, but not this time. No, Joliette, Tenebrae the triple-cursed, she was not giving in so easily any more. It had to end. "I'm HERE!" The shout was bellowed with every ounce of strength she had in her. "Can you hear me?"
Darrien stared vacantly up at the polluted ceiling, his slowing tears making their final drops off his earlobes. As Isen slips away, leaving the rusty smell of blood in his wake, Darrien releases a bated, "No!" that should have lasted much longer, considering its volume, but it stopped once he disappeared behind the sociopathic walls. Darrien felt the numbness within him that proceeded a good cry, as he finished off the last of his sniffles. A perpetual frown weighed down at his lips and his abdomen was sore from all the yelling and crying. It was a gift that he was not aware of the imminent danger that awaited the if Isen reached the center of this infernal primitive machine. There may have just as well been another unconscious body, otherwise. ~~~~~ Darrien softened his grip on Eyren's hand and sandwiched it with his other. "Thank you. Truthfully, I have no idea how we are going to abscond from this wretched place that steals from our souls, but I am thankful for your presence." ~~~~~~ Calmer, and a bit more resolved, Darrien spoke once again in that same penetrating tone, "Follow my voice. Keeping talking to me! Where is that man going? He seems like he knows where he's going, but I don't trust him. He told me not to call for anyone." He took a deep breath and stood up, walking to find Tenebrae. "Come with me," he beckoned, motioning Eyren to follow, "I don't trust these walls either. They watch and they know and they feel. I don't believe it is our friend." Darrien clicked his tongue again, concentrating on hearing the outline of Tenebrae's form while keeping track of Isen's whereabouts as well.
Isen chortles quietly to himself as he runs, full-tilt, down the corridors. Thoughts run through his head, senses of magic he's not felt before in his life, all this new ability prickling his very fingertips in anticipation. And the voice...the voice is always there, whispering to him, as if there were a face planted against his chest rather than the stone disk, urging him ever onward.
Eyren felt muscles that she hadn't even realized were so extremely tensed relax a fraction as the man loosened his grip ever so slightly upon her hand. Yet she was still unwilling to sever this connection, no matter how damaged, he was someone. Her eyes would be drawn back to his face; thick ebon lashes stilling as she watched almost mesmerized, his face, a face that seemed possessed of an ageless beauty, yet cruelty had taken its toll as evidenced by the wash of lachrymal fluid that added an eerie sheen to his cheeks. She'd jump at the sound of the voice ... a familiar voice, the voice of Tenebrae; her gaze skittering from the face of the stranger to seek out where the voice was coming from. She felt as if she were hearing the cries of the girl again; the voice seeming to reverberate from the ceilings, the walls, everywhere. She turned her eyes to the man once more, as she felt him sandwich her hand between his two and she'd open her mouth to ask him where exactly Tenebrae was in this maze of never-ending red, yet he'd stand then; and she feeling gripped once more by that fear of being left alone, hurriedly made to follow suit. It was her turn to grip almost-painfully to his hand now, as her eyes still looked desperately for a sign, any sign of Tenebrae. "Forward, we must always move forward." She murmurs, more to herself than to her accompanying being.
Tenebrae ... for she had reclaimed the knowledge - and the agony - of who and what she was more fully now -- would turn back from the dead end, following the voice she somehow knew to trust. if this place was kin to the Obsidian Pool, and she strongly suspected it was, then instinct would guide her best, over thoughts that could so easily be twisted. Onward she ran, path after path, corner after corner, every turn as alike as the next, but the difference was made in that warm voice that called her to it, to pack, to ... she dare not think of what might come after. "What man?" Keeping vocal contact, whether she was heard or not, provided comfort. "And you're closer now... I can feel it." For a moment, she thought she saw a figure dashing away past a turn to her left, a flicker in the corner of her eye, but the voice tugged her to the right and she'd keep running, assuming it merely another figment produced by the warped mind of the labyrinth's creator. And that being.. well, a confrontation was in order, but first she had to find some anchor, some sanity... the pack. Hurling her body around the next turn, she'd just about collide with two figures, and her hand instinctively sought her blade, no matter how glad she was to finally find.... "D.. darrien?" He was dead. Wasn't he? What new trick was this? Peridot eyes narrowed in suspicion, and then alit on Eyren, who was honestly a sight for sore eyes, at that moment. Her voice would be redolent with relief, "Medic! Tell me, for the love of the gods, what's going on?"
"Singggg...........Tack...tack...tack..tack.tacktacktacktacktickticktick" Such is the cadence of each as it leaves a gauntlet-clad hand to traverse above its fellows before rejoining them. Boredom can bring even a noble drow to such common pursuits of entertainment. "Perhaps I might go look for them," Vaelustil D'eathe mutters to himself, the dark elf letting his whitened eye shift to the boat still looming out in the water. "But could I find them, I wonder." Another pebble is let loose before he rises with a soft grunt. "Ah, but I am getting too old for this. Tenebrae and I must talk, when we've time." Forward he strides, his footing carefully set to make his way safely to the beach's edge without slipping on the many stones he's hurled. Already that undead bridge of his rises, still there even now, after these many days. Along the bridge his armored feet tread, along it his still-robeless form traverses. He hadn't needed the armor last time, he figured he wouldn't this time. Always cocky, Vaelustil. And then he was over the ship's rail, his footing far more sure this time than it had been on his first venture. The storm hated him less, perhaps. But whatever the reason, be it the lessened intensity, or simply past (even if extremely limited) experience, he makes his way into the hull once more, his vision inked out. He can feel the ground beneath his feet. He can tell he moves forward through the dark hall. But he cannot see where he heads. Not at first. But then it begins to lighten, he begins to hear a voice. A familiar voice. Then he sees them. Tenebrae, and two others, one unknown and the other the strange, kooky woman from the tavern. That was quick, is his first thought. Perhaps too quick, his second. His great double-headed poleaxe is summoned to hand, blades singing through the air as it's twirled to a ready grip. "Ting, ting, ting, ting," his boots now sing as he makes his way slowly closer.
"Well, we're going to have to backtrack or sidetrack -one or the other- just a little bit, so we can meet her first. I'm sure she will know what to do," Darrien mustered as confidently as possible. He heard his own vacillating optimism, as he heard Isen approaching the heart of the abomination without them. His seemingly incurable furrowed brow gave way to a healthy forehead. There she was, their alleged beacon of hope. Undoubtedly, he was elated to see her, powering her into a strong embrace. "My gods, Tenebrae, I never would have expected to see you here. No, that's not true; I really should have suspected you would be here," he quickly stammered out while giggling. He moved to the side, allowing full view of Eyren, the unbeknowned fellow vampriss. "I brought a friend," he added blissfully, as if that mere title provided hope, "What are we doing here anyway? What's happening? There was a man who I believe knocked out a feral female friend of mine and he just left without us, caked in blood, in a hurry somewhere. He's moving toward the core as we speak. Is the exit there? If it is, he's in a rush to get there, so he probably means to trap us!" Here, he ebbed from the embrace to allow her distance to answer, but as they parted, it was already evident Darrien was in need of another hug. Instead, he just changed the grip upon Eyren's hand to something more encompassing.
The sounds of Isen's footfalls can still be heard, echoing down the corridors. He rounds a few turns at a dead run, occasionally literally running into dead ends, retracing his steps, and running again. His breath is again ragged, his eyes tearing up in an attempt to moisten themselves as, in his mad dash, the lycan forgets to blink. On and on he runs, searching frantically for the source of the call.
Eyren could wept as openly as her companion at the solidary apparition of Tenebrae from around one of the many twisting corners of this labyrinthine prison that she had somehow jettisoned herself in to. Recognition was a warm light that begged her to let her guard down, if only for a moment. Slowly, her grip would wane upon Darrien's as her eyes filled with every aspect that was Tenebrae. As The stranger would move to embrace Tenebrae, Eyren would find herself moving forward to do likewise; there fingers still intertwined, yet whether this was inadvertent on their part she'd question later. She'd fall upon Tenebrae, with all the desperation of a cast-away just found a bit of strong wood; in hopes that it might keep her afloat .. long enough to reach shore. "Awful, all of this .. the silence, the blood, the monster, Creature .. hurt." She was babbling now, uncaring of clear and concise sentences, happy to not be alone. Tenebrae had asked her what was going on? How was she, still fledgling druid to know of such deep and all-encompassing magics? None of it made sense, none of it was physical. It was not a cut to be cleaned and bound, it was not a bone to be reset in to place. It was beyond her; and she'd fall away from Tenebrae then, realizing that she held as many questions as herself, and the ruby-eyed stranger. She was drained now, her eyes fluttering to rest for a sweet moment upon freckled; wrapped in the fleeting allusion that perhaps third time was the charm; that when next she opened her eyes, the universe would be in her favor and would see fit to return her, back to ... to things that were more familiar to her. Yet, all she'd receive, was the pulling of her body towards a distant point, a body, an embrace, that did not echo of the smooth cool texture of Tenebrae, but of warmth, and something that was distinctively as alive as herself. The stranger, he was embracing her, she did not even know his name, yet mechanically, her arms would raise to mimic his action, till she was squeezing, clinging to this one thing, that was familiar, answering the human call for this one brief moment of reprieve from the continuous buffeting of reality gone awry.
Tenebrae was ... hugged. She'd avoid the insult of squirming in the twin grasps of her clansmates, and merely offer a pat of arm or hair where she could reach to one or the other in the brief moment all three were bound in that relieved tangle of bodies. The ménage broke apart, and the words of the pair were permitted a moment's silence to settle into her mind like pieces of a fragmented puzzle. "Wait, wait." Feral.. knocked out.. Creature? Her eyes shifted between the medic and Darrien, Tene's brow knitting to a deep frown. "Creature's hurt? But I was just there..." A forefinger was pointed weakly in a random direction. "... is she alright? Where is she? Damn this place." Those pale green eyes settled on Darrien a moment. "As for what's going on, I can tell you this is no ordinary magic. It's the Pool, all over again." She'd let him ponder the gravity of that while Eyren sought the comfort of his embrace, and then spoke through gritted teeth. "My Maker is up to his tricks again, and we're all in danger. It's important that you stick together. You must find a man called Micaelis, too, wearing a strange suit of armour. If you see him, he's a friend. Now, where's Creature and... who's this man you speak of, covered in blood? Why is he moving to the..." She paled a little, a thought occurring to her. "The core... Darrien. Whoever he is, we must get there first. Or rather, -I- must." Tene shook her head. "I've endangered all of you long enough. I'll not put anyone to such great peril."
Vael nodded, if only to himself. The voices fit to memory, and it's all he needed to find himself relaxing some. "And what of those that would follow you willingly, Tenebrae?" His voice cut through the darkness, even as his own body came into light, scarred body and all. That grand weapon of his, it rests upon his shoulder, giving the necromancer a far more martial appearance than he has shown in some time. But even that can't diminish the smirk that adorns Vael's lips, the glint of mischief in his eyes. "Of course, you know I'd follow you with or without permission, I'd hope." Vaelustil glances at the other two, now. Darrien he has no knowledge of what-so-ever. Eyren, he had very little of, knowing her only as the goof he met in the tavern. But they are here, and so they must have some merit. "Let them along as well, hm? It'd be interesting to see what they're made of."
Darrien 's lungs felt very, very small whilst his heart felt large enough to be pierced by his ribs at every minute breath he was capable of. "We have to cease this immediately! Tenebrae, you're unbelievably strong. I can lead you to the middle without much obstruction. And there you will stop him." The frantic glaze over his eyes pleaded for Tenebrae to agree as quickly as possible, so they could make haste to thwart the unthinkable horror that could ensue. He turned to Eyren and stared at those paling lips and pondered at the lack of movement her chest made in such a dire moment. "Breasts," he thought about vividly, and at such a time! Darrien enjoyed their texture and their life-sustaining property, the sweet, musky flavor of milk directly from the teat. He cursed inwardly, blinking himself out of that haphazard reverie. "We must hurry," he pleaded, breaking into a jog with Eyren in hand and leaving Tenebrae to follow in tow. The clicks from his tongue were about twice as fast as the percussive cadence upon the ground. Darrien's half-elfin ears perked curiously to temporarily distract him from his internal sonar. "There's another, but he's far, as if muffled by something. I believe he may be trying to enter. I'll attempt a message: STAY OUT! There are unfathomable dangers lying within. I repeat; stay out! .. Unless you are sure you can help?" His final words were meeker and he turned over his shoulder to peer at Tenebrae, apologetically shrugging. Before long, they were Deilakrion's limp frame, this section's walls even redder than before. "Medic. Tenebrae called you medic. You need to stay here with our Nomad and tend to any injuries she may have suffered. Tene," he murmured hesitantly, "I'd like to go with you, to the center." Gulp.
Tenebrae had motioned Vael back to remain out of sight for the moment -- the drow, used to communicating silently, must have understood as he seemed to vanish into the dark he'd stepped out of while Darrien spoke, and then ran off to lead them to Creature's fallen form. "Yes, there's another..." She could only pray the maze didn't swallow Vaelustil; even close contact had proven unable to prevent Tene losing people here... or finding them. The walls changed as the trio ran, disturbingly shifting from blank white to pinkish, to a deep and bloody red, before finally Darrien halted, near a body lying limp on the ground. A naked, scarred body. "Creature..." A pale hand extended as though to grasp the elf, drag her from this horror of her own discovery. But Eyren was with her, and did not seem so worried after checking the woman's vital signs. Tene turned to Darrien, her expression a mask of ire. "There's no need for any more of you to risk yourselves. Gather whoever you can find and get..." The man's face halted her words, and Vael's soft insistence came to mind. They'd follow her, anyway, misguided fools. They always did. She really had no idea why. "Dammit." Tenebrae peered into the red distance, calling, "Vael. It's alright. No need for cover, you may as well join us. This is Darrien, he's Cabal. We go together." She lowered her voice, grumbled, "To the blasted core."
Shadows. What is it with his race and shadows? Always slinking about in them, hiding in them, living in them, doing...other things in them. But, Vael had to admit to himself, they have their uses. Like following people when he needs to not be seen. He had been warned to stay away. He never listens to such advice. It's his downfall; he'll rush headlong into a dragon's den, if he feels like it. But, after much following, after many times nearly losing Tenebrae and her duo of companions, he's called back into the light, his gaze upon his beloved Deilakrion. "I don't even want to know what happened here," he remarks softly about the sight. "None would like the outcome if I did." White eyes lift to Darrien as the introduction finally registers to his mind. His nod of greeting is quick, curt. "At least you're not one to turn tail at the prospect of venturing further. You're off to a good start of earning my respect." But then Tenebrae is the subject of his stare, a smirk once again upon his lips. "You know you love our company, even in times like this." To her he moves, and he speaks again, a whisper into her ear."And I wouldn't let you face whatever awaits us at the center alone. But don't let the others know that, hm? I prefer the less-than-caring facade most know."
Darrien had a concern pinching at the folds of his gray matter. Even though he was blessed with the power of echolocation, navigating this maze had been far too easy up until now. There was obvious life to the structure, so it had been ~letting~ him slip through without obstacle. As if to taunt him and to read his mind, the walls now began to audibly shift not just in their proximity, but all about them. And right there before them stood a three-pronged fork, stabbing at them like they were tender pieces of meat. Quite dramatically, Darrien slammed his hands against the walls of sanguine, falling deep into abasement once again. "I'm sorry, friends. I am so sorry. I cannot navigate you any further by my ears. They're moving too fast. I think .. it wants .. it demands we split up. I don't know what to do. I can't go by myself. I can't." Truly, it was as if a baby slept in his bones, for he never wanted to be alone. His tear ducts were hot springs that only went off when people turned their backs. He fell, sliding down the wall, onto his behind to cradle himself some minuscule comfort. Eventually, he shyly found both Tenebrae's and Vaelustil's eyes with his shiny own and wore a smile that frowned much more than it smiled. "I've only just found you and now we have to part. This cannot happen. Please don't leave me. No, you, we, must go..." He silently mouthed the remainder of his sentence, " .. please don't leave me .. " staring down at his knees. Like that, he stayed for minutes, whether or not the rest of the team went without him. However, the drow's stalwart mien and his strangely encouraging words did as much to inspire him as it did to help him to his feet: quickly and resolutely, no less. "Thank you! I know we will see each other again, even if our bodies crumble asunder." he would shout if Vael was already far away, quieter if he chose to stay. One sniff, and Darrien was staring down the path before him, sweating bullets, trying a walk, building up to a jog -- but all the while paranoid of pit traps and poisonous projectiles.
Isen continues in his mad dash down the winding corridors of the Labyrinth, earnestly seeking the center, the source of the voice that calls to him, that draws him onward. His sprint slows, however, physical limitations finally getting the best of him, as he half-jogs along, gasping for air, his chest rising and falling against the heated stone disk.
Tenebrae took surer steps now, no more faltering at the corners to ponder left or right. The same force that beckoned Isen -repelled- her, and she'd figured out six segments of the Labyrinth ago that if she ran toward the feeling that had her gut shrivel and pulse thread weakly, that caused a knot in her throat and an -absolute- surety she was going the wrong way, she would catch the sound of pounding footsteps echoing through the blood-dark walls. The magic infused into her by Deilakrion had all but recovered her sense of present self; though it dwelled side by side with her past, in an odd way. So, for this brief time, Joliette and Tenebrae were to meet, observe each other in the deepest recesses of the vampiress' mind, and most of her conscious self focussed on finding Isen. She was fairly certain now, as to what was behind this travesty of time and space, the similarities too close to leave doubt. And the forces that had crafted the Cabal Headquarters, in un-creating the belly of this ship, had gained another foothold in the world-- one that was possibly not as dependent on her for its survival. The thought unnerved her horribly. Isen... She ignored the trembling of her limbs that told her to give up, get the hell out.. and there were those footsteps, louder now. leading her toward... another chance for Fate to play foosball with her, no doubt.
Isen soon becomes aware of Tenebrae's presence as she rapidly gains on him. The voice alerts him, warns him that she will try to stop him. Panic washes through him, stirring his tired legs to even greater lengths, as his sprinting starts up once more. He is almost there...he can feel it. Just a few more turns, perhaps, and he will reach his destination. Continues backwards glances are thrown, as the lycan searches for his pursuer, knowing her intent, though not her identity as of yet.
Louder now-- she could even hear the rasp of breath, she and the lycan running almost side by side, divided only by one crimson stretch of stone. What did they want with him? It was -she- that was their Unmaker, their cursed one, their unwilling and uncompliant puppet. Perhaps they'd given up on her? Hells. The very thought had her features contort in horror. Isen was a tough man, but he hadn't been raised for it, wasn't groomed for the service, as she had been. And it had almost killed her, betrayed her, ruined her every chance at happiness, how many times? "Isen!" Her voice would rasp, lacking its normal clarity. "It's me, Tene-- you have to stop!"
Isen stumbles, his feet pounding on while his brain told the to stop, the result sending him tumbling headlong into a wall. Struggling to his feet, he calls out, his voice still rushed, hurried. "I can't stop, Tene! I have to get there. You wouldn't understand." He regains his bearing, and begins to run again, calling out over his shoulder, "You can come along, if you'd like...but you cannot try to stop me."
"I -do- understand! Isen-- stop running, please.." A fit of coughing brought on by the dryness of her throat slowed her own progress, one palm supporting her weight against the wall as she struggled to draw breath among the wracking of her lungs. The footsteps had vanished by the time she stopped. "Dammit." About to push away, continue what seemed a futile mission, she found her arm sunk into the crimson stone, up to her shoulder. "What in the name of...?" The wall seemed spongy, a weird substance that shivered as she pushed into it , through... and out into another corridor. Her eyes immediately trained to the wall opposite, she set her heels to black stone and ran toward it, more than half expecting her flight to end with an abrupt crunch of head meeting rock. But this wall too parted, slurped her into it and spat her out. -- Will-- Chaos had never been equal to that spark of free will in her, and it wasn't now. She had to locate the lycan again. This time, she'd catch up with him for sure. "Isen!"
Isen halts again, this time a bit more gracefully, as he sees Tenebrae burst into the corridor ahead of him. He stands a good distance away from her, watching, his eyes taking on the quality of a cornered wolf's. "You have to let me through, Tenebrae. You cannot try to prevent me from doing what I must do." His hand rests lightly on the stone disk, basking in the warmth and power emanating from it.
She had her palms out by way of looking reasonable about this, slender arms shaking slightly with exertion. "No, you can't. You don't understand, what they do What they are..." But why Isen? Tene’s eyes fell on the stone he’d taken to wearing on his chest. She pointed to it, her features stilling as realisation dawned upon her. "And that... " His obsession. It was all starting to make sense-- she knew what that disk was now. They wanted the weapons.. why else would they go to all this trouble? The vampiress stepped toward him, her hands still up, her steps slow and voice set at a soothing pitch. "Listen to me, Isen. That disk, it can stop them. They want to take it from you. We must get out of here."
Isen recoils from Tenebrae, crossing his arms protectively over his chest, shielding the disk from view. His head shakes firmly, malice appearing in his golden eyes. "No! They want me to have it, to use it!" His mind still hums with the magic gifted to him by Deilakrion, itching to be released. He yet refrains, though, and again tries to pass around Tenebrae, his back sliding along the blood red wall as he keeps as far away from her as possible.
Senka suddenly finds herself quite alone in the wasteland that is her mind, for her chaotic eyes are unable to view the real white walls. Instead they gaze over endless and endless hills of sand that only end with the storms at the distance, chaotic, strong. The sand is still as scorching hot as her temper and as the two strangers fade, one who had challenged her before and one who had been injured, Senka is once again utterly and totally alone. Pale white hands tremble with a weakness her wolf’s form would never show, and it’s with difficulty that the petite woman finally manages to rise to her feet again. White strands of long silky hair are just barely still restrained in that braid and so pale fingers move to gently pull them away in a gesture that comes much more natural then it ever has before. Her voice too, is much to clear and the albino finds herself still adjusting to the sound of her truly human form, rather then the one she’s forced in once a month, “I know you’re there!” The statement is meant to draw out that pack that has been agonising her before, but only a gust of sand is her answer at first…Then that same blue-eyed white-haired tiny little boy appears as she turns into another direction, making the woman start and actually jump back. “You again!” the statement is hostile in an attempted snarl, but like before the woman fails utterly. In this reality, after all, it’s the human she’s chosen. The boy, pup, merely smiles a smile-that-misses-two-tooths and holds out his small little hand to take hold of her pinkie in a movement that is familiar and trusting only serving to make the albino stiffen. It takes three insistent tugs, of a child amazingly strong, before the stubborn confused creature finally follows the small pup that looks a bit too much like her for her comfort. “What…where are you taking me?” talking to him feels awkward, for his sticky little fingers are much too familiar as sand disappears and storms evaporate…White walls are splattered in the colour of her eyes and she and the boy are left to step over cooling bodies as he takes her deeper and deeper into the Labyrinth without her knowledge. The only thing she knows is that she’s hearing voices she’s quite sure she’s supposed to know…
It was likely the magic in her that was sourced in the same place as that which swelled in Isen now; Tene sensed a prickle, a unfamiliar warmth dancing along her nerves, set her scalp to tingling and all the tiny hairs along her arms on end. It welled in her, like that darker source that called for sins to rise and be shriven by a sin-eater's kiss, but this-- what rose in her now was not so black, as sickening. She'd not known how unclean her magic really was until this moment, but it was a knowledge that would have to wait to be considered. Her immediate problem was Isen, and the call of the Chaos Lords that lured the lycan to what she was certain would be his destruction, and very possibly her own. "No, you must know how they work. They lie, Isen. They lie in filthy, black whispers in your soul. This..." Her arm swept out in an encompassing gesture, her eyes falling on the tattered corpses she'd stepped over in the chase, walls the slick and sickly crimson of grue. "This horror, this is what awaits you. The Pool-- Isen, it's another one of its ilk, I am sure of it. But somehow, this one is stronger." And the rune magic crackled in her, split her lips to a grin. "I'm not letting you anywhere near the core."
Isen crouches, muscles tensed, ready to spring. The runes tattooed on his skin begin to glow, ever so faintly, as if they could sense the coming attack, and are ready to help protect the lycan. "What if you are lying? What if you have other reasons for stopping me?" He pauses for a moment, head cocked as he listens to something unheard by any but himself. Suddenly, his head snaps to attention once more, glaring at Tenebrae. "You are jealous. You want to be their favorite, and you'll do anything to keep me from them."
Senka is getting closer and closer to the source of the sounds and with her curiosity raised she stops resisting as much to the pull of those sticky fingers. They round a bloody corner and there they are, two figures. A forbidden word is whispered at the back of her mind, forbidden yet seemingly so true. A word she has tried to forget so long, a word that even this form knows for no matter what kind of reality, Senka will always be a creature of chaos with two sides; ‘Pack’. The child giggles happily, pulling her a step forward into the unfamiliar scene and her blue dress, stained at the bottom with blood and still some grains of sand, sways wit h the sudden movement. Pale lips part, stretching the thin scar beneath her left cheekbone, but no sound escapes her closed throat not that she’d know what to say anyway. The lycan hadn’t expected to see anyone else anymore in this unfamiliar place, doomed as she seemed to be alone, yet here she is staring at two arguing figures that her mind whispers she knows. Pack, pack, pack, no! Never, ever will the albino over give into that temptation of false affection and safety again. Her petite form waves, pulling back but the child keeps her in place with one tiny little hand, smiling that toothy smile again as he waves cheerfully at the two people present, despite the tension felt so clearly in the air…
Tenebrae broke into a wild laugh, the first of it more a sharp bark, and nothing of humour in it. her eyes paled, glistened with an icy light, and her tone turned scathing, derisive. "Jealous? You idiot." She stalked a little closer, her body a lithe sweep of fine-honed muscle, seemingly relaxed, nonchalant, though every nerve in her was wired for the fight that seemed inevitable now. Her palms hummed with warmth and strength that flooded her like life itself, and for a moment the vicious little urchin she'd been held sway, and it was Joliette of the Bloody Wire, the girl the Lords had chosen before her birth to be their conduit, the living blasphemy, their still-mortal Unmaker. "You think I WANTED to become what I am? To be their puppet, their vessel, their weapon?" She shook her head, ebon strands sliding across her shoulders. "I never wanted this. And neither do you, only you can't know it, for their lies." And she might have seemed about to say something else that sounded reasonable, but motion, something white....someone? a figure...was caught in the corner of her periphery, and she would turn to it, just for a second, just to assess whether it was a threat or a hindrance or... If Isen was going to attack, this split second might be his best -- and clearest-- opportunity.
Isen 's form sinks further and further into his crouch as Tenebrae approaches; the lycan seeming to find comfort in his huddled position. Her words, perhaps logical to a rationally-thinking person, only serve to infuriate Isen all the more, as the sibilant hiss of the Chaos Lord undercuts her every sentence, reminding the lycan of his clan leader's supposed jealousy. Following the whispered instructions to the letter, Isen pays no mind to the approaching figure, keeping his attention locked on Tenebrae instead. The instant the woman looks away, a wild, feral shriek splits the air, as Isen releases the full fury of Deilakrion's magic; a raw, unformed burst of pure energy sent straight at Tenebrae.
Tenebrae was galvanised by that shriek, the sound smacking into her awareness in the hair's-breadth of a moment before the rune magic flew from the lycan's form, and so she was already half in an evasive roll by the time the brunt struck her small frame, sending her body tumbling to crunch against the nearest ruddy-hued wall. It hurt.. Aside from the pain of impact, the runes triggered her flesh to crumple, severed responses, paralysed-- but then the magic she harboured in her own flesh reacted, fired her, lifted her to her feet despite the ache and pangs of bone-deep bruises and cracked ribs. It raised her up and gave her feet, wracked her with a fierce joy, lust for wreaking damage on the man who seemed intent on serving the ones who'd harmed her. It gathered, it bunched, as will a great golden-eyed cat ready to leap for the throat of its prey, and with a shriek of her own that carved the air like the wings of a bulleting hawk, her hands were thrust forward and the magic surged through them as surely as an arrow leaving a bow, and with Isen the prime target of the necromancer's intent to -stop- him, whatever the cost.
Isen reels, drained from the sheer force of the magic. The energy, ripped from his throat and sent toward Tenebrae now dissipates, soaking into the walls, speeding on it's way to feed the entity that resides at the core of the maze. Isen vision is a blur, the only reality he is aware of being the stone disk at his heart. Instinctively, though, he sets off at a run, knowing somewhere in the back of his mind that he has made a grave error. And thus, Tenebrae's retaliation strikes him full in the back, the runes flaring up with a bright red light as the try to save the lycan. The force sends him sailing, though, spinning through the air. He lands, shoulder first, and skids, coming to rest in a daze at the next turn in the walkway.
Senka tugs the child, pup, out of the way on instinct as Isen’s burst of energy goes speeding, reacting merely to the way of movement. Pale lids close as her body braces herself but the attack goes speeding passed innocently and the woman, she knows her from somewhere but where?, is smacked against the wall. With her hands still on the now whimpering bundle, the woman slowly opens her eyes to take in the sight of the fight happening. It calls to her, just like Deilakrion’s challenge has and almost unconsciously she gently pushes the boy away in a vague movement to join. Yet the child has other plans and clings tightly to her dress, causing a painful -tug- on her heart that unnerves her more then any fight will ever do. “Get off me, pup,” the words are uttered in an attempted growl but the sound is still weak as the albino finally manages to wrench herself from the grasp of blue eyes. It’s the movement of Isen’s skidding body that catches her attention though, pale hands once again returning to the boy’s form to push him around the corner before cautiously making her way closer herself. Foolish? But of course, but Senka -knows- this people -somehow- and that must mean that they’re key to getting out of this place, right? And the sooner she’s back to her trusty four-legged uncaring hairy form, the better. Besides, death is not nearly as frightening as staying in this form, stalked by a kid who’s curly locks are a -little- too white and his eyes a -little- too familiar.
Cree stalked the corridors of the maze, lost in a maze of his own mentally as he hadn't kept tracked of his master's footsteps. Visual tracing was no longer possible, sending the reptilian into a frenzied panic. Tears began to form into the ducts of his eyes, and stroll down his scaly cheek and over his snout before a whimpered hiss escaped his vocal chords. Cree was beyond the point of being lost, scampering the corridors with a sharp turn at every corner; hoping that his master's voice would soothe him, or the sight of him would assure Cree that everything would be alright. A torrent of mixed emotion, all contrasting the happiness of being saved, washed over his mind and filling his body with sensations that he has never been familiar with. Drowning his joy with sorrow, shaking his mind with confusion, and twitching his body with a scream for help from the inside. His tail swayed like an abandoned puppy upon every sound he managed to catch, hoping his master would return to save him once more.
Tenebrae was on Isen, then, and though the magic had left her for now, cutting the strings that kept her buoyant with its power, still she was driven on by the sheer force of her indomitable will. There was no way this side of the afterlife she was going to allow that festering shadow that she -knew- in her bones was skulking at the core of the ship to infect her First Mate any longer. So, it was that she landed in a straddle on his back, his wrist grasped, arm twisted up behind and wrenched painfully. Leaning forward so that liquorice-hued hairtips might tickle his face, she hissed, "You, Isen. Right now --you-- are Creation's right hand, and the weapon you bear on your chest is its own. We can fight them, smite then from this plane forever. But we need --all-- the weapons." Her other hand would cuff him lightly over the head. "Listen to me, not the filthy lies. Listen to me Isen!" Her gaze was snatched up by the approaching white woman and the ghostly little figure that led her toward them, and then by a deep rumble coming from deeper in the ship, as though vast and rusty cogs were turning, and swine were screaming, all at once. "You there!" She turned back to the female. "This man is insane. I need help to keep him down. I have to go to..." Again, that horrible sound. "I have to go."
Isen teeth gnash in fury and impotent rage, his free limbs a blur of constant motion, the muscles of his imprisoned arm straining for freedom. "Get off!" He yells, his rasping voice filling the reddened hallways. "They will give me the world!" He tries to throw himself to one side, hardly caring about the safety and wholeness of his arm at this point. Where was his servant, the strange lizard-man that he had saved?
“Are you insane?” it would be the first words that greeted the familiar-yet-not-woman as the albino’s pale hands raise in a rejecting gesture, “Do I –look- like a darn –paladin- or something? I’m not doing any-“ Yet her words are cut off as sticky hands push her back, urging her forward. “Pup? What are you…” Is that why he brought her here? Looking over her shoulder Senka meets clear blue eyes she’s –sure- she’s seen before in someone else’s face and suddenly the woman huffs. After all, she’s not nearly as selfish as she would be in her preferred form. “If I die, I am going to haunt –you-,” she grumbles towards the small child, who merely giggles in a way that makes his white curls bounce happily. Grumbling still, trying her best to ignore the deep rumbling that unnerves her so, Senka nevertheless does as she normally never would have done and moves to take Tene’s place. Yet finding a way to sit on Isen’s back without freeing him in the process is a hard one, even if a pale hand moves to tangle in his hair to press his face harshly to the ground. Somehow, along with awkward wriggles, the woman is sure to succeed however for even though she’s petite and most of her strength seems to have lessened, she’s nevertheless much stronger then any other non-lycan woman. “Why do pups always insist on giving me trouble?”
Cree dropped to his knees with his claws scarping against the floor as his head was spinning, like a sea sick child with no where to go and no one to help him. Streams of tears polluted his face as he shattered his own negligent concentration with a piercing scream, laced with a reptilian hissing. The Preklek leapt to his feet and took off in a full sprint, taking corners with an aggressive strike by ramming his shoulder into them and pushing himself through with a strike from his tail; all without losing overall speed. His scaly complexion gradually began to shift into a shade of stone to blend in with the ship's surroundings. As the active camouflage took place, Cree hooked a quick left and came to a sudden halt. The view of his master sprawled on the floor, lashing about with a woman sitting atop him formed a twitch in his eye. With claws bared, Cree sprang into the air latching onto the wall like a rope net and climbed across the maze wall horizontally until he was a mere yard or so from Isen. A sickening hiss echoed around the room, as he wasn't quite fully visible before he flung himself from the wall and towards Isen. " Saviour! "
Isen bucks himself into the air, shaking free of the strange woman, as well as a good bunch of his hair, which remains in her hand. Cree's arrival is noted with a somewhat delirious grin, and a gestured 'follow me'. He bolts off down the corridor, feet pounding loudly, matching his racing heartbeats as he makes his mad dash for the source of the whispered voice.
Tenebrae was ahead of Isen, not by far but by far enough to have it seem she'd make it to the source of this nightmare first. Just as the whispers called to the lycan and provided him with something by way of an inner compass, so too did the repulsion she felt for the being that lurked beyond, the sickness that flooded her or abated with every corner, every choice of path. All she had to do was go where every fibre of her being screamed for her not to... Her body was complaining loudly-- bones, bruises and magic-sapped muscle all added to the small voice within that told her this was indeed madness, and that she should simply give up, turn back, go home. But too, there was that part of her being that was in the womb melded with Chaos, and it -knew- as the night knows morning will follow, that 'home' for her was the Darkness, the Void, and that the Lords would not be happy 'til all was Darkness itself, and it was the horror of this that kept her body moving, into a red mist that was so thick as to give the impression of a jellylike resistance to her pushing through it, though it did not truly exist. She'd stop it, somehow. She had to-- after all, wasn't that her Fate?
Cree landed upon the floor, using his claws as anchors to force his body to come to a stop while slashing across the surface. His complexion had returned to normal as his emotions seem to relax his mind upon the finding of his master. Cree arose and took off after his master, fully intent on never losing him again; 'twas like losing a lung, while trying to feed a tobacco addiction with a hearty hit from a cigarette. Painful, and nigh-unable to be handled by the young psyche of the adolescent preklek. With every turn Isen cut quickly, Cree managed to keep up by utilizing his tail like a ship's rudder, placing it on the wall and sliding in the opposite direction to create a resisting force and propel him in the proper direction behind his saviour. His eyes were filling up like whirlpool spas, drowning in heated tears; though this time, they were tears of joy and anxiety. There was nothing else he would adore more than to be free alongside the one who brought him the true meaning of freedom, away from this ivory prison beneath the never ending walls, curving around to form a chaotic maze. The steps of a woman behind them kept him alert as he awaited his next orders, still pacing quickly behind Isen.
Isen casts a glance over his shoulder to make sure that Cree is keeping up, rounding the next corner while looking back. In this position, he plows into the red mist without warning, nearly losing his balance at the change in resistance. He pushes onward, every now and then calling out, so that Cree would be able to locate him.
Darrien had just offered Eyren his hand when he received two undeniably familiar sounds, rebounding off the unforgiving rock of the caverns. The bounce in his throat wanted to say, "Tenebrae! She's well, and alive!" But there were a couple of disconcerting details that kept him at bay. If that were indeed true, that man he saw earlier was not far away; he knew this the same way he knew Tenebrae to be alive. Still, he heard them. "How could I do that? How could I even navigate like that through the maze before? Why am I hearing -- everything?" Darrien had been thinking so long, he had forgotten what his hand was extended for. So whether or not Eyren used it to get to her feet, he retracted and began feverishly pacing. "We cannot continue; we still have too many of our brethren unconscious. We should wait for them. I am hearing things, perhaps miles away as clearly as if they were in the next room. This .. ship .. is alive. It breathes. And there's fresh water here. This must be where it processes the salt water from the sea into fresh water, a natural desalination mechanism. That would explain a lot of the moving, shifting, and change of color." Shaky fingers played at his shiny visage, glistening in the humidity and his perspiration. To soothe himself, he began singing, "Its ribs our ceiling beams. Its guts our carpeting. I guess we have some time to kill..." And on and on while he mused ceaselessly while the others slept and while Eyren most likely watched, perplexed.
Tenebrae could hear them coming, the pounding feet, the hisses and calls back and forth-- hisses? The question of -what- was making that sound never got the chance to form fully in her mind, and truly, here, at the point of breaching through to the core of the ship and what lay within it, it didn't really matter. The repulsion was like lead in her legs, her belly, a dread so deep as to make her feet falter and her body lurch as she forced herself to take each step. The mist rendered her sightless, so that now and then she'd clip the edge of a wall when guiding fingertips betrayed her in judging distance, or she'd stumble on yet another carcass, thankfully unseen. It seemed to seep into her that redness, like blood to a loaf of white bread, imbuing the vampiress with its eerie chill. And what broke on her mind like a crested wave, then, was a vision of the man for whom she'd end the world itself, if it'd only bring him back to her. Whatever his wanderings, whatever had taken him from the crux of her life, she knew that he was --somewhere-- out there, and that she loved him. The agony of his loss permeated her, as though carried in the mist itself, and she wouldn't pause to wonder -why- the feeling had so suddenly and in such an inappropriate moment chosen to rise. All she could do was feel it, see his face, her beloved Cap'n, who had loved her. The thought of him fuelled her onward, though the footsteps behind grew closer by the second.
Isen , no longer caring about whether Cree was behind him. His legs stretch to their fullest extent, pounding relentlessly over floor and corpse alike. Needless to say, he stumbles many times, only to rise and dash forward again, bleeding from numerous scrapes and skids. Finally, though, he breaks free of the mist, expelling the last of it from his lungs as he stops dead in his tracks, staring about him. Had he passed up Tenebrae? He doesn't bother to check; his attention is focused solely on the figure at the center of this large room. It is tall, and man-shaped, but entirely made up of a deep black, like liquid. He's seen this before, in the Pool that called to him from the headquarters, though he never ventured in. So he stands, awestruck, staring.
Isen 's blood seems to be pounding faster than ever through his veins, the giddy feeling increased tenfold. Around Deilakrion's collapsed body appear three twisting bits of shadow. They speak to him, call to him. Willingly, he walks forward, nearly jogging as he follows the three shadows. His hand remains steadfastly locked on the disk, despite the heat of the stone. He stops again, though, upon sight of Darrien and Eyren. Again the desire to kill makes itself known, but again is pushed back. This time, though, it is something within Isen himself that restrains him. The voices of the shadows screech at him, and he makes to dash around them, to follow.
Eyren fought down the urge to throw her arms about this strange being set before her, his eyes too far gone from any semblance of sapphire; instead they were as red o as the transformed wall, two pools of silent wounds in his face; the face of someone that had fallen prey to a desperation not unlike her own, she'd assume. The tracks were telltale testaments to this assumption and she wanted to pause and set aside her panic for a moment to make an almost-casual inquiry as to why he'd been weeping. Yet, timing, placement, they were the substance of everything, and there was no opening for such an exchange, as he spoke once more, of another that could help. Another, more, there was more hope of being dragged further from the white still silence that she'd first awakened too. the little girl and demon were long gone; and not quite know how it passed, the stranger was gripping her hand. she let her body set itself on auto-manoeuvring; chilled fingers clasping tightly about a hand that was that and nothing more, the hand of another; confirmation that she was not alone anymore, that that long expansive corridor of white silence, had been only a dream. Yet, was this world, bathed in the red tint of spilt blood any better? She cared not, for she was not alone, there were promises of others, and that was all that mattered to her taut nerves; she being the marionette, following his lead, running once more. Then, he was upon his knees before her; assuming this position which she'd seen him take it seemed only minutes ago. At his sudden halt, she'd fall head-over-heels in to him, crashing in a flurry of tangled hair, and soiled clothing, her arm twisting as she retained her deaths grip upon his hand. Stopped? What had made him stop so suddenly? Looking about through a veil of cylindrical ribbons that made up her hair, she spied a figure, that she knew must be familiar, yet her mind could not place him. He was drenched in red; seeming as if he'd materialized from the very walls themselves. She wanted out of here, she wanted to help, that was the call of her heart. To heal, to restore life, not to rejoice in the extinguishing of it. Yet all around her, everything screamed contradictions that left her shaking piteously beside the still unnamed stranger. "This ... must be where it begins, ... and where it ends" she murmurs softly.
All this time, the woman who'd been born with the name Joliette had been curled in a ball at the base of one of those endless, white walls, her rage and torment apparent in the blood that crusted her fists and the white stone behind her. Deilakrion's surge of magic had embraced her, and the elf had suddenly been no stranger, but kin, and the mind that had been split in two had merged... and Joliette knew, then, who and --what-- she had become. A monster. A freak. No wonder she'd been driven from her village, burning torches and hounds on her trail. No wonder everything she touched turned to... "Crap." The vampire sobbed, palms slapping the black stone below. "Crap. Crap... WHY ME?" The cry rose in a shriek that echoed faintly in the implacable emptiness-- for Creature and her odd troop had abruptly vanished, leaving Joli... Tenebrae... in that labyrinthine limbo she'd come to hate, almost as much as she hated herself. Why her, indeed. Bowing her head, a final wrack of grief shook her frame, and the Sineater, the Necromancer, the Vampire, the three-in-one woman upon whom Chaos had placed its hopes, and the burden of knowing that --this was all her fault-- rose and started trudging the paths of a worse hell than even Hell itself had imagined for her.
Darrien was courageous enough to come this far, but was only able to topple his fear knowing he would meet a comfortable acquaintance or two. But with Deilakrion unconscious and Isen ostensibly the culprit, Darrien hadn't the gall to continue. Still clutching for dear life onto Eyren's hands, he was bathing that wonderful Creature's naked torso with salty droplets of tears. Again, they were palpably salty and the taste made Darrien nauseas. He was shivering now, shaking his long sable mane to and fro, a weeping pine about to escape the eye of a hurricane. "No, no, no, no! What do we do now? What can we do?" This bottomless despair forgot the fear of Isen caked in blood in his tears, though the dread still inhabited his shaking body. An agonizing scream interrupted his sobs, flashing the entire network in his mind. "Tenebrae," he whispered hoarsely, beaming a rueful grin up at Eyren. "She's here!" He forcefully cleared his throat and filled his lungs to maximum capacity. Rather than an eardrum-shattering bellow, a ubiquitous voice swam through the passageways. "Tenebrae, please, you must come as quickly as possible. A man has knocked our Nomad unconscious. He's bloody, and..and..please..help. I can't do this by myself." The message began to fade as Darrien was losing his composure, though it was just enough for the former vampriss to follow.
Isen 's progress halts for a moment, the crazed-looking lycan flicking his gaze from one figure to another. "I...I didn't touch her," he says, pointing to Deilakrion. His words are rushed, running together as though he has not the time to waste speaking. "Don't call others. I have to go." He whirls, and begins to dash down the hallway, calling out for the shadows to wait for him.
Eyren flinched and shrank back from the comfort turned pain, as the man proceeded to squeeze her hand to a degree that she was actually sure she felt her bones scrape together. Yet she'd not give her in to her initial instinct; to gently extricate her own appendage from his grasp, for he was trembling as much as she; and she saw with a widening of frantic eyes that he had taken to weeping openly once more. The sea that spilt forth from the crimson depths of his eyes, were chilling with the wave of human compassion that crested in a wave of emotion that buffeted her against a jagged shore, representative of a certainty she was no longer sure she herself possessed. She might think to slip an arm about his shoulder; in that detached manner of stranger comforting stranger. Whisper soothingly of phantom promises of things getting better. But she knew better, and even more poignant, he knew better. Then he'd suddenly lift his gaze, and he'd call out a name .. Tenebrae was it? She knew that name, and she could not miss the lace of hope that fringed the call he sent out to the red space that surrounded him. It was contagious, the rueful yet tear soaked smile he offered up to her, and she'd eagerly look about for the arrival of their vampiress-turned savior, in the blink of a tear drenched eye.
She was hardly their saviour, not now nor ever, but the catalyst for corruption; for change forged and wrought in the will of her Masters. That was what they were, she saw that now, as clearly as she could see how this must all end. The runesword-hilt was tucked to her waistband. She had to find the source of it, here. There would be a source, as the arcane pool that infected the fortress she'd hoped would be home for her people was the source of power in that place. Find it-- and give herself to it. That's what they wanted, it's all they wanted, and all the suffering inflicted on those close to her would cease. They could go back to what remained of their lives, never troubled again. Yes, it was all clear to her now... And with that realisation came the breath of a wind.. no, a voice... a stir of air that carried sounds, called to her, spoke her name. Tenebrae-- Joliette-- whoever she was, she'd turn toward that voice and break into a light jog, then a full run, then a pell-mell bolt that led her closer to... a feeling? A sense of rightness, where all was wrong. It was familiar, and a thread she'd follow through this turn and that, only to lose it... find it... Now she stood, allowing the prickle of her skin to guide her. Where had it gone? There it was! As bare feet pounded on black stone, she at least found herself with the knowledge that what she sought was just around the corner. But when she skidded around it, there was only a brief recess-- and a blank wall. Whipping her head around, she'd find the same at the end of the short path. Canting her head up, she already knew the walls rose beyond the capacity of her eyes to find the top. She was tempted to sink down again to her heels, cry like the human girl she'd been, but not this time. No, Joliette, Tenebrae the triple-cursed, she was not giving in so easily any more. It had to end. "I'm HERE!" The shout was bellowed with every ounce of strength she had in her. "Can you hear me?"
Darrien stared vacantly up at the polluted ceiling, his slowing tears making their final drops off his earlobes. As Isen slips away, leaving the rusty smell of blood in his wake, Darrien releases a bated, "No!" that should have lasted much longer, considering its volume, but it stopped once he disappeared behind the sociopathic walls. Darrien felt the numbness within him that proceeded a good cry, as he finished off the last of his sniffles. A perpetual frown weighed down at his lips and his abdomen was sore from all the yelling and crying. It was a gift that he was not aware of the imminent danger that awaited the if Isen reached the center of this infernal primitive machine. There may have just as well been another unconscious body, otherwise. ~~~~~ Darrien softened his grip on Eyren's hand and sandwiched it with his other. "Thank you. Truthfully, I have no idea how we are going to abscond from this wretched place that steals from our souls, but I am thankful for your presence." ~~~~~~ Calmer, and a bit more resolved, Darrien spoke once again in that same penetrating tone, "Follow my voice. Keeping talking to me! Where is that man going? He seems like he knows where he's going, but I don't trust him. He told me not to call for anyone." He took a deep breath and stood up, walking to find Tenebrae. "Come with me," he beckoned, motioning Eyren to follow, "I don't trust these walls either. They watch and they know and they feel. I don't believe it is our friend." Darrien clicked his tongue again, concentrating on hearing the outline of Tenebrae's form while keeping track of Isen's whereabouts as well.
Isen chortles quietly to himself as he runs, full-tilt, down the corridors. Thoughts run through his head, senses of magic he's not felt before in his life, all this new ability prickling his very fingertips in anticipation. And the voice...the voice is always there, whispering to him, as if there were a face planted against his chest rather than the stone disk, urging him ever onward.
Eyren felt muscles that she hadn't even realized were so extremely tensed relax a fraction as the man loosened his grip ever so slightly upon her hand. Yet she was still unwilling to sever this connection, no matter how damaged, he was someone. Her eyes would be drawn back to his face; thick ebon lashes stilling as she watched almost mesmerized, his face, a face that seemed possessed of an ageless beauty, yet cruelty had taken its toll as evidenced by the wash of lachrymal fluid that added an eerie sheen to his cheeks. She'd jump at the sound of the voice ... a familiar voice, the voice of Tenebrae; her gaze skittering from the face of the stranger to seek out where the voice was coming from. She felt as if she were hearing the cries of the girl again; the voice seeming to reverberate from the ceilings, the walls, everywhere. She turned her eyes to the man once more, as she felt him sandwich her hand between his two and she'd open her mouth to ask him where exactly Tenebrae was in this maze of never-ending red, yet he'd stand then; and she feeling gripped once more by that fear of being left alone, hurriedly made to follow suit. It was her turn to grip almost-painfully to his hand now, as her eyes still looked desperately for a sign, any sign of Tenebrae. "Forward, we must always move forward." She murmurs, more to herself than to her accompanying being.
Tenebrae ... for she had reclaimed the knowledge - and the agony - of who and what she was more fully now -- would turn back from the dead end, following the voice she somehow knew to trust. if this place was kin to the Obsidian Pool, and she strongly suspected it was, then instinct would guide her best, over thoughts that could so easily be twisted. Onward she ran, path after path, corner after corner, every turn as alike as the next, but the difference was made in that warm voice that called her to it, to pack, to ... she dare not think of what might come after. "What man?" Keeping vocal contact, whether she was heard or not, provided comfort. "And you're closer now... I can feel it." For a moment, she thought she saw a figure dashing away past a turn to her left, a flicker in the corner of her eye, but the voice tugged her to the right and she'd keep running, assuming it merely another figment produced by the warped mind of the labyrinth's creator. And that being.. well, a confrontation was in order, but first she had to find some anchor, some sanity... the pack. Hurling her body around the next turn, she'd just about collide with two figures, and her hand instinctively sought her blade, no matter how glad she was to finally find.... "D.. darrien?" He was dead. Wasn't he? What new trick was this? Peridot eyes narrowed in suspicion, and then alit on Eyren, who was honestly a sight for sore eyes, at that moment. Her voice would be redolent with relief, "Medic! Tell me, for the love of the gods, what's going on?"
"Singggg...........Tack...tack...tack..tack.tacktacktacktacktickticktick" Such is the cadence of each as it leaves a gauntlet-clad hand to traverse above its fellows before rejoining them. Boredom can bring even a noble drow to such common pursuits of entertainment. "Perhaps I might go look for them," Vaelustil D'eathe mutters to himself, the dark elf letting his whitened eye shift to the boat still looming out in the water. "But could I find them, I wonder." Another pebble is let loose before he rises with a soft grunt. "Ah, but I am getting too old for this. Tenebrae and I must talk, when we've time." Forward he strides, his footing carefully set to make his way safely to the beach's edge without slipping on the many stones he's hurled. Already that undead bridge of his rises, still there even now, after these many days. Along the bridge his armored feet tread, along it his still-robeless form traverses. He hadn't needed the armor last time, he figured he wouldn't this time. Always cocky, Vaelustil. And then he was over the ship's rail, his footing far more sure this time than it had been on his first venture. The storm hated him less, perhaps. But whatever the reason, be it the lessened intensity, or simply past (even if extremely limited) experience, he makes his way into the hull once more, his vision inked out. He can feel the ground beneath his feet. He can tell he moves forward through the dark hall. But he cannot see where he heads. Not at first. But then it begins to lighten, he begins to hear a voice. A familiar voice. Then he sees them. Tenebrae, and two others, one unknown and the other the strange, kooky woman from the tavern. That was quick, is his first thought. Perhaps too quick, his second. His great double-headed poleaxe is summoned to hand, blades singing through the air as it's twirled to a ready grip. "Ting, ting, ting, ting," his boots now sing as he makes his way slowly closer.
"Well, we're going to have to backtrack or sidetrack -one or the other- just a little bit, so we can meet her first. I'm sure she will know what to do," Darrien mustered as confidently as possible. He heard his own vacillating optimism, as he heard Isen approaching the heart of the abomination without them. His seemingly incurable furrowed brow gave way to a healthy forehead. There she was, their alleged beacon of hope. Undoubtedly, he was elated to see her, powering her into a strong embrace. "My gods, Tenebrae, I never would have expected to see you here. No, that's not true; I really should have suspected you would be here," he quickly stammered out while giggling. He moved to the side, allowing full view of Eyren, the unbeknowned fellow vampriss. "I brought a friend," he added blissfully, as if that mere title provided hope, "What are we doing here anyway? What's happening? There was a man who I believe knocked out a feral female friend of mine and he just left without us, caked in blood, in a hurry somewhere. He's moving toward the core as we speak. Is the exit there? If it is, he's in a rush to get there, so he probably means to trap us!" Here, he ebbed from the embrace to allow her distance to answer, but as they parted, it was already evident Darrien was in need of another hug. Instead, he just changed the grip upon Eyren's hand to something more encompassing.
The sounds of Isen's footfalls can still be heard, echoing down the corridors. He rounds a few turns at a dead run, occasionally literally running into dead ends, retracing his steps, and running again. His breath is again ragged, his eyes tearing up in an attempt to moisten themselves as, in his mad dash, the lycan forgets to blink. On and on he runs, searching frantically for the source of the call.
Eyren could wept as openly as her companion at the solidary apparition of Tenebrae from around one of the many twisting corners of this labyrinthine prison that she had somehow jettisoned herself in to. Recognition was a warm light that begged her to let her guard down, if only for a moment. Slowly, her grip would wane upon Darrien's as her eyes filled with every aspect that was Tenebrae. As The stranger would move to embrace Tenebrae, Eyren would find herself moving forward to do likewise; there fingers still intertwined, yet whether this was inadvertent on their part she'd question later. She'd fall upon Tenebrae, with all the desperation of a cast-away just found a bit of strong wood; in hopes that it might keep her afloat .. long enough to reach shore. "Awful, all of this .. the silence, the blood, the monster, Creature .. hurt." She was babbling now, uncaring of clear and concise sentences, happy to not be alone. Tenebrae had asked her what was going on? How was she, still fledgling druid to know of such deep and all-encompassing magics? None of it made sense, none of it was physical. It was not a cut to be cleaned and bound, it was not a bone to be reset in to place. It was beyond her; and she'd fall away from Tenebrae then, realizing that she held as many questions as herself, and the ruby-eyed stranger. She was drained now, her eyes fluttering to rest for a sweet moment upon freckled; wrapped in the fleeting allusion that perhaps third time was the charm; that when next she opened her eyes, the universe would be in her favor and would see fit to return her, back to ... to things that were more familiar to her. Yet, all she'd receive, was the pulling of her body towards a distant point, a body, an embrace, that did not echo of the smooth cool texture of Tenebrae, but of warmth, and something that was distinctively as alive as herself. The stranger, he was embracing her, she did not even know his name, yet mechanically, her arms would raise to mimic his action, till she was squeezing, clinging to this one thing, that was familiar, answering the human call for this one brief moment of reprieve from the continuous buffeting of reality gone awry.
Tenebrae was ... hugged. She'd avoid the insult of squirming in the twin grasps of her clansmates, and merely offer a pat of arm or hair where she could reach to one or the other in the brief moment all three were bound in that relieved tangle of bodies. The ménage broke apart, and the words of the pair were permitted a moment's silence to settle into her mind like pieces of a fragmented puzzle. "Wait, wait." Feral.. knocked out.. Creature? Her eyes shifted between the medic and Darrien, Tene's brow knitting to a deep frown. "Creature's hurt? But I was just there..." A forefinger was pointed weakly in a random direction. "... is she alright? Where is she? Damn this place." Those pale green eyes settled on Darrien a moment. "As for what's going on, I can tell you this is no ordinary magic. It's the Pool, all over again." She'd let him ponder the gravity of that while Eyren sought the comfort of his embrace, and then spoke through gritted teeth. "My Maker is up to his tricks again, and we're all in danger. It's important that you stick together. You must find a man called Micaelis, too, wearing a strange suit of armour. If you see him, he's a friend. Now, where's Creature and... who's this man you speak of, covered in blood? Why is he moving to the..." She paled a little, a thought occurring to her. "The core... Darrien. Whoever he is, we must get there first. Or rather, -I- must." Tene shook her head. "I've endangered all of you long enough. I'll not put anyone to such great peril."
Vael nodded, if only to himself. The voices fit to memory, and it's all he needed to find himself relaxing some. "And what of those that would follow you willingly, Tenebrae?" His voice cut through the darkness, even as his own body came into light, scarred body and all. That grand weapon of his, it rests upon his shoulder, giving the necromancer a far more martial appearance than he has shown in some time. But even that can't diminish the smirk that adorns Vael's lips, the glint of mischief in his eyes. "Of course, you know I'd follow you with or without permission, I'd hope." Vaelustil glances at the other two, now. Darrien he has no knowledge of what-so-ever. Eyren, he had very little of, knowing her only as the goof he met in the tavern. But they are here, and so they must have some merit. "Let them along as well, hm? It'd be interesting to see what they're made of."
Darrien 's lungs felt very, very small whilst his heart felt large enough to be pierced by his ribs at every minute breath he was capable of. "We have to cease this immediately! Tenebrae, you're unbelievably strong. I can lead you to the middle without much obstruction. And there you will stop him." The frantic glaze over his eyes pleaded for Tenebrae to agree as quickly as possible, so they could make haste to thwart the unthinkable horror that could ensue. He turned to Eyren and stared at those paling lips and pondered at the lack of movement her chest made in such a dire moment. "Breasts," he thought about vividly, and at such a time! Darrien enjoyed their texture and their life-sustaining property, the sweet, musky flavor of milk directly from the teat. He cursed inwardly, blinking himself out of that haphazard reverie. "We must hurry," he pleaded, breaking into a jog with Eyren in hand and leaving Tenebrae to follow in tow. The clicks from his tongue were about twice as fast as the percussive cadence upon the ground. Darrien's half-elfin ears perked curiously to temporarily distract him from his internal sonar. "There's another, but he's far, as if muffled by something. I believe he may be trying to enter. I'll attempt a message: STAY OUT! There are unfathomable dangers lying within. I repeat; stay out! .. Unless you are sure you can help?" His final words were meeker and he turned over his shoulder to peer at Tenebrae, apologetically shrugging. Before long, they were Deilakrion's limp frame, this section's walls even redder than before. "Medic. Tenebrae called you medic. You need to stay here with our Nomad and tend to any injuries she may have suffered. Tene," he murmured hesitantly, "I'd like to go with you, to the center." Gulp.
Tenebrae had motioned Vael back to remain out of sight for the moment -- the drow, used to communicating silently, must have understood as he seemed to vanish into the dark he'd stepped out of while Darrien spoke, and then ran off to lead them to Creature's fallen form. "Yes, there's another..." She could only pray the maze didn't swallow Vaelustil; even close contact had proven unable to prevent Tene losing people here... or finding them. The walls changed as the trio ran, disturbingly shifting from blank white to pinkish, to a deep and bloody red, before finally Darrien halted, near a body lying limp on the ground. A naked, scarred body. "Creature..." A pale hand extended as though to grasp the elf, drag her from this horror of her own discovery. But Eyren was with her, and did not seem so worried after checking the woman's vital signs. Tene turned to Darrien, her expression a mask of ire. "There's no need for any more of you to risk yourselves. Gather whoever you can find and get..." The man's face halted her words, and Vael's soft insistence came to mind. They'd follow her, anyway, misguided fools. They always did. She really had no idea why. "Dammit." Tenebrae peered into the red distance, calling, "Vael. It's alright. No need for cover, you may as well join us. This is Darrien, he's Cabal. We go together." She lowered her voice, grumbled, "To the blasted core."
Shadows. What is it with his race and shadows? Always slinking about in them, hiding in them, living in them, doing...other things in them. But, Vael had to admit to himself, they have their uses. Like following people when he needs to not be seen. He had been warned to stay away. He never listens to such advice. It's his downfall; he'll rush headlong into a dragon's den, if he feels like it. But, after much following, after many times nearly losing Tenebrae and her duo of companions, he's called back into the light, his gaze upon his beloved Deilakrion. "I don't even want to know what happened here," he remarks softly about the sight. "None would like the outcome if I did." White eyes lift to Darrien as the introduction finally registers to his mind. His nod of greeting is quick, curt. "At least you're not one to turn tail at the prospect of venturing further. You're off to a good start of earning my respect." But then Tenebrae is the subject of his stare, a smirk once again upon his lips. "You know you love our company, even in times like this." To her he moves, and he speaks again, a whisper into her ear."And I wouldn't let you face whatever awaits us at the center alone. But don't let the others know that, hm? I prefer the less-than-caring facade most know."
Darrien had a concern pinching at the folds of his gray matter. Even though he was blessed with the power of echolocation, navigating this maze had been far too easy up until now. There was obvious life to the structure, so it had been ~letting~ him slip through without obstacle. As if to taunt him and to read his mind, the walls now began to audibly shift not just in their proximity, but all about them. And right there before them stood a three-pronged fork, stabbing at them like they were tender pieces of meat. Quite dramatically, Darrien slammed his hands against the walls of sanguine, falling deep into abasement once again. "I'm sorry, friends. I am so sorry. I cannot navigate you any further by my ears. They're moving too fast. I think .. it wants .. it demands we split up. I don't know what to do. I can't go by myself. I can't." Truly, it was as if a baby slept in his bones, for he never wanted to be alone. His tear ducts were hot springs that only went off when people turned their backs. He fell, sliding down the wall, onto his behind to cradle himself some minuscule comfort. Eventually, he shyly found both Tenebrae's and Vaelustil's eyes with his shiny own and wore a smile that frowned much more than it smiled. "I've only just found you and now we have to part. This cannot happen. Please don't leave me. No, you, we, must go..." He silently mouthed the remainder of his sentence, " .. please don't leave me .. " staring down at his knees. Like that, he stayed for minutes, whether or not the rest of the team went without him. However, the drow's stalwart mien and his strangely encouraging words did as much to inspire him as it did to help him to his feet: quickly and resolutely, no less. "Thank you! I know we will see each other again, even if our bodies crumble asunder." he would shout if Vael was already far away, quieter if he chose to stay. One sniff, and Darrien was staring down the path before him, sweating bullets, trying a walk, building up to a jog -- but all the while paranoid of pit traps and poisonous projectiles.
Isen continues in his mad dash down the winding corridors of the Labyrinth, earnestly seeking the center, the source of the voice that calls to him, that draws him onward. His sprint slows, however, physical limitations finally getting the best of him, as he half-jogs along, gasping for air, his chest rising and falling against the heated stone disk.
Tenebrae took surer steps now, no more faltering at the corners to ponder left or right. The same force that beckoned Isen -repelled- her, and she'd figured out six segments of the Labyrinth ago that if she ran toward the feeling that had her gut shrivel and pulse thread weakly, that caused a knot in her throat and an -absolute- surety she was going the wrong way, she would catch the sound of pounding footsteps echoing through the blood-dark walls. The magic infused into her by Deilakrion had all but recovered her sense of present self; though it dwelled side by side with her past, in an odd way. So, for this brief time, Joliette and Tenebrae were to meet, observe each other in the deepest recesses of the vampiress' mind, and most of her conscious self focussed on finding Isen. She was fairly certain now, as to what was behind this travesty of time and space, the similarities too close to leave doubt. And the forces that had crafted the Cabal Headquarters, in un-creating the belly of this ship, had gained another foothold in the world-- one that was possibly not as dependent on her for its survival. The thought unnerved her horribly. Isen... She ignored the trembling of her limbs that told her to give up, get the hell out.. and there were those footsteps, louder now. leading her toward... another chance for Fate to play foosball with her, no doubt.
Isen soon becomes aware of Tenebrae's presence as she rapidly gains on him. The voice alerts him, warns him that she will try to stop him. Panic washes through him, stirring his tired legs to even greater lengths, as his sprinting starts up once more. He is almost there...he can feel it. Just a few more turns, perhaps, and he will reach his destination. Continues backwards glances are thrown, as the lycan searches for his pursuer, knowing her intent, though not her identity as of yet.
Louder now-- she could even hear the rasp of breath, she and the lycan running almost side by side, divided only by one crimson stretch of stone. What did they want with him? It was -she- that was their Unmaker, their cursed one, their unwilling and uncompliant puppet. Perhaps they'd given up on her? Hells. The very thought had her features contort in horror. Isen was a tough man, but he hadn't been raised for it, wasn't groomed for the service, as she had been. And it had almost killed her, betrayed her, ruined her every chance at happiness, how many times? "Isen!" Her voice would rasp, lacking its normal clarity. "It's me, Tene-- you have to stop!"
Isen stumbles, his feet pounding on while his brain told the to stop, the result sending him tumbling headlong into a wall. Struggling to his feet, he calls out, his voice still rushed, hurried. "I can't stop, Tene! I have to get there. You wouldn't understand." He regains his bearing, and begins to run again, calling out over his shoulder, "You can come along, if you'd like...but you cannot try to stop me."
"I -do- understand! Isen-- stop running, please.." A fit of coughing brought on by the dryness of her throat slowed her own progress, one palm supporting her weight against the wall as she struggled to draw breath among the wracking of her lungs. The footsteps had vanished by the time she stopped. "Dammit." About to push away, continue what seemed a futile mission, she found her arm sunk into the crimson stone, up to her shoulder. "What in the name of...?" The wall seemed spongy, a weird substance that shivered as she pushed into it , through... and out into another corridor. Her eyes immediately trained to the wall opposite, she set her heels to black stone and ran toward it, more than half expecting her flight to end with an abrupt crunch of head meeting rock. But this wall too parted, slurped her into it and spat her out. -- Will-- Chaos had never been equal to that spark of free will in her, and it wasn't now. She had to locate the lycan again. This time, she'd catch up with him for sure. "Isen!"
Isen halts again, this time a bit more gracefully, as he sees Tenebrae burst into the corridor ahead of him. He stands a good distance away from her, watching, his eyes taking on the quality of a cornered wolf's. "You have to let me through, Tenebrae. You cannot try to prevent me from doing what I must do." His hand rests lightly on the stone disk, basking in the warmth and power emanating from it.
She had her palms out by way of looking reasonable about this, slender arms shaking slightly with exertion. "No, you can't. You don't understand, what they do What they are..." But why Isen? Tene’s eyes fell on the stone he’d taken to wearing on his chest. She pointed to it, her features stilling as realisation dawned upon her. "And that... " His obsession. It was all starting to make sense-- she knew what that disk was now. They wanted the weapons.. why else would they go to all this trouble? The vampiress stepped toward him, her hands still up, her steps slow and voice set at a soothing pitch. "Listen to me, Isen. That disk, it can stop them. They want to take it from you. We must get out of here."
Isen recoils from Tenebrae, crossing his arms protectively over his chest, shielding the disk from view. His head shakes firmly, malice appearing in his golden eyes. "No! They want me to have it, to use it!" His mind still hums with the magic gifted to him by Deilakrion, itching to be released. He yet refrains, though, and again tries to pass around Tenebrae, his back sliding along the blood red wall as he keeps as far away from her as possible.
Senka suddenly finds herself quite alone in the wasteland that is her mind, for her chaotic eyes are unable to view the real white walls. Instead they gaze over endless and endless hills of sand that only end with the storms at the distance, chaotic, strong. The sand is still as scorching hot as her temper and as the two strangers fade, one who had challenged her before and one who had been injured, Senka is once again utterly and totally alone. Pale white hands tremble with a weakness her wolf’s form would never show, and it’s with difficulty that the petite woman finally manages to rise to her feet again. White strands of long silky hair are just barely still restrained in that braid and so pale fingers move to gently pull them away in a gesture that comes much more natural then it ever has before. Her voice too, is much to clear and the albino finds herself still adjusting to the sound of her truly human form, rather then the one she’s forced in once a month, “I know you’re there!” The statement is meant to draw out that pack that has been agonising her before, but only a gust of sand is her answer at first…Then that same blue-eyed white-haired tiny little boy appears as she turns into another direction, making the woman start and actually jump back. “You again!” the statement is hostile in an attempted snarl, but like before the woman fails utterly. In this reality, after all, it’s the human she’s chosen. The boy, pup, merely smiles a smile-that-misses-two-tooths and holds out his small little hand to take hold of her pinkie in a movement that is familiar and trusting only serving to make the albino stiffen. It takes three insistent tugs, of a child amazingly strong, before the stubborn confused creature finally follows the small pup that looks a bit too much like her for her comfort. “What…where are you taking me?” talking to him feels awkward, for his sticky little fingers are much too familiar as sand disappears and storms evaporate…White walls are splattered in the colour of her eyes and she and the boy are left to step over cooling bodies as he takes her deeper and deeper into the Labyrinth without her knowledge. The only thing she knows is that she’s hearing voices she’s quite sure she’s supposed to know…
It was likely the magic in her that was sourced in the same place as that which swelled in Isen now; Tene sensed a prickle, a unfamiliar warmth dancing along her nerves, set her scalp to tingling and all the tiny hairs along her arms on end. It welled in her, like that darker source that called for sins to rise and be shriven by a sin-eater's kiss, but this-- what rose in her now was not so black, as sickening. She'd not known how unclean her magic really was until this moment, but it was a knowledge that would have to wait to be considered. Her immediate problem was Isen, and the call of the Chaos Lords that lured the lycan to what she was certain would be his destruction, and very possibly her own. "No, you must know how they work. They lie, Isen. They lie in filthy, black whispers in your soul. This..." Her arm swept out in an encompassing gesture, her eyes falling on the tattered corpses she'd stepped over in the chase, walls the slick and sickly crimson of grue. "This horror, this is what awaits you. The Pool-- Isen, it's another one of its ilk, I am sure of it. But somehow, this one is stronger." And the rune magic crackled in her, split her lips to a grin. "I'm not letting you anywhere near the core."
Isen crouches, muscles tensed, ready to spring. The runes tattooed on his skin begin to glow, ever so faintly, as if they could sense the coming attack, and are ready to help protect the lycan. "What if you are lying? What if you have other reasons for stopping me?" He pauses for a moment, head cocked as he listens to something unheard by any but himself. Suddenly, his head snaps to attention once more, glaring at Tenebrae. "You are jealous. You want to be their favorite, and you'll do anything to keep me from them."
Senka is getting closer and closer to the source of the sounds and with her curiosity raised she stops resisting as much to the pull of those sticky fingers. They round a bloody corner and there they are, two figures. A forbidden word is whispered at the back of her mind, forbidden yet seemingly so true. A word she has tried to forget so long, a word that even this form knows for no matter what kind of reality, Senka will always be a creature of chaos with two sides; ‘Pack’. The child giggles happily, pulling her a step forward into the unfamiliar scene and her blue dress, stained at the bottom with blood and still some grains of sand, sways wit h the sudden movement. Pale lips part, stretching the thin scar beneath her left cheekbone, but no sound escapes her closed throat not that she’d know what to say anyway. The lycan hadn’t expected to see anyone else anymore in this unfamiliar place, doomed as she seemed to be alone, yet here she is staring at two arguing figures that her mind whispers she knows. Pack, pack, pack, no! Never, ever will the albino over give into that temptation of false affection and safety again. Her petite form waves, pulling back but the child keeps her in place with one tiny little hand, smiling that toothy smile again as he waves cheerfully at the two people present, despite the tension felt so clearly in the air…
Tenebrae broke into a wild laugh, the first of it more a sharp bark, and nothing of humour in it. her eyes paled, glistened with an icy light, and her tone turned scathing, derisive. "Jealous? You idiot." She stalked a little closer, her body a lithe sweep of fine-honed muscle, seemingly relaxed, nonchalant, though every nerve in her was wired for the fight that seemed inevitable now. Her palms hummed with warmth and strength that flooded her like life itself, and for a moment the vicious little urchin she'd been held sway, and it was Joliette of the Bloody Wire, the girl the Lords had chosen before her birth to be their conduit, the living blasphemy, their still-mortal Unmaker. "You think I WANTED to become what I am? To be their puppet, their vessel, their weapon?" She shook her head, ebon strands sliding across her shoulders. "I never wanted this. And neither do you, only you can't know it, for their lies." And she might have seemed about to say something else that sounded reasonable, but motion, something white....someone? a figure...was caught in the corner of her periphery, and she would turn to it, just for a second, just to assess whether it was a threat or a hindrance or... If Isen was going to attack, this split second might be his best -- and clearest-- opportunity.
Isen 's form sinks further and further into his crouch as Tenebrae approaches; the lycan seeming to find comfort in his huddled position. Her words, perhaps logical to a rationally-thinking person, only serve to infuriate Isen all the more, as the sibilant hiss of the Chaos Lord undercuts her every sentence, reminding the lycan of his clan leader's supposed jealousy. Following the whispered instructions to the letter, Isen pays no mind to the approaching figure, keeping his attention locked on Tenebrae instead. The instant the woman looks away, a wild, feral shriek splits the air, as Isen releases the full fury of Deilakrion's magic; a raw, unformed burst of pure energy sent straight at Tenebrae.
Tenebrae was galvanised by that shriek, the sound smacking into her awareness in the hair's-breadth of a moment before the rune magic flew from the lycan's form, and so she was already half in an evasive roll by the time the brunt struck her small frame, sending her body tumbling to crunch against the nearest ruddy-hued wall. It hurt.. Aside from the pain of impact, the runes triggered her flesh to crumple, severed responses, paralysed-- but then the magic she harboured in her own flesh reacted, fired her, lifted her to her feet despite the ache and pangs of bone-deep bruises and cracked ribs. It raised her up and gave her feet, wracked her with a fierce joy, lust for wreaking damage on the man who seemed intent on serving the ones who'd harmed her. It gathered, it bunched, as will a great golden-eyed cat ready to leap for the throat of its prey, and with a shriek of her own that carved the air like the wings of a bulleting hawk, her hands were thrust forward and the magic surged through them as surely as an arrow leaving a bow, and with Isen the prime target of the necromancer's intent to -stop- him, whatever the cost.
Isen reels, drained from the sheer force of the magic. The energy, ripped from his throat and sent toward Tenebrae now dissipates, soaking into the walls, speeding on it's way to feed the entity that resides at the core of the maze. Isen vision is a blur, the only reality he is aware of being the stone disk at his heart. Instinctively, though, he sets off at a run, knowing somewhere in the back of his mind that he has made a grave error. And thus, Tenebrae's retaliation strikes him full in the back, the runes flaring up with a bright red light as the try to save the lycan. The force sends him sailing, though, spinning through the air. He lands, shoulder first, and skids, coming to rest in a daze at the next turn in the walkway.
Senka tugs the child, pup, out of the way on instinct as Isen’s burst of energy goes speeding, reacting merely to the way of movement. Pale lids close as her body braces herself but the attack goes speeding passed innocently and the woman, she knows her from somewhere but where?, is smacked against the wall. With her hands still on the now whimpering bundle, the woman slowly opens her eyes to take in the sight of the fight happening. It calls to her, just like Deilakrion’s challenge has and almost unconsciously she gently pushes the boy away in a vague movement to join. Yet the child has other plans and clings tightly to her dress, causing a painful -tug- on her heart that unnerves her more then any fight will ever do. “Get off me, pup,” the words are uttered in an attempted growl but the sound is still weak as the albino finally manages to wrench herself from the grasp of blue eyes. It’s the movement of Isen’s skidding body that catches her attention though, pale hands once again returning to the boy’s form to push him around the corner before cautiously making her way closer herself. Foolish? But of course, but Senka -knows- this people -somehow- and that must mean that they’re key to getting out of this place, right? And the sooner she’s back to her trusty four-legged uncaring hairy form, the better. Besides, death is not nearly as frightening as staying in this form, stalked by a kid who’s curly locks are a -little- too white and his eyes a -little- too familiar.
Cree stalked the corridors of the maze, lost in a maze of his own mentally as he hadn't kept tracked of his master's footsteps. Visual tracing was no longer possible, sending the reptilian into a frenzied panic. Tears began to form into the ducts of his eyes, and stroll down his scaly cheek and over his snout before a whimpered hiss escaped his vocal chords. Cree was beyond the point of being lost, scampering the corridors with a sharp turn at every corner; hoping that his master's voice would soothe him, or the sight of him would assure Cree that everything would be alright. A torrent of mixed emotion, all contrasting the happiness of being saved, washed over his mind and filling his body with sensations that he has never been familiar with. Drowning his joy with sorrow, shaking his mind with confusion, and twitching his body with a scream for help from the inside. His tail swayed like an abandoned puppy upon every sound he managed to catch, hoping his master would return to save him once more.
Tenebrae was on Isen, then, and though the magic had left her for now, cutting the strings that kept her buoyant with its power, still she was driven on by the sheer force of her indomitable will. There was no way this side of the afterlife she was going to allow that festering shadow that she -knew- in her bones was skulking at the core of the ship to infect her First Mate any longer. So, it was that she landed in a straddle on his back, his wrist grasped, arm twisted up behind and wrenched painfully. Leaning forward so that liquorice-hued hairtips might tickle his face, she hissed, "You, Isen. Right now --you-- are Creation's right hand, and the weapon you bear on your chest is its own. We can fight them, smite then from this plane forever. But we need --all-- the weapons." Her other hand would cuff him lightly over the head. "Listen to me, not the filthy lies. Listen to me Isen!" Her gaze was snatched up by the approaching white woman and the ghostly little figure that led her toward them, and then by a deep rumble coming from deeper in the ship, as though vast and rusty cogs were turning, and swine were screaming, all at once. "You there!" She turned back to the female. "This man is insane. I need help to keep him down. I have to go to..." Again, that horrible sound. "I have to go."
Isen teeth gnash in fury and impotent rage, his free limbs a blur of constant motion, the muscles of his imprisoned arm straining for freedom. "Get off!" He yells, his rasping voice filling the reddened hallways. "They will give me the world!" He tries to throw himself to one side, hardly caring about the safety and wholeness of his arm at this point. Where was his servant, the strange lizard-man that he had saved?
“Are you insane?” it would be the first words that greeted the familiar-yet-not-woman as the albino’s pale hands raise in a rejecting gesture, “Do I –look- like a darn –paladin- or something? I’m not doing any-“ Yet her words are cut off as sticky hands push her back, urging her forward. “Pup? What are you…” Is that why he brought her here? Looking over her shoulder Senka meets clear blue eyes she’s –sure- she’s seen before in someone else’s face and suddenly the woman huffs. After all, she’s not nearly as selfish as she would be in her preferred form. “If I die, I am going to haunt –you-,” she grumbles towards the small child, who merely giggles in a way that makes his white curls bounce happily. Grumbling still, trying her best to ignore the deep rumbling that unnerves her so, Senka nevertheless does as she normally never would have done and moves to take Tene’s place. Yet finding a way to sit on Isen’s back without freeing him in the process is a hard one, even if a pale hand moves to tangle in his hair to press his face harshly to the ground. Somehow, along with awkward wriggles, the woman is sure to succeed however for even though she’s petite and most of her strength seems to have lessened, she’s nevertheless much stronger then any other non-lycan woman. “Why do pups always insist on giving me trouble?”
Cree dropped to his knees with his claws scarping against the floor as his head was spinning, like a sea sick child with no where to go and no one to help him. Streams of tears polluted his face as he shattered his own negligent concentration with a piercing scream, laced with a reptilian hissing. The Preklek leapt to his feet and took off in a full sprint, taking corners with an aggressive strike by ramming his shoulder into them and pushing himself through with a strike from his tail; all without losing overall speed. His scaly complexion gradually began to shift into a shade of stone to blend in with the ship's surroundings. As the active camouflage took place, Cree hooked a quick left and came to a sudden halt. The view of his master sprawled on the floor, lashing about with a woman sitting atop him formed a twitch in his eye. With claws bared, Cree sprang into the air latching onto the wall like a rope net and climbed across the maze wall horizontally until he was a mere yard or so from Isen. A sickening hiss echoed around the room, as he wasn't quite fully visible before he flung himself from the wall and towards Isen. " Saviour! "
Isen bucks himself into the air, shaking free of the strange woman, as well as a good bunch of his hair, which remains in her hand. Cree's arrival is noted with a somewhat delirious grin, and a gestured 'follow me'. He bolts off down the corridor, feet pounding loudly, matching his racing heartbeats as he makes his mad dash for the source of the whispered voice.
Tenebrae was ahead of Isen, not by far but by far enough to have it seem she'd make it to the source of this nightmare first. Just as the whispers called to the lycan and provided him with something by way of an inner compass, so too did the repulsion she felt for the being that lurked beyond, the sickness that flooded her or abated with every corner, every choice of path. All she had to do was go where every fibre of her being screamed for her not to... Her body was complaining loudly-- bones, bruises and magic-sapped muscle all added to the small voice within that told her this was indeed madness, and that she should simply give up, turn back, go home. But too, there was that part of her being that was in the womb melded with Chaos, and it -knew- as the night knows morning will follow, that 'home' for her was the Darkness, the Void, and that the Lords would not be happy 'til all was Darkness itself, and it was the horror of this that kept her body moving, into a red mist that was so thick as to give the impression of a jellylike resistance to her pushing through it, though it did not truly exist. She'd stop it, somehow. She had to-- after all, wasn't that her Fate?
Cree landed upon the floor, using his claws as anchors to force his body to come to a stop while slashing across the surface. His complexion had returned to normal as his emotions seem to relax his mind upon the finding of his master. Cree arose and took off after his master, fully intent on never losing him again; 'twas like losing a lung, while trying to feed a tobacco addiction with a hearty hit from a cigarette. Painful, and nigh-unable to be handled by the young psyche of the adolescent preklek. With every turn Isen cut quickly, Cree managed to keep up by utilizing his tail like a ship's rudder, placing it on the wall and sliding in the opposite direction to create a resisting force and propel him in the proper direction behind his saviour. His eyes were filling up like whirlpool spas, drowning in heated tears; though this time, they were tears of joy and anxiety. There was nothing else he would adore more than to be free alongside the one who brought him the true meaning of freedom, away from this ivory prison beneath the never ending walls, curving around to form a chaotic maze. The steps of a woman behind them kept him alert as he awaited his next orders, still pacing quickly behind Isen.
Isen casts a glance over his shoulder to make sure that Cree is keeping up, rounding the next corner while looking back. In this position, he plows into the red mist without warning, nearly losing his balance at the change in resistance. He pushes onward, every now and then calling out, so that Cree would be able to locate him.
Darrien had just offered Eyren his hand when he received two undeniably familiar sounds, rebounding off the unforgiving rock of the caverns. The bounce in his throat wanted to say, "Tenebrae! She's well, and alive!" But there were a couple of disconcerting details that kept him at bay. If that were indeed true, that man he saw earlier was not far away; he knew this the same way he knew Tenebrae to be alive. Still, he heard them. "How could I do that? How could I even navigate like that through the maze before? Why am I hearing -- everything?" Darrien had been thinking so long, he had forgotten what his hand was extended for. So whether or not Eyren used it to get to her feet, he retracted and began feverishly pacing. "We cannot continue; we still have too many of our brethren unconscious. We should wait for them. I am hearing things, perhaps miles away as clearly as if they were in the next room. This .. ship .. is alive. It breathes. And there's fresh water here. This must be where it processes the salt water from the sea into fresh water, a natural desalination mechanism. That would explain a lot of the moving, shifting, and change of color." Shaky fingers played at his shiny visage, glistening in the humidity and his perspiration. To soothe himself, he began singing, "Its ribs our ceiling beams. Its guts our carpeting. I guess we have some time to kill..." And on and on while he mused ceaselessly while the others slept and while Eyren most likely watched, perplexed.
Tenebrae could hear them coming, the pounding feet, the hisses and calls back and forth-- hisses? The question of -what- was making that sound never got the chance to form fully in her mind, and truly, here, at the point of breaching through to the core of the ship and what lay within it, it didn't really matter. The repulsion was like lead in her legs, her belly, a dread so deep as to make her feet falter and her body lurch as she forced herself to take each step. The mist rendered her sightless, so that now and then she'd clip the edge of a wall when guiding fingertips betrayed her in judging distance, or she'd stumble on yet another carcass, thankfully unseen. It seemed to seep into her that redness, like blood to a loaf of white bread, imbuing the vampiress with its eerie chill. And what broke on her mind like a crested wave, then, was a vision of the man for whom she'd end the world itself, if it'd only bring him back to her. Whatever his wanderings, whatever had taken him from the crux of her life, she knew that he was --somewhere-- out there, and that she loved him. The agony of his loss permeated her, as though carried in the mist itself, and she wouldn't pause to wonder -why- the feeling had so suddenly and in such an inappropriate moment chosen to rise. All she could do was feel it, see his face, her beloved Cap'n, who had loved her. The thought of him fuelled her onward, though the footsteps behind grew closer by the second.
Isen , no longer caring about whether Cree was behind him. His legs stretch to their fullest extent, pounding relentlessly over floor and corpse alike. Needless to say, he stumbles many times, only to rise and dash forward again, bleeding from numerous scrapes and skids. Finally, though, he breaks free of the mist, expelling the last of it from his lungs as he stops dead in his tracks, staring about him. Had he passed up Tenebrae? He doesn't bother to check; his attention is focused solely on the figure at the center of this large room. It is tall, and man-shaped, but entirely made up of a deep black, like liquid. He's seen this before, in the Pool that called to him from the headquarters, though he never ventured in. So he stands, awestruck, staring.