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Post by Joliette Thorne on Aug 21, 2008 6:30:18 GMT -5
I'm lonely and abandoned. Washed up, left for dead. I'm lost inside the desert of every word you said. I'll get you back somehow, your nightmare coming true. I'll be standing in the shadows.
I'm gonna get even with you.
-- lyrics, "I'll Get Even" by Megadeth (NOTE: I need the posts prior to this. Please Hmail, if possible).-- Vailkrin City Streets --Cuki ponders if the Vampress was joking. A small turn of the head catches the foul beast in its fruitless attack. The half-dead mink squirms closer making little head-way. Where once was legs are now bloodied holes. Cuki can only cringe as it whips around like a furry snake. Limp, his hands drop the cloth and the sphere rolls over. Absolute horror is shown on his face and tears form at the edge of his eyes. Closer it moves to the shocked Human. Gaping razors of teeth thrash about choping in his direction. It takes much effort before Cuki can lift his foot up and stomp on the abomination shattering his skull. Tenebrae was wide-eyed and speechless as she approached the pair, right about the time Cuki's foot landed on the legless mink. Having ascertained that entry was possible via the lower level was from Tirla, while using a stick and her sword to fend of several domestic animals defied both description -- if not explanation -- and were clearly the work of necromantic magics, she had stormed for the cellar entrance, through the mute Varen's shop. Her skin prickled all over. This was not an unfamiliar scene to her, but she knew without needing to ask that it was the latest "trick", and it only confirmed a suspicion she'd held for a day or so. Her gaze fixed on Terra, then Cuki, and she wasted no words when she found her voice. "We need to get inside. There's things we need to discuss, all of us." Terra cringed when Cuki's foot came to find the mink's head, cringing and glancing away. It took a moment to find the ability to speak again, only to lose it when Tenebrae made an apperance. "I'll meet you there. I've got to get the kids. We'll go through the cellar - don't lock it?" Earlier that evening she had led a group to rescue and knew the way well. A short smile was passed to the pair of them before Ter jogged off in search of Orange and Yellow. Cuki quietly draws the faded blue veil of his turban across his face. The shroud hides most of his face. Stern blue steel eyes gaze across the gathering horde of undead. "Please retrieve my spear from the kitchen." Leaving conversation at that the Monk picks up the spherical container and slings it over his shoulder. It thumps painfully against his shoulder bone and muscle. A swift sprint carries him over the lifeless vanguard to the center mass to the East. Terra had clearly convinced the children that they were playing a game and so they were quiet. Orange had climbed onto her back, latched there with her crown tilted sideways and little arms unwilling to adjust it. Yellow was held at hip, two badger cubs tucked safely against him as though they were stuffed animals. Tenebrae nodded to the request and watched Cuki depart, offering him a quiet warning to keep safe. She'd wait here for Terra's return, though she thought perhaps it wasn't the best place to bring the children... the thought was interrupted by the sound of hooves on stone. She almost hesitated in turning toward it, already aware of what she might see. And though few knew it, Tenebrae held a fondness for horses. It was a roan stallion, or had been, counterpart to a steed she had once known well. This could be no accident, the creature's outward markings were identical. "Causca..." The name was spat softly, as if it were a curse, as the atrocity clopped unsteadily along the blackstone. But this was no warhorse, no thickly muscled hero's mount. It was only fat with bloat, and where once had been dark and liquid eyes she'd loved were only darker holes. The beast clattered nearer, and it was then she saw that its mouth sagged for more reason than the fact it was dead. What she had assumed was dripping rot were feathers, wet with stinking fluid, shed from the bird clamped between brown teeth. It was a crow, and it struggled feebly, twiggy legs buckling oddly and claws opening and contracting. "Terra, hurry..." She drew her sword, and stepped toward the sullied memory. By the time Terra returned, if she did, the creature would be a pile of rotten meat and shredded hide. Terra had rescued the kids from the previous keeper, a woman she didn't think all that highly of, but the kids did enjoy. Their toys and crowns were settled against themselves; Orange to her back, latched on by tiny arms, and Yellow nestled against her hip with sleepy head on shoulder. Badger cubs were cradled closely, the pets having no room to breathe and treated more like stuffed animals than living creatures. "Close your eyes for the surprise, mkay?" Apparently, on the way, she had discussed a game with the children and were they to follow the instructions they'd recieve a prize at the end. Knowing Terra, it'd be another animal and she'd hear it from Blue later. The cobble stones were littered with flesh and ooze, booted feet careful on the pebbles as she'd approach Tenebrae with a forced smile. "They're playing a game. Through there?" Nod of head indicated the coffin-lined building to the south of them, desperate to be away from the streets. Tenebrae held Varen's door for the trio. When they'd passed, she'd follow. Varen himself was more haggard than usual, and while his glances to the necromancer were usually tinged with an element of fear, what she saw in them today was the blankness of shock and terror. "Barracade the door again." The order was spoken curtly, and she stepped toward the coffinmaker's cellar doors, unbarring them to allow Terra and the children through. "And keep this open, you're our new doorman." The mute did not respond by look nor gesture, but continued on his task like an automaton. A worried glance was cast the boy and girl, and then Terra, once they'd reached the Corpse's cellar. "Keep your eyes shut now, kids. Tene has a surprise for you, too." The children did what children do when anticipation gets beyond their ability to contain it, but she had no time to enjoy thier delight. The black sword still in hand, it was her turn to lead the way, fearful of what might be lurking in the tavern's main part. She'd act as a living shield, albeit a sadly small one, against whatever that was. Terra gently pressed a kiss to the top of Yellow's head to reassure the boy that things were just fine. It didn't settle well with Yellow that they had met Tene on the streets - and why hadn't they gone through the doors? Orange voiced these objections through quiet whispers to Terra's pointed ear, but those eyes remained clamped shut. Squeals of delight and tiny bounces came at Tene's promise of yet another surprise and so they were doubly cautious about peeking through blonde lashes to consider what was happening. Terra would say nothing, only occasionally mentioning to the darling duo that they were closer to destination and it would only be a few more minutes. -- The Hanging Corpse--It was a cautious tread on the stairs she took, that sword held across her body, figuring that she'd have more need to block a blow than strike. A card table hung from her opposite fingers, swiped off its legs as they'd approached the stairs, and she'd block the ascent momentarily while fumbling to make this an ertswhile shield. "There might be loud noises, children. People are having a party down here, not the sort you'd like. Don't peek, or there's no candy... oops!" She made the deliberate error sound sufficiently dismayed, and set her sword against the wall a moment, while she tugged a scented handkerchief from out of her sleeve. "Stinks.." This was draped between the children, the thin cloth sticking to whatever Terra wore, for now. Wrinkling her nose, Tene re-took her weapon continued onward into the tavern, the card-table held aloft before them all. It was worse than she remembered it, but no time, they had no time to gasp and examine it more closely, nor converse with anybody. Though Tenebrae did note the hearth's leering mantle lashed to the back of the door, offering explanation for the impassable blockage she'd assumed at first had been an enemy siege. The others present were given a nod, and that was all, and she ushered Terra, Orange and Yellow to the staircase. "Hurry..." The furniture seemed for now quiescent, and she didn't want to wait to find out it was merely a temporary lull in the war. Terra was thankful for the thin veil of protection Tenebrae provided for the childrens sense of smell, and moved to aide in preventing it from causing them too much turmoil for Blue would have her throat. For once, the vampiress was glad to see that the taverns floors were fairly clean compared to their previous stage, housing the corpse of a half-dog that was made to resemble Jack. The childrens squeals of delight at the mention of candy became muffled as they felt Terra taking to the stairs. Something wasn't right... Tenebrae made it a point to ignore the canine remnants. She'd call up, uncaring of who heard, by this point, except to hope a few of her own might be holed up, somewhere in the upper rooms. "Ahoy!" Shishi cautiously climbs his way up from the cellar; having found the front door impossible to open with his usual gentle nudge. The vampire's normally pristine attire is littered with ash, soot blackening the white cape that trails lazily behind him. The assassin is clutching the blue scarf securely wrapped around his neck with one hand. His eyes are a burning shade of crimson, indicating that whatever he had been previously involved in was not a pleasant experience, the radiant glow of his irises casts a dim glow on is ash littered features as he blinks the pair of vampiresses and his children into view... Tenebrae couldn't beckon Shishi up with anything but a cant of head. She paused on the stairs, flattening herself to the narrow well's walls to let Terra past with the children, taking special care to keep the sword clear. Once they were past, she'd fall in behind, not waiting to hear the vampire's tread behind them. Terra was with children as she appeared at the top of the stairs, murmuring quietly to the pair that it was alright to open eyes once more. Crouching, she'd allow Orange to climb down and adjust her crown, but kept her and Yellow close while they looked to everyone. Deilakrion was facing a wall, eyes slipping every now and again to Caeryph. The appearance of more faces caught her while she was in high tension, and she tracked several different directions at once before facing down the hallway. "Pick a door." She'd snarl, hefting the cudgel in her hand again, the other fingering several sheathed, sharp objects. "Shouldn't bring the little fleshes." She was not gentle at all, hadn't been since Wile had started his tricks. Caeryph looked up, already getting weary of the new faces. He didn't know who these people were, and it just made him uncomfortagble, if he only knew. For now, he wouldn't say anthying more, but simply wait and watch, looking for the door that was to be picked. Shishi had taken his time following Terra, his children, and Tenebrae up the stairs, remaining in the tavern's main room for a few moments longer after the rest of the made their ascent, desperately struggling to control the inner recesses of his mind, which were currently crowded with the shouts of shadows cast by various pieces of furniture that had recently been springing to life with a thirst for blood. Needless to say, those were complicated slivers of darkness dancing around in his psyche now. With whatever confidence he gained he trudged up the stairs and would silently follow the group into whatever room they chose, sending a small wave in the form of wiggling fingers towards his offspring should they get a chance to look his way... Tenebrae at last could set the card-table down, eyeing it briefly; she hadn't considered that it was included in the tavern's properties and subsequently there'd been a chance it might turn on her. Luckily, it had not. This done, she laid up her sword, but kept it unsheathed. Creature's tension was palpable in the hallway, and it told her things were well awry up here, too. Caer was given a nod-- a stranger, but not one to her people; she'd question him later. "Up ahead, perhaps, for the children?" The northern door was gestured to, before the hand was occupied in searching her pack for a handful of treats for the children, which were bestowed upon Orange with a smile. "You've both been very good. Share these with your brother." She wanted to gather them all, and didn't much care where. Caedan's appearance decided it. "In here." She slipped past the psychic, her lips set in that grim line that portended, perhaps, grim news. Caedan said, "Oh goodie." Deilakrion waited for all to precede her, eyes still roving the hallway in a most untrustworthy manner. "This place." She'd mutter and swear, gripping her weapons tightly. -- The Den of Iniquity --Deilakrion slid into the room, face going paler once she let herself see the insides of it. She stayed near the door and blinked a lot before she finally looked down, grumbling inaccurate words that wouldn't matter in the morning. Shishi 's little girl grinned brightly to the woman bearing treats. Delicately plucking the candy apples from the woman's hand with a light bow of gratitude, "Thank ya, Miss Tenebrae!" Her father is regarded with a slightly worried stare thereafter, his glowing, crimson eyes the seed for her concern. Shishi supplies her only with a faint smile and a weak nod to assure her of his well being. When her brother is allowed access into the room to the east with Terra as his ticket in, the girl pouts and rushes towards her father, begging to be lifted up with open arms... With a light sigh the assassin obliges his little girl and carries her into the room with the rest of them... Tenebrae's suggestion that the children not accompany them disregarded... Caedan is already sitting cross-legged on the bed, wrapped in even more layers of blankets than those she had been sporting moments before. She's territorial of her bed, and sending nearly-fierce stares at anyone who gets too close. She's also sneezing intermittently, the sound muffled by the blankets she's ensconced within. Caeryph was just on the other side of the door frame as Deila, not too fond of being in this place. Room change was a bit better..but nothing really. For now, he remained quiet and simply waited for whatever was to happen. Terra wasn't willing to let the children remain in the northern room without suprevision, not when furniture could spring to life and animal corpses roamed the streets beneath the windows. They'd be entertained with their candy apples and various toys brought along from their stay with Dezerae. With a quiet sigh, she'd stay near Shishi's sigh with a frown serving as conversation between the two since he had failed to respond to her. Orange seemed content to stay there, and so would she. Oddly, gaze kept flitting back to Caedan when she sneezed, worry settling in. Nothing about this seemed right... Deilakrion scowled at the floor. "Worthless." ____________segue_____________ Slowly, sooty lashes flutter upen to reveal two very confused grey eyes. The light here is faint, but the Avian could clearly see walls, and a floor. All of stone. A cave, somewhere. As she sat up, Arysel took a moment to collect herself. It was too soon to panic. Or so she thought to herself. There had to be an entrance. After all, she'd gotten here somehow. To keep the wavering walls, what she could see of them in the dim lighting, off her mind, the Avian closed her eyes. Think..what happened? All she could really remember was being in the Hanging Corpse, the furniture was hungry, and then..dark. Dark except for a spot of light that held people in it, and..and..Monster..Demon? Devil?..was fighting someone, or something. Gods, what had happened? Taking a deep breath, Arysel once more opened her eyes. Where was the light coming from? The faint marking on her forearm itched, insistantly. Rolling from her side to hands and knees, she crawls along the uneven ground, feeling her way towards the soft glow. As she got closer, the itching got worse. Pausing every now and then, she scratches the spot, hissing softly as her nails begin to break open the soft skin. Finally, there it is. Two bits of what look like rough hewn stone, vaguely familiar and almost the same shape as the one in her satchel..her satchel, her lyre, where were they? A quick search of her person provides the answer. They are there, still slung across her shoulder and looped at her hip. With a breath of sweet relief, Arysel draws out her piece, the pestle that she'd used to make an herbal remedy for Gomrak. Smiling fondly as she thinks about that lug of an Orc, Arysel inspects it, checking for damage. For a while now, she's been able to block out its voice. It did talk, when she chose to listen and as she listened now, it seemed to want her to take the other two. When she did, her world was plunged into darkness. With a whimper, and never a thought of bringing out the shards for light, Arysel inches backwards til her back and wings touch stone. The wall. So dark..and cold. Shivering, she rubs her arms briskly. "Help me!" she screams, the words echoing, mocking her. "Please, someone help me!" She huddled there for a while. A rather long while, shivering and cowering in that corner. "Is this how an Avian behaves? Where's your pride, girl?" The voice was soft at first, with an undertone of kindness. "Father?" She was hesitant to open her eyes. Her ears could be decieving her, yet, when they did open, there he was. Standing over her as he had when she was a child and learning to use her wings. Oh so many time's she crash landed and cried, frustrated and embarrassed. He'd always asked if that was how an Avian behaved, asked where her pride was, and it always worked. She got back up, tried again,and again. Broke some bones in the process, but she finally flew. And now was no different. Sliding her feet under her, she pushes up,a few feathers pulled out painfully by the rough wall, but she was standing. Head held high with pride. "That's my girl," he says, holding out his hand to her. "Now we get out of here." But I can't see, she thinks. "You don't need to see, my dear!" With that, he tugs her along. To anyone who passed, she was simply a winged woman, stumbling in the dark with her hand out. Out, she was out of the cave and wandering along a corridor. Keep going straitght..she must be under ground somehow, but how? If she could remember! The warmth of her father's hand guides her, pulling her and adjusting her pace over rougher spots. Slight scratching sounds invade her ears, but she pushes it aside. Perhaps it was better not to know what she shared the dark with. Such darknesss, and all she wanted was light. Light would mean she could see. She could see what else was there and the woman's minde, strong as it was under normal circumstances, probably wasn't up to dealing with the creatures of the Underdark. Still, she kept on. Plodding along until she felt the floor begin to slop upwards, gently at first, then more steeply. She'll pause several times to catch her breath, unused to this kind of exhertion. If only there was a way to fly, but the tunnels got narrow in spaces, even pulling her wings flat against her back almost didn't work sometimes. All the way, her father's voice, encouraging and goading in turn, spurred her on. He kept her going, never stopping, never resting and avoiding danger as much as possible. Finally! Oh finally, a place she could stretch her wings! As Arysel does so, with a groan of pleasure, she looks around. The cavern is lit up. Not well, but enough to see. For now it is empty, but by the altar and the statues, it was clear this was a holy place. Yet, when she takes a moment to really look, the dark energy here makes her shiver. Wait..where was her Father? He was just here! Spinning a quick circle, she looks, seeks him out and finds him gone. In that moment, she knows that he hadn't been there at all. Was she really so weak? A soft humming catches her attention. It comes from the satchel. Opening it, her stone. The one which claimed her as its own, glowed softly. Smiling, Ary knows. She knows it was the stone. Its way of comforting and guiding. Strangely, it wasn't a thought that disturbed her. Drawing in a deep, steadying breath, Arysel lets it out slowly before inspecting the temple closer. There was a way up. Was this the way out? The way to the surface? No, only more of the temple. It was time to collect herself and get on with finding a way out. There had to be one. Going back out the way she came, Arysel briefly wished her father was there for real. He'd know what to do. He'd been a powerful mage in his time. Respected, feared, and so handsome, that after the death of her mother, many of the females had flocked, literally, to him. Hoping to take over his nest so to speak. Shaking off the memories, she concentrated on putting one foot infront of the other. Slow and steady was the name of the game, and she played it well. Up, down, through twists and turns and a few near missed meetings with a troupe of Drow warriors, Arysel wandered. Had it been hours? Days? Weeks..or months? There was no way to tell how long she'd been asleep, or even down in this dank, dark, hell hole. Finally! A sign! Eyes scan the glittery letters, sounding them out. Craughmoyle..a place she's heard of, yet never visited. Well, now would be a good time to at least look around. As she walks, her steps gain a bounce to them. Excitement bubbles up. Almost..almost to the surface. Arysel could almost taste the sweet fresh air, hear the birds, feel the wind in her wings, tugging her hair! Quicker, unmindful of the tattered remains of her clothing, or the tangled mess of her hair, she walks. Practically running as she searches for the way to the surface. East road..east felt right. So she continues. Her steps slowing as she gets ever closer. What will she find? She has to go back to the Tavern. She has to know what's happened to the others. Was it a dream? She fervently hoped so. If anything had happened to Tenebrae, the Avian would likely find a way to blame herself. Urgency now accompanied her. The end of east road. Now a climb up and..out? Oh she hoped so. Very much hoped so. The sound of steel ringing on rocks..the mines! With a laugh, the Avian hurried. So close..so close and yet so far. Not enough time. She had to find Tenebrae, tell her about the stones. Show them to her. Oh dear, Gods, what if she was too late...the thought stopped Arysel dead in her tracks. Too late..for what? With a strangled sound, she continues her climb upwards, scraping her hands raw on the rocks. Leather pants shred like butter, but she doesn't care, doesn't notice that her knees are skinned up and bleeding, or that her corsette is frayed around the edges. Her wings, dark grey and filthy go unnoticed as well. One thought has entered her mind. A compulsion to seek out her friend and reassure herself that no harm has come to the vampire. With a whoop of joy that almost caused a cave in and earned her a few glares, Arysel rushed through the cave past Melbane and down the northern path before realizing she could fly. Leaping into the air, her wings caught a nice thermal that lofted her higher and higher into the sky before she banked towards Vailkrin. This was so much easier than walking. Quicker and freer. Arysel circles, lower and lower until she comes to a gentle landing just outside the Tavern. Her disheveled state, tattered corsette, ragged and torn pants, as well as stone dust and tangled hair, isn't even thought of at the moment. Her only thought on Tenebrae and her well being. Not once did she pause, nor did she bother to look around as she headed straight for the door. In her satchel, the stones clinked and clattered, unmindful of what a racket she would make. Arysel tries the door, but it won't budge. Not even in the slightest, so, she does what she does best and begins to beat the giant wings, lifting herself slowly into the air. Rounding a corner, she comes to a broken window. No time to sing it open, so she uses a balled up fist and smashes the rest of the glass. Maybe it's heard, or maybe not, but she unlatches the window and lets herself in. Not noticing among the other cuts and bruises the new ones, imbedded with glass. Opening the door directly infront of her, voices are heard down the hall. That must be where they are. ______________/segue_________________
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Post by Joliette Thorne on Aug 21, 2008 7:33:11 GMT -5
Tenebrae settled herself on an edge of the bed, facing whatever direction afforded her a collective view of the gathering, though her eyes lingered on Deilakrion as she spoke, a frown creasing her brow. The necromancer cleared her throat, a note of urgency in her tone. The horse, among other things, had broguht her to a state of vast impatience. "We all know why we are here. The next thing to do is decide what we are going to do about it." Her gaze shifted to each in turn, pausing over the children. She could not spare them any of the words that needed to be spoken, and only hpped it might all be a above thier heads. "We have a common enemy. It is, right now, important for us to share what information we have about him." Another handkerchief was produced, and handed in Caedan'd direction. The faint scent of lavendar drifted, as Tene continued, "It's equally important that you leave nothing out. Small details seem to matter.." She could no longer see Causca as he had been in life, when thought of the battle-horse flashed abruptly in her mind.
Shishi was lightly bouncing his little girl in his arms as he awaited the reason for this gathering to be made known. His mouth had sunk beneath the top of his protective blue scarf so any smile meant to lead Terra's silent conversation down a different track would go unseen; his red stare incapable of conveying pleasant emotions on its own. At each of Caedan's sneezes the nervous vampire would jump slightly, further serving to bounce the blonde little girl in his arms...
At Tenebrae's words, Deilakrion swallowed. She kept her eyes upon the floor, head hanging so her tangled hair shifted. The last sheen of sweat had dried, leaving her skin clammy to the touch. "The. . .thing. . .watches. This creature. . ." she'd stop, and softly growl something unpleasant, and turn. "Another time, fierce hunter. Another time." She faced the doorway with twisting lips, and kept her head down as she left. The fingernails of her free hand stained her palm a silvery crimson.
Terra remained silent as Tenebrae spoke about this common enemy. Unfortunately -or maybe fortunately- no information would be heard from Terra's lips for she knew nothing of this beast. No contact had been made with him, short of the dead animals outside, and even then she didn't know what that was about. Without anything helpful to contribute she'd shift from foot to foot, moving Yellow from one hip to the other with a quiet groan.
Caedan says nothing in response to the vampiress, but extends her hand a split second before the vampiress shifted to hand her the bit of cloth. She retreats with it back into her blanket cocoon, only a cobalt stare a few wayward strands of tangled hair peeking out. She's got a bird's eye view of her clanmates from her bed perch, their thoughts swirling around her like a kaleidoscope of butterflies. Despite trying to focus on Tenebrae's, to help to sew the pieces of her own knowledge together, she's frequently distracted by the children, their minds like brightly colored moths, standing out from the rest of the butterflies. Her mind brushes against Tenebrae's, a silent concern extended.
Tenebrae heard, in her mind, "I am concerned for her. Her mind is a mix of things, and half of it I cannot see at all."
Caeryph , in his mind, didn't belong to any of this. This was not his fight, this was not his war- or even his foe. He had simply just gotten mixed up in the middle..again, this was the way he saw it in his mind. If only he knew who these people were, this 'second' pack that Deilakrion had told him he was a part of..if only. "I don't belong in this..I leave the moment I get a chance." And with that, he soon followed after the elf, making his way down the hall and into the den of vixens, where he would pester Diamanda for some raw meat that Deila said she would always have for him. Whether or not this was a lie to get him to come back..he still made his way down the hall.
Shishi blinks in confusion. He was just as oblivious as Terra, if not more so. His only encounter with this enemy's handy work had been shrugged off as an illusion as he was led away to safety. He too would listen in silence, curiosity, if nothing else, holding him in place.
Tenebrae's frown was a deep furrow, even before Caedan "spoke". She could not shake the feeling that somehow Creature, as well as the psychic, held some key place in all this. They'd have to make do without the elf, for now. Tene needed something to hang her thoughts on, some action she could aim to achieve, because it was not in her nature to wait like a sitting duck for fate to catch up with her. She'd speak quietly and bluntly, when she did, "He's stealing things from us. Like the Pool does. Taking what we have, and turning it against us. I saw it, clearly, the other day. The animals only confirmed it." She let that settle, and finished, for now, "He's also opening more doors, like the pool. So the rest of them can arrive."
Terra gave a small fright at the talk of the pool, briefly alarming Yellow. It took a short breath before she'd ask the question that there seemed to be no answer for, "Can he be stopped? What ways have been tried?"
Shishi was still lost when Terra seemed to find herself in the conversation... -The pool-, -rest of them- These words meant nothing to him and his puzzled look moves from Tenebrae to the empath beside him when she speaks up. A loud crunch sounding in his ear when Orange bites into her candy apple while listening to Tenebrae's 'story'.
Caedan sneezes behind Tenebrae, but it's an affirmative sneeze. She shivers inside her blankets and stands to try and yank down the canopy to add more warmth to her blanket oven. She'll pointedly ignore Terra's question; she was, after all, indirectly -- if not directly -- responsible for the Pool fiasco.
Leoxander had escaped the tavern earlier in decent enough shape, his mood never the best but... not bad, all things considered. That was until... strange things started happening, things beyond anyone's control. As he stepped slowly into that room, one boot mysteriously missing, the other foot scuffing the ground, everything about his appearance suggested it had turned into a bad day. Small, infected cuts would be healing by that point, some covered in what was left of his ruined shirt. Though he was interrupting an important and private conversation, Leo didn't particularly look to give a damn.
Arysel opens the door to her right, as she came from the other end of the hall, drawn by the sound of voices. Arysel slips inside. Knowing how Tenebrae is, and the smell of lycan that fills the room, it wouldn't be long before she was noticed. Arysel will wait though. What she carries with her can be shown later. For now, she'll find a quiet spot, wish for a bath, and wait for the vampire and the rest to finish talking. When someone does catch sight of her, they'd see grey dust all over the Avian, making her seem almost dead. The blood that coats her hands, knees, and even parts of her now exposed belly though, would most likely discourage that thought. Cuts in her knuckles caused by shattering glass drips slowly onto the floor off the tips of her fingers. This goes unnoticed as the Avian's eyes are locked onto Tenebrae.
Terra gave a short scowl at Shishi, then, shifting Yellow yet again.
Tenebrae's eyes lifted to greet Leo's arrival with a haunted look and a nod, a flicker of the corner of her upper lip, for a wan smile. One hand extended upward, to keep the canopy-cloth enfolding her, as well as the psychic, should it give in to the girl's demands and fall. "There are rocks.." It sounded as lame as it... sounded. She hastened to finish her answer to Terra. "They seem to turn up in the vicinity of the weapons I have sought, so far, though that is not the sole criterion. However, they're important. They hurt him." Her palm was held up, frsh-healed skin as scarlet as her hair in a round mark on her plam. "They hurt me too, because I was made by his ilk. All of us who carry the taint of chaos." Her eyes settled on the other vampiress, shifting to Shishi and the children. "He invades our dreams. Be vigilant. We need a way to sleep without them." She hopefully didn't need to instruct the healer to make sleeping-draughts, but would if required to. "We need to cut off his manner of feeding from us." Her gaze went to Leo then, and then the floor. "And we must develop a strong plan of attack. He punishes us all, for my mistakes."
Tenebrae caught sight of Arysel and scrambled back on the bed, tugging awkwardly at the hilt of her sword. "Get the children away from her!" Wild eyes were on the avian, then, as she took a stand, sliding off the side of the mattress. The necromancer snarled, put herself in line of the avian's sight. "So, you found me."
Terra was becoming more and more anxious as the conversation continued. This pool business, and the creature who was so alike to those obsidian depths left Terra with a chill despite the lack of encounter. Mention of the dream-walker did nothing to ease the tightening cords in her gut, and so she'd hug Yellow just a bit tighter. "I'll .. I need to start on something. For sleep." It sounded as though she made little sense, but the thoughts were mostly spoken to herself. Before she'd turn, Yellow still in hip, she'd nod to Tenebrae. "Your mistakes or whoever's- we'll take whatever punishment comes. We're Cabal, it's what we do." Avoiding contact with Leoxander aside from a brief nod, she'd leave the room.
Terra would only hear the end of Tenebrae's demand, and was grateful she had opted to leave when she had.
Caedan 's managed to make a tear in the sturdy cloth, but not yank it down. Trying to strong-arm a mantle hasn't done wonders for her strength, and neither has the very human cold she's picked up from sludging around Spawne's tundra tavern in barefeet and a sheet. She listens closely to Tenebrae, pulling the blankets a bit more taut against her, while quietly trying to determine if he's been invading her dreams as well. They haven't been any more traumatic than they usually are, except with maybe a little added intensity. She chews absently on her lip, stare wavering between the back of Tenebrae's head, to Leo, and then finally settling on the two children clinging to Terra and Shishi.
Leoxander found a chair, a corner, an empty space. There he would blend into the background, choosing only to listen. Typically, he was a person who found comfort in his space and solitude. This evening, his eyes lock upon the Necromancer to study her profile. Alive, speaking, taking a necessary and dignified charge. Behind grimed up hair his eyes, underlined in darkness and glazed with paranoia, take a moment for every other person present, including the children, even if they are leaving. Assuming it is because of his presence, he does nothing to draw attention, and sinks into a dark pit of concentration where his disturbed thoughts are his own.
Shishi frowns deeply at Terra's last comment to him, his glowing red stare averting to the floor in shame. Despite the distraction of the healer's whispers, Shishi's ears were still Tenebrae's, the assassin taking in all she had to say, still understanding so little, but slowly painting a picture of the situation in his head... How accurate a picture it was is yet to be seen... Orange takes the vampiress's glance to heart, the one that designates her a being attached to chaos. With a slight frown Leralynn hugs her father tightly, candy apple sticking to the back of his shirt. Shishi blinks once at Tenebrae's demand, not asking any questions when it came to his little one's safety, he'd slide closer to the door, his back pressed against the wall as he tried to make his way around Arysel and escape with Orange...
Leoxander seems to relax in time, in company.
Arysel opens her mouth then closes it, rather fishy like in appearance. Her eyes get wide at the venom in Tenebraes voice, confusion clouding the grey orbs, "Of course I found you. I have something to show you, Tene. Something important..I think." A frown creases her forehead, otherwise smooth and wrinkle free. "I had to see if you were alright..I..had a strange dream." She was of course, referring to the darkness, the fight..the nothing. Tilting her head, Arysel takes a step towards Tenebrae, hands raised, the flesh almost skinless. Her eyes dart around the room, "Please..I don't know what happened. But, when I woke up, I found stones, like the one at the hut on the island."
Spawne had passed out on the bed, presumably from the barrage of cutlery he'd caught with his skin in the hours earlier. As unconsciouness slowly became a deep sleep he'd roll over, right onto a fork lodged in his side. His response was loud, though an understandable volume.
Spawne shouted, "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAASSHOLE!"
Shishi 's crimson eyes narrow when he reaches his destination when Arysel takes her steps forward, freeing the doorway... This avian didn't appear to be acting like one the children needed to be protected from, but Tenebrae's judgment is trusted, especially when it came to the little one's safety, and he was out the door with Orange, the girl still hugging her father tightly, inadvertently sticking candy to his back...
Caedan , who had been covertly trying to steer Tenebrae's withdrawn sword into the canopy above, is startled by the movement of red flesh on -her- bed. The canopy, having endured enough abuse, is hanging by a thin thread, which is ripped as Caedan uses it to regain her balance on the mattress that's rolling like a water bed. Suddenly, it's a bit darker and bit crazier, because the heavy canopy is not floating down so much as already upon them, leaving a Tenebrae-avec-sword sized silhouette, a psychic sized lump, and a Red sized mound.
Spawne stared upward at the canopy resting upon his nose, it lifted and fluttered down again with each breath. Kaine twisted the utensil from his side to slice an opening in the cloth.
Caedan said to Spawne, "Don't you dare. Wherever you are. I'm using this."
Caedan sneezes twice in succession, and does her best to look menacing.
Spawne said to Caedan, "It makes my nose itchy."
Caedan said to Spawne, "It's freezing in here. I don't care about your gorram nose."
Tenebrae swept the sword in a threatening arc -- careful not to take Caedan's hand off in the process-- when that bloody hand stretched toward her, to serve more as a distraction so that Shishi and Leralynn could make good thier escape than in any hope she could finish the "trick" with such a mundane weapon. "Your puppets don't fool me, jester." Leo seemed lost in thought, or perhaps asleep, his haggard look gnawing another layer of guilt through her. Had she anything else to add, it was swept aside by the boom of a roared obscenity . That explained the lump in the bed she'd assumed were extra blankets. Recovering herself, Tene opened her mouth again, only this time she was abruptly plunged into a suffocating darkness, the weapon knocked from her hand by the sheer weight of the fabric. Thrown into panic, the necromancer started punching her fists wildly into the blackness. "Gods dammit, but I'll take you to hell with me, you whore-born lump of demon-shi..." The canopy was wrestled with, as though it was some bad angel, and she some mountain-stanced holy woman, fighting for her very soul.
Spawne said to Caedan, "Well makin' up words aint gonna warm the place up, cinnamon buns."
Caedan 's wrestling with the canopy too, trying to get close enough to Red to land a solid punch anywhere on his person she might gain access. She ducks a particularly stunning blow from the vampiress, only to be clipped by a jab that's still sharp even through the layers of blankets-and-now-canopy, and knocks her on her, "Buns! -Buns-?! I am not a confectionary treat!" She's flailing a bit closer now, but she can't help it; his weight is creating a bit of a vacuum, and she's starting to roll right towards him.
Spawne just laid on his back, blowing raspberries at the canopy. It rose and fell, rose and fell... He paid little attention to the awkward catfight going on somewhere around him.
Arysel stepped to her right, letting Shi and the little girl out and just missing the swipe of the sword. "Tene! Wh-what are you talking about? Puppet?" Fear and confusion now laced her voice, mind racing to discern what Tenebrae was talking about. When the canopy came down, she saw it as her chance, and drew forth from her satchel, now sporting a few holes as well, the two stones she had found. In her hands they glowed a pure white. Not bright enough to hurt eyes, but enough to know they weren't run-of-the-mill glowing stones one could often find in the mines. "Look at me, Tene. See what I have? They don't sing to me like mine does. These are quiet, not meant for me to hold." Desperately wanting Tenebrae to cease those insane ramblings..and not kill her. The edges of the stones turn a slight pink as smears of blood taint the pureness of them.
Tenebrae couldn't really look at anything, just then, but stopped struggling and stood still, the avian's words sinking in. Moreso, the gentle tone, the use of her adopted name and not the awful "Darkness" that the trick so often used. Neither was there any cruel, or mocking words to follow, no thickening of her tongue or backward speech. So she stood there, looking rather like a child playing ghosts, until Caedan's motion pulled the cloth off her, left her staring blankly toward the dishevelled winged bard. She didn't even glance at the stones,though thier ight caused her to wince. "A..ary?"
Caedan is quietly beating at Spawne's chest through the canopy, from within the canopy, and periodically sneezing on him.
Arysel sagged, almost falling to the floor in relief and exhaustion. "Yes..yes, it's me." Tears stung her eyes, but were quickly blinked away and a crimson smear appeard just under her left eye when a crystalline drop escaped, tracking a path down her dust covered cheek. "I don't know what's going on Tene. I'm scared and confused and...and.." the words just wouldn't come as she finally slid down to the floor with a sigh. "Who do these belong to?" she asks softly. Hanging her head, Arysel puts the shards back into her pack. The wince hadn't gone unnoticed after all. It was then that the Avian noted the state of her hands and flexed the fingers, just to be sure they still worked properly for playing the lyre she always had with her. Dragging her gaze back to the vampiress, she'd slide the look behind her with a flicker of amusement at the still roiling canvas. "Talk to me, Tene. I want to understand." Tenebrae let out such a ragged sigh that it seemed to knock the rest of the wind from her, and she sank to a chair beside the sleeping Leo, or sat on the floor if there wasn't one. her features crumpled a little, into a face not out of place on a child told she would never, never be allowed to go to the circus. "There's a killer, Ary. He has powers." She didn't have the energy to repeat the whole of it. "Ours, mainly. He stole them from us. He pretended to be you." She couldn't look the avian in the eye. "I thought... I'm sorry." She was so tired, beyond tired. Tene could not recall the last time she slept. "Those rocks are weapons, they hurt him." It would be clear that was all she was going to say on it for now. "Are you alright?" The two rolling around the bed - and the sudden rhythmic motion under it -- had her look that way, and away again quickly. "Perhaps we should find somewhere less... more..." Tene shrugged, helplessly.
Arysel nodded wearily. As tired as she was, Tene seemed about to collapse. Eyeing the sleeping wolf a moment, she rises and eases towards the door. Her steps shuffled and wings drooping just a bit. "Don't be sorry, Tene. We'll figure this out. We are, after all, family of sorts." Or so she'd begun to think of the vampire as family, and by extention, anyone she held dear as well. All would have Ary's full support and loyalty if they ever found themselves in need of it. Pulling the door open, one last raised-brow look was given to the two lumps on the bed, covered as they were by the canopy in such a ...suggestive way. "After you." she offers to Tenebrae.
Tenebrae slid a look to Leoxander, pondering whether to stir him to come with them, and give the couple thier privacy. But he looked so peaceful... With a mental shrug, she'd leave him there, to sleep through .. whatever went on. As she took to the door, a thought almost amused her: what goes around always comes around.
(tbc)
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Post by Joliette Thorne on Aug 21, 2008 23:10:18 GMT -5
His appearance lacked a certain kind of flair tonight, a placid seat claimed along the bar’s once elegant counter. The days had not been kind on the Hanging Corpse, much of its furniture had not survived the trials he’d put upon Tenebrae’s rabble. Worse, most of its employees were naught to be found. The orc had stood strong, and loyal, but his unconscious frame was a crumpled heap upon the floor. A nose many-times shattered had just taken its most recent break, and his head was canted almost peacefully to the side. The Herald afforded the figure no attention, his eyes were strictly on Tenebrae as she appeared. It was a palpable confidence that carried him, even as he sat shirtless on a stool. Were it not for the unreal things that he’d brought upon her this might have seemed normal, almost coincidental. But, with any hope, the svelte-figured vampire had learned long ago that nothing could be left to coincidence. Not anymore.
The cellar's furnace, an ingenious device wrought from gnomish knowledge and dwarven craftsmanship which provided the tavern's hot water, was heavily choked with ash and coals and the reek of burnt hair and flesh lay over the Corpse like a deathly pall, a thin strata of fat-laden smoke still hazing the air. She'd have to ask Steadman to clean it once more, as if that much put-upon man did not have enough to keep him exhausted. Tene trudged the stairs, the deep red of her hair peeking out from behind the scarf tied around it, washerwoman-style, and her grazed fingers held a long-handled pan, in the other hand a broom. Tenebrae was tired. So... tired. She had refused sleep often of late, and the worry and the fear, and the constant machinating of her mind had taken its toll. When she gained the tavern's bar, Wile's presence was not greeted with terror, or trepidation, or any emotion that might pull more from her than she had to give, anymore. They were impassive eyes that met his lamplit green ones, and her words were blunt, and flat: "What now?"
Wile extended a long-fingered hand, deft digits uncurling to the seat beside him. Immediately beside him. He revealed no humor, nothing so human could ever touch those angled features. "Sit." And this time he produced the entirety of a deck of cards at once, laying them in a neat, face-down stack on the counter.
Were she more sure that things would likely not descend to something dire again, she might have turned her eyes ceilingward as she blew out a breath and set her broom and pan aside. As it was, she merely exhaled, and shook her head. "No thanks. I'll stand." She caught sight of Urghdak, then, and became very still for a moment, assuming the half-orc dead. But his massive chest lifted and fell, and blood still scented fresh from his shattered face. Even this served to raise no wrath in her; the necromancer turned back to the "trick", watched him deal the cards, with that same quiescent stare.
Wile repeated himself once more, though now the voice flattened heavily. It was a grievous weight, born with a most terrible authority. The manner of him construed the propriety of purpose, but a wrath was brewing. A terrible one. For a moment the Herald entertained the thought of removing the half-troll's closest leg, a harsh warning to the already troubled woman as she stood across from him. A few too many feet between them, infact. Yet, forsaking the rash for the reasonable, he merely allowed that command to echo from him with the full force of necessity. "Sit."
Tenebrae closed her eyes once, slowly, and opened them again, whereon they sought the most innocuous of seats, a three-legged stool that had served old men who liked to nestle closer to the fire than most in winter. Kicking it upright, she planted herself on the low chair.
Wile allowed his attention to find Tenebrae, and turned a card over. They were not the Tarot, but something different entirely. The first card was a simple picture of land, sea, and air. "There were once Gods in this land, Tenebrae. They were not always visible, but they were there. A being could pray hard and long and feel their touch, hear their voice, and perhaps at times feel their strength course through him. This was a time when the lesser ones, like you, understood the boundaries of their making and adhered to it. It was also a time of the lesser-ones, and there were only ever three to speak of. They were not Gods, and certainly not divine, but of all creatures they were higher."
She had not been expecting a story. Once, she might have shown relief, or prior to the travails of late, even delight in such a thing. Now there was only a slight sharpening of her gaze on the cards, and on the man himself… Tenebrae thought of him as such, merely for convenience... when he spoke.
Wile continued on then, meeting Tenebrae’s eyes. The haunt in her features was looked through, looked past, as though it simply was not there. If she could take any relief in his appearance it was in the fact he did not gloat. Or, perhaps, the eerie disconnect that he shared with his deeds would trouble her further. “As the years passed on and the Gods lost their hold on this world, the three strengthened their own upon it. There were long years when it seemed that by their hand this place would be bound and enslaved, until the Gods made their last great show of things. The lesser-ones, “Dote” as they were called in that ancient language, attempted to survive. The White stood and fought after attempting to reason and was struck down. The Black attempted to flee and hide and was struck down. The Silver did neither, merely waited.” He turned two cards over, each revealing the fate of the White and Black. And then another, displaying The Silver speaking to a cloud. “They asked it to explain itself and it said it could not. They asked it to give reason, and it said simply that I am what I was supposed to be. I do as I do. The answer was unfathomable, but honest. Unwilling to destroy their own creation, and accept responsibility for the evils it could cause, they imprisoned it to a form. The liquid form was to serve as a signal to its manner, fluid and malleable. When given direction a force, but elsewise somewhat passive. And so they bound it deep within the earth, away from the tiny species such as your own that may trip upon it.”
He had her interest now, and it would show in the slight tilt of her body forward, the way her gaze flickered back and forth between his features and the cards. It'd be a slightly puzzled expression she wore, a minute crease in her smooth brow, a perceptible tilt of her head that served for a question her mind was too tired to form, one that Tenebrae would not have spoken aloud even were it not so. As for her reactions to the being itself, these were still strangely calm, almost lacking altogether, but for those small motions that served to communicate simpler things.
Wile finally smiled as she canted her head, and the expression on his features was suddenly and naturally human. The softening of those angled features betrayed a hard truth, at one time he was handsome. The image of his fall would be fresh on all minds, and here for the briefest of moments the Herald looked more the doomed young man then the terrible voice of the Pit. He continued, and his voice would shake that moment away and dust it from the scene. Once more he was "The Trick", seated beside Tenebrae and unfolding his tale with a turn of the cards. It was of a silver pool buried in the earth. "It was never black, Tenebrae. Not until you came, a millenia later, and laid waste to that barn. Do you remember that day?"
Tenebrae lifted her attention from the cards, sharply, having lain it there when that fleeting glint of humanity had fled from the Herald. "I'd be an idiot had I forgotten it." The vengeance of the act, and the horror of it, still lay as thickly about her as a cloak, even after all these years.
Wile asked then, watching her poignantly. "Did you know that they were inside?"
The necromancer had learned that it was best not to assume anything, and her words were subsequently frank. "If you mean his companions, no. Or, rather, I was beyond caring whether they were or not, in my rage. I wished them no specific harm, however. It was the traitor and his whore I wanted dead."
The image is a sudden flash through Tenebrae's mind, a harsh and unforgiving glimpse at what had laid within the barn. The best intentions and a dollar could purchase a cup of coffee, and Tenebrae's deed extended beyond the death of the barn itself. She would witness the terrible renting of the beams, the tongues of flame, the dust and the rubble and worse. The full stretch of her rage unleashed upon the barn's exterior, trapping the half-dozen warriors that had slept in that place. She would see them die, some more horribly than others, but none more vividly than the elf. He was a beautiful and noble thing, and she would feel his heart. The terrible, unyielding sweetness of it. The pure, unadulterated faith it had (mislead and foolish as she had been) in her former lover. And she would watch as the beam fell upon his long legs, crushing the grace from him and trapping him to the earth. She would feel the flames lick up his face and rip the beauty from it. The incredible strength of him forced him to survive longer than he should have, before finally succumbing. She would feel it. And she would see it. And then she would be left, his presence from her mind abruptly and suddenly gone.
Of them all, even the gentle-eyed giant to whom she'd taken an immediate liking, it was Aidilian whom Tenebrae had valued most of all her former lover's companions. Perhaps, because he'd been something above them all, though it was only with years to ponder on it that she'd realised this. Often she had wished that she had met the elf in other circumstances, ones which had not led to a demise she could only assume, since so little had been left of anything in the wreckage not flattened to thin ash under the monstrous fort. If she suffered for the vision, it was only an echo of what she'd already felt. "I was foolish, to let a feckless man drive me to such things." This was all she offered him, and it was offered only as a fact.
Wile answered steadily then. The harsh and calloused point of truth. "But that was not what you did, Tenebrae. That was all collateral. That feeling you unleashed woke what sits in your castle, now. It drew it to the surface and let it feed on that terrible scene, grow and swell. And -you- turned it black. You gave it that Darkness, and it stole it away from you and became drunk on it. These people you care for suffer, you suffer, because you awakened it to what this world had to offer. You turned it from a thing that survived on fools that stumbled by to what it has become. Have you not felt that true already? Have you?"
Tenebrae had never truly known the source of the Pool, if this was it; only that it was the servant of her Maker, that he had wrought from one of his own companions, at some long-ago point in time. Or so the gnome had told her. So she had believed. "I knew it. Most of it." She wasn't taking any of it for gospel, nor discounting the possibility of truth. Urghdak stirred, behind her, and she hoped the half-orc would not struggle to rise and do his duty, singular-minded creature that he was. The tavern was otherwise quiet. It was an oddness, in the face of the past few days.
Wile began to rise then, leaving the cards upon the table. They are stunningly beautiful things, unbladed like his Tarot. The movements of him are a contrast to the gloom of the tavern, taken on a half-bounce that brought him to his sandal-clad feet. "The trials grow increasingly more difficult, Tenebrae. You've survived them, but you've lost a friend along the way. And perhaps more. I wonder if the rest will abandon you now that she is falling apart. I wonder if she knows enough to blame you for what has become of her."
Tenebrae watched him without caution's glimmer tainting her gaze, though her frame set toward a more visible tension. "I have lost nothing. The battle has not yet run its course. I think you are aware of this. And Creature ..." Here, she made the assumption; no other had been more disturbed. "... she knows who is to blame."
Wile left his final words before the window was brushed open, the vault of his body sinuous and easy. "We work through a script that was written for us, Darkness. Such is a vice of existence. It is and always will be saddled in the prison of inevitability."
Tenebrae said, before the Trick's form vanished from her sight, "And yet, we all are scribes, who sometimes may embellish." Black stone, still spattered with blood, was where she looked now. "Even if we must suffer for that freedom."
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Post by Joliette Thorne on Aug 22, 2008 10:56:51 GMT -5
--Den of Thieves---Spawne shut the door behind him, a short smile offered to Tenebrae as he enters, "Hey..." Tenebrae had made her way upstairs, once the Trick had made his exit. This northern room had become something of a refuge for the vampiress, a place she could rest and think, away from the madding crowd. That she did not mind Spawne's presence was evident in her smile. "Ello, Red." Spawne rubbed his hands together as he proceeded toward the center of the room. His voice was calm, though his thoughts were muddled. He still had no idea what was going on with Tenebrae and Wile, "Starting to warm up a little... You alright?" She nodded, and stoked the fire to life. "Come, sit by the hearth." Tene offered out the bottle of rum she currently held; six others lay empty on the stone bed of the fireplace, another five were still corked and set beyond reach of its heat. "Take the chill off your bones." Spawne seated himself by the flames, their radiant warmth restoring a comfortable mile to his tired features, "I guess you've seen all the critters outside... Less of 'em now than there was the other day." He pressed the bottle to his lips, drinking long and hard before wiping his mouth with his free hand. Tenebrae said to Spawne, "Many are gone, the rest are to be burned on the morrow." She took up a fresh bottle, and after a long draught of the liquor added, "We will not fight him here. I cannot say more than that, for now. But needs be we prepare to travel." Spawne just nodded. A question simmered at the pit of his lungs, it would take but a few moments of silence for it to boil over, and escape his lips, "He knows you... Did you know him?" He quickly corrected himself, the questionw as vague enough to solicit a vague answer, which he did his best to counter, “Before all this started, I mean." Tenebrae set her rum down with a clink of glass, and stared at the flames. "I did not, for he is a thing more ancient by far. But it was through my actions.. my crimes.. that he was freed. And this is why he is here now, and how he came to know me, as only I know myself." She frowned, poked at the coals. "Perhaps better than myself." Spawne said to Tenebrae, "Woulda thought he'd be grateful you let him out..." "What worries me is that he is." Tenebrae sighed, one hand smoothing over painted carboard; a deck of cards in her cloak's inner pocket. "His motives are beyond me, except in the crudest and least accurate of ways. I can only react to him like a jellyfish to stimulus, until I know it better." Spawne finished his drink, without hesitation he snatched up another, uncorked it, and picked up where he left off, "I haven't seen him around since we locked him up in here, but he's got everyone spooked... What did you think about Caedan's stones, hm? She usually knows what shes talking about, even if noone else does." The necromancer shifted back from the grate a short way; she had grown warm enough now. "He was here today. Told me the story of how he came to be." She was too far away to reach her bottle now, but didn't move back to the fire to get it. "How I helped to awaken the thing.. that he is." She waggled her hand, as though the rum might magically fly into it, and when she spoke, her voice had a note of wonder in it. "....Spawne?" Spawne cast the bottle haphazardly toward Tenebrae, "More stories..." Tenebrae nodded, almost dropping the bottle. "Exactly!" The gaze turned to the colossal man held a spark of hope that hadn't been there only a moment before. "Red, he told me two stories. Two! One, for the man-shape he wears. And one for the thing that moves through it. .... Red...." The rum was forgotten, though it stayed in her hand, sloshing gently as she moved restlessly in her excitement. "They are not the same. He need flesh to move in. A shape, that belongs to this world. That's his weakness, perhaps." Spawne pondered for a moment, "Sounds familiar..." He coughed once, and turned on his rear to face Tenebrae, "So what, we just gotta get him outta his skin?" She'd paused to take a sip, giving the Catastrophe a chance to speak. The mouthful was barely swallowed when she replied, her voice hoarse with the liquor's burn, "Hell, no. He'll only take another-- you've seen what he is capable of. Ary and I were talking, and I worked a few things out. Firstly, those stones bother him greatly, the same way they bother me. Perhps for different reasons than I thought." The necromancer frowned again. "But all the same, they cause him discomfort. Secondly, he is spreading-- making more places like the Pool. And not only that.." Her frown faded, replaced by a slightly triumphant expression. "They give him strength. Somehow, all of these factors must be brought into play, if we are to destroy him thoroughly, lest we err and bring his wrath down too soon." She glanced toward the shattered window. "And we've seen what he is capable of, when irritated." (here my puter craps out-- Sprawne or Caed, didja save any of it?)
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Post by Deilakrion on Aug 23, 2008 20:42:54 GMT -5
It's bugging me, grating me And twisting me around It's holding me, morphing me Yeah I'm endlessly caving in And turning inside out
Last chance to lose control
-- "Hysteria" Muse
Deilakrion had built a fire.
It had not taken her long to flee the Hanging Corpse Tavern and slink back into Vailkrin's Forest. If she had to face the myriad illusions slipping into her awareness, she might as well do it where none would be hurt. She was still armed to the teeth; sharp objects buckled onto a number of belts. There were a few blunt ones, too, dangling heavy around her hips. She knew logically that she could not hurt the illusions, but she found that more and more she was sinking into their reality. How long before she became one of them?
Her sight was out of focus as she stared straight-backed into the fire. Her legs were folded beneath her, and she had two handfulls of dangerous hilt. She had no food with her, having taken her fill before she'd left the Tavern. She didn't know what live kills would do to her, so she'd avoid them for the moment. If anything, the illusions were forcing her to become more disciplined, to keep her mind clear and to force traitorous thoughts away. She would not sink into madness. She would not. Around her, things moved in a way they should not. She knew, eventually, something bigger and focused would come. That was the way of it. That was why she'd fled. She didn't want to accidentally injure or kill someone -- that would be the tip of the whole joyous mess.
Something echoed far out. Perhaps it was her old friend, the monstrous beast, or maybe it was the illusion making itself known. "Come on." She snarled quietly, grips tightening around the pommels. The fire spat and crackled in front of her, and she refocused onto it. She was starting to sweat again, though it wasn't as bad as it had been when the illusions had first started. A good thing. She'd become dehydrated if she kept sweating all the water she drank. She cracked a smile at that thought, though the expression didn't reach her eyes. If she got out of this. . .she'd do better. She'd do right.
She'd finish what she started.
Ideas formed and washed away under new waves of thought as she waited, her former impatience tempered with pain and fear. She would use the thing for experience, and for a rougher training than any she'd had before. She was lost within those thoughts when the illusion came, and when it came she simply knew it existed, though it may have been there for several seconds before she acknowledged it. It stood across the fire from her, tall and dark. Robes of unknown cloth, and a hood that deeply shadowed the masculine features she knew well. She did not stand, merely met its unperturbed gaze as her face cleared of expression. "Black folds."
It did not respond, but she hadn't thought it would. The man was a remnant of her far past, of a time when she had been similarly scared and confused. The man, whose fleshy name she'd never learned, had helped her to regain herself and to craft her identity as creature. Without his help, she likely would have devolved into a senseless thing of the wild, never to resurface again. Never to have a pack. He'd saved her, and now she had to . . .what? Watch him die? Kill him? She remained silent, controlling her face, her outward thoughts, with supreme effort. The fire chuckled merrily between them, the only thing to move in this uncontested duel.
"You've changed, Deilakrion." Every word was a caress. She flinched, but otherwise did not react. It had learned about what affected her best. She would not give. She was in control here. "Why did dark folds come?" Her voice cracked upon the words, and she stiffened. Stupid, stupid creature. She was going to get herself killed, playing along.
"I missed you." Amusement.
"Fleshy lies." She breathed, and was upon her feet in a second, belts shifting along her skin. Her skin crawled at the contact, but she needed the weapons. They were her only aid within that personal hell. Creature and the man were almost of a height, but Deilakrion knew the other had a better reach. She'd never fought the dark folds, so who knew what Wile's illusions would have him capable of doing? She shifted the slightest, balancing herself, and held her knives ready. She was good at knife fighting. It was close and dirty, though she still preferred to avoid direct confrontations if possible.
Ayras hadn't expected to come upon anyone in his wandering. But it was always a mild possibility, so he was only partially startled by coming across the pair, and the flames between them. Something was off, though. The woman was naked, save for a belt and some daggers, and those daggers were drawn. The other being, the robed figure...he wasn't sure what to make of that one. He shook his head, tsking softly at the wild woman, a rapier soon in hand. "Come now. Is this any way to greet an old friend?" The dark man veritably reeks amusement at the woman's defiance...But poor Ayras, he's simply confused out of his mind.
Deilakrion bared her teeth in a feral smile. "So it comes to this." The words were coming easy, even if her increasing heartbeat would make things difficult. Ayras went unnoticed as Deilakrion sank into the entirely of the illusion. Still, she would not attack her savior and mentor. She held the daggers ready, eyes piercing that dark shroud of the man. More weapons shifted gently against her, some blunt and heavy while others were light and sharp. She did like to be prepared. "For this you will pay, trick." Her voice was low and venomous, eyes hollow and hard.
Ayras continued to watch on as the man chuckled, coming closer to the pair. "What's going on, here," he asked, though he seemed ignored. At least by the shadowed one. He simply shot forward, the flapping of his robes keeping the flames from catching any grasp on the fabric, and out snakes that rapier in a simple thrust. A thrust? It can't be that easy, surely. It can't b-...but ahhh, there it is. A twirling kick followed the thrust. Ayras, struggling between whether or not he should interfere, draws his magnificant mithril-and-adamantite swords. The cowled man cackles with some twisted glee. "Come, Deilakrion; show me how human you've become."
Deilakrion parried aside the rapier with a wrench of her left wrist, her right hand coming up heel first to catch the illusion's ankle and thrust it away. She stumbled backwards with the force of the blows. It was bad, very bad that she was registering touch and force, as though the illusion were something real. She didn't think of that, absorbed with the appearance of such an old and meaningful persona. "Where's your master, maggot?" She growled the question, circling in close to prevent the rapier from coming into play. Her mismatched daggers were each around a half-foot long, and they reflected firelight as she lunged forward with quick one-two jabs directed towards his center; a quick play on his defense. She was fast, unnaturally so -- but the man she fought was nothing more than illusion. He could match her, and what's worse, he could put out more.
Dark folds, as Deilakrion called him, parried the offensive rather easily, what with his light brand and his illusory existance. Easily enough, at any rate, to dance away, only to return with an assault of his own; a few quick slashes followed by a flurry of thrusts to various parts of Deilakrions body, her shoulder, her collar, her stomach, her thigh. But Ayras, for all his faults, was irritated that the man would attack the naked woman. It just wasn't right, to him. If she had attacked first, he would have seen things differently. As things stand, however, he's already falling into spellcasting, a simple spell...but one that's new enough that he's requried to concentrate on it, and his target. Unfortunately for him, the robed figure simply has more time to continue his onslaught, throwing in a number of feints, punches, and kicks to his attack.
Deilakrion did not evade easily. She had not been in a close-combat fight with someone of similar skill in a long while, having focused more on grunts who, well, simply couldn't match her ferocity. The man's voluminous robes hid much of his body language, and Deilakrion was guessing blind as she looked for clues for his next attacks. She twisted to the right, knives filckering up and out as she caught and turned aside the slashes, hovering just out of reach from the dangerous point. It wasn't until the point dove bloody into the sparse spare flesh of her thigh that her own blades skidden noisily up the man's blade and to the hilt, where she pushed in close to twist a dagger into his hand, the other coming over to dive into those robes and score, hopefully, something of substenance. She blocked one of the kicks with her opposing leg, and they would be close enough to trade breaths at that point, murderous breaths begging to repeat again. Her injured leg screamed fire as it bore weight, but it held under the pointed assault. Blood. Why did it always involve blood? It was her life on the line, this time.
The man hissed as one of the Creature's daggers found purchase in his hand, the other slicing through his robes into his chest. But that hiss was soon replaced with a growl, and Dark Folds brought his other hand over to forcibly pull Deilakrion's blade from his hand...and promptly change swordhands. "Not bad," he practically sneered. "Did those people you call your Pack teach you this, I wonder? Have you really found such solace within society?" Forward that bloodied hand shot, a punch geared straight for Deilakrion's face, and he likely would have thrust forward again with his rapier...had Ayras' spell not slammed into his back right then, the deathly energies of necromancy pushing him off balance and cringing from severe cold and pain. Around the man's gaze snaps, and the poor white-haired elf can almost feel the wrath of the illusion. "You cheat, Deilakrion," he chides, spinning back again to launch another punch, then another.
Deilakrion was getting the hang of the illusion's methods. The punch clipped her jaw, and she spun with it -- arms tucked close to her center-- ducking under the rapier and kicking upwards with the side of her foot towards the man's knee. Ever moving in this deadly race, she ignored the flares of pain as her leg spurted blood to duck forward with daggers extended towards the man's calves. Coming upright, she'd flinch to the side as dark folds was hit. "Tricks?" She was confused, uncertain if this new and unknown face was but another illusion-- and that cost her. One punch, two landed, and it was by reflex alone that her blades came up to attempt to score a hit on those extended arms. "Did the trick use you for himself before he sent you?" She taunted, slipping in and out of reality as pain and anger collided to form spectacular delusions. She held her arms crosswise and turned her blade points outward towards the illusion, eyes wild.
The illusion became enraged. He was not satisfied with the punches to her face, not when his own arm felt the cost of the assault. Forward he pressed again, thrusting, slashing, punching, kicking...even going so far as to attempt a head butt. But so occupied with Deilakrion was he that the illusion never noticed Ayras coming up behind him, the young elf scoring an easy slice across the man's hamstring. Hindered and now distracted again from the Creature, he turns and limps towards the elf, his rapier's swings strengthened by anger, by hatred. Ayras, though young, was no slacking swordsman; he parried the assaults easily, made easier by the lack of precission in Dark Fold's attacks. "Oh," the white-haired elf chides, "Did I interrupt?"
Deilakrion made an ugly sound in anger. "Leave it!" She barked, and took quick strides towards the illusion's back. "It's mine." This was hissed as she threw a dagger, aiming to bury it within the base of the illusion's skull. She pulled another one from her sheaths, as the dagger neared. . .and then the illusion was gone. It was a tricky trick, and Deilakrion's eyes widened in horror as the knife plunged for Ayras. She'd wanted to be alone so she wouldn't hurt others with her obsessions and tormets. Just once, she'd wanted to be safe.
Ayras suddenly had no opponent. In its place, a dagger was spinning end over end towards his face, and his eyes widened. Instinct took over, chaos took over, and the elf was falling back, leaning further back and back until his knees bent at a ninety degree angle...whereupon he'd fall flat to watch as the dagger continues its flight. His legs kick up, and as they come down he uses the momentum to propel himself back to his feet - though, he stumbles a bit, not quite used to that technique - arcane energy crackling from his pores and around his swords. "Now just what in the hells was that? I was trying to save you, here!" But then the illusion is back, and Ayras finds himself with a rapier through his side. Not at all a pleasant experience for either. Both cry out in pain, Ayras from the puncture, and Dark Folds from the sudden jolt of necromancy that hurls him away from his weapon as it shot through the rapier like electricity.
Deilakrion didn't bother to ask questions. She took off after the illusion, and winced as her leg twinged in reminder of its accelerated healing. When she closed, she'd straddle the thing, effective despite her light weight. She was strong, for one so scrawny, and she brought her daggers to bear without thought upon Dark Fold's throat. "I cared for you." She rasped, and then she was making her attempt to cut the thing's head off. Off in the distance, the noises Deilakrion had ignored since the beginning intensified. A flurry of stormy emotions were raging across the inner plane of her mind. Chaotic impulse and taunts drove spiked guilt and fear into her, and burned her on the inside. Tears were again building within her eyes, as if at long last the hell-ridden chaos had torn open the door to her oft concealed emotions. She did know the pain of feeling after all, and it toyed callously with her as she found the room to blame, and the guild to regret. Elsewhere, the energy gathered around the small clearing. Energy that would warp the forest scene, and force a new vision upon the two within it. The noises from far off were resolving into deep booming laughter, and soon Ayras and Deilakrion would find themselves within a stone hall -- the sort a fortified keep might employ. It happened quickly, so that even while Deilakrion had straddled the illusion did the new one form. It was dark, then, with flickering torches and metal implements bolted into the walls. Deilakrion had not noticed. Perhaps Ayras had.
Ayras wasn't sure what was going on. One moment, he was in a forest, the next he was in some sort of keep. Ah, how quickly the elf drops into a defensive stance, swords held ready. Silver eyes kept a wary note of both Deilakrion and Dark Folds, and he can't help but growl. "Just what have I gotten myself into?"
Deilakrion finished cutting off the head, and had the time to stare into its green-lit eyes before the entire thing disappeared. She caught sight of the completeness of the new illusion, and gained her feet. She backed towards Ayras, then turned with a single dagger extended. "What trick is the flesh?" She'd ask, features cleared of anything but a deep, deep anger.
Ayras smacked the dagger aside as he spun to his feet, his sword's twin soon pointed at the feral elf woman. "You know, considering I just helped you out, you could be more grateful." He would have spat at her, if such an antic weren't so...human. "I could have sided with the man, after all." Whatever was going on around the pair, however, was somewhat lost to Ayras. He wasn't used to illusions, and they unnerved him.
Deilakrion growled, and her eyes skittered across the stone walls. There were no phantoms to crawl across her vision now, only the impossible illusion. "No man." That was spat with supreme will and force, and she let her dagger be slapped away. Her arms weighed useless at her sides. "Trick." She turned away from the other elf, as though she believed he wasn't an illusion either. Perhaps she was simply too tired to care. Then she extended an arm to one of the long walls. "Blast it." She didn't look at Ayras. She knew this place. She'd destroyed the place. She had no desire to do so again.
Ayras cocked a brow at the demand, looking from the woman to the wall, then back again. "Blast it?" he echoes, incredulously. "Woman, I have few spells available to me, and none able to destroy a wall." With a frustrated snarl, he'd slash wildly at the woman, though it was not meant to strike - simply a venting of a young, frustrated mind. He, himself, turned away from the Creature, looking about the hall. There had to be another way out...but every time the elf turned, he found himself facing another illusory wall. The same wall, in fact, as though the room was turning with him.
Deilakrion bared her teeth at the other. "Useless." It was quiet, but no less intense for its emotional output. She walked up to the wall and put her palm flat against it. She ignored the relapse of mercurial vengeance within her, and gradually emptied her mind as she forcibly sought out her lone magical talent. She closed her eyes and concentrated as a sickly pale layer of grey lifted from her skin to hover about her. She searched the wall for the illusion's heart, going pale with the effort of penetrating such a strong spell. Several minutes passed as she growled to herself, pushing against the wall with all of her effort. Finally, her hand sank into the wall, and she spoke without moving: "Come flesh. Out."
Ayras cocked his head to the side at the woman's trick, moving forward cautiously, 'lest it be some trick, as well. But no, he could pass through it, thanks to her. And so he was out. But to where? He could see nothing, so dark was the space surrounding him. He snapped a glare over his shoulder, but he could see nothing there, either. Not the woman, not the wall...nothing. Was this illusion focusing on her, he couldn't help but wonder. Orally, however, he did nothing but growl.
Deilakrion had a bit of a struggle keeping the damn thing open. It pushed at her, as though determined to keep her for whatever strange experience it had intended. She was getting marked tired of experiences, however. Hell. She was starting to wish that she'd stayed in the Chasm while she'd had the chance. None of it would have happened. She pushed herself through the wall, clamping down upon panic when she thought for a moment she was stuck. Then she burst through, gasping clean air as though it was the last she'd ever have. She should have realized that her small triumph would not be the end of it. Should have realized she'd played into the illusion's intents yet again. The wall remained behind, though it crumbled as if in a replay of how she'd destroyed it so many years ago. It caught on fire, and Deilakrion whirled and gaped at that. She made a noise, unable to speak, that alone bespoke her emotions on the matter. The fire crackled merrily back at her, and so she turned to face whatever new thing she'd be deemed to face. When it came, it came in the form of baying dogs, and she remembered this particular event as well. Yet when the dogs emerged into the clearing, made visible only by the light of the fire, they were twisted and -wrong-. Deilakrion lifted her daggers, sorrow eclipsed by the flickering of desperation in her voice as she spoke: "It isn't real. But it will kill the flesh if the flesh doesn't fight." And that was all that remained before the dogs closed, still baying.
Ayras again found his landscape changing as the woman came through the wall. Just what it was, he didn't care; he had a place to associate his location with. And then those dogs started their call, and the woman spoke. Her words didn't quite register to him, really. Nothing did, in this place that kept changing. But the dogs. Those he saw. He saw them come closer and closer, saw two break off and divert towards him. He saw one leap, and one lunge for his feet. And, he saw, more than felt, his swords burst into action, one slicing across the air in front of him, the air occupied by the illusory dog, to cleave it's jaw from it, the other thrusting down into the other dog's head. No...seeing his actions was wrong. He could not let that be what would happen. Forcibly, he returned his sense of self into his body. Just in time, too, as the still-living dog came at him again. Back he leapt, once, twice, and slashed again. The poor dog never realized its head was no longer attached before its body fell. But the other dogs, they had gone for Deilakrion. Like it or not, he would have to help the woman. He cursed.
Move. Move. MOVE. She did so, fluidly, as heated instinct took its payment on her wearied body as she spun and pushed herself to sink one dagger into the throat of an attacking dog, the other slashing across the muzzle of a second as she ripped the first free while curling her hand, punching the second dog in the nose as she moved to the side to let its momentum carry it past her. She didn't bother to see the illusions vanish as the second wave came: the hunters. Black folds had saved her from them before, when that night had happened. Deilakrion wouldn't wait to see the events again. She took off to her right, barking a single command behind her. "Come." There had to be a way out of the illusion. She would not last if this horrific replay of events was allowed to continue, the dregs of her past buried deep enough to keep her going as she was. As she walked, she sheathed her daggers, spreading her hands wide as she sought for the real way to dismantle the illusion. She dove deep, trusting the stranger to keep her back intact as she sent her mind tumbling through layers and layers of falsified starts and ends. "It isn't -real-!" she snarled, as the call of the hunters sounded behind. She had to move faster. She had to.
Ayras couldn't follow the woman. The hunters had come unexpectedly to the swordsman, and they had managed to ensnare him in a humanoid trap - in short, he was surrounded. Crossbows were aimed at him, and spearpoints were set in easy thrusting range. The elf simply stood tall, though - taller than most elves could - his swords held firmly at his sides. The hunters seemed pleased with themselves. They congradulated each other. They sang praises to their gods. At least, until one of the horses gave a startled cry, and its rider's lower arm fell to the ground. Ayras had moved, near silently, to slice the limb in twain, and it wasn't taking him long to take to the horse's back to finish the job and kill the rider. Already bolts were twanging from crossbows, though they were largely ineffective. The dead body in front of Ayras provided a sort of human shield. Unfortunately for the white-haired one, one managed to sink into his thigh. That brought a cry of pain from him, and sent rage setting in. The corpse was pushed to the ground, where it vanished, and Ayras spurred the horse forward, deflecting the last bolt to come in the next few minutes, to close in on a pair of the crossbowmen. They were quick to fall, preoccupied with their weapons as they were. But he was still grossly outnumbered. Turning the horse about again, he cursed again, and hoped that this would at least buy Deilakrion time. And who knows, she may find some way to let him live.
Deilakrion stumbled to a halt as she fought against the inner workings of the illusion. She was clumsy, and inexperienced, but at last she was beginning to see how she might unravel the magnitude of it. She began where the illusion had: dark folds. She found the traces of that particular feat, and slammed it apart. She did not take the magic into herself, but merely dispelled it into a disgusting silver miasma that grew and surged about her. Gradually, the illusion wavered and then vanished, to be replaced by Vailkrin's forest. Deilakrion fell to her knees as she struggled to contain it within her own depleted sources, fighting until she fell forward onto her hands with every muscle tensed and screaming. The thing within was also fighting her, in its own sick way, but this was something she could win. She could. She did. The grey of her own magic encapsuled the Chaos, though she did not know for how long it would hold. The stuff likely would begin to eat through it, and Deilakrion would need an experience mage to contain it if she wanted to keep it. Unlikely. She rolled onto her back, a strange and warped stone next to her.
Ayras found himself cursing again as his mount vanished and he fell to the forest floor. His injured leg buckled and he was forced to use one of his swords to prop himself up, but he managed to keep one sword raised to deflect the surely incoming spear thrusts...but only to find that his opponents were gone. And so he focused on the bolt in his leg. It, unlike the rest of the illusion, didn't vanish, and that made him wince...well, that and the pain. But it had to be tended. Steeling himself for the pain to come, he pressed his hands against the arrow's butt, shoving it until it burst through the other side of his thigh, pulling it out from the head. Shaking visibly and considerably paler than he already was, he pressed his hands on either side of the wound, a spell passing hastily through his lips. It was soothing, the feeling that flooded his injury. It almost left him in a serene state as it mended the flesh quicker than any potion or natural healing could. Ah, the wonders of druidic magic. He knew he lied to the other elf earlier when he said he only had a handful of spells at his disposal. True, he had few necromantic ones, but he still retained knowledge of the druidic ways of his people. And at this moment, he was glad for that. With a grunt, he collapsed, staring out into the forest as the last traces of pain began to subside.
Deilakrion collected the strange grey stone, and after a few false starts made it to her feet. She was familiar with that part of the forest, having ventured there a few times to check on her territory. She hadn't been doing much of that at all lately. She hadn't seen her second, either, which would at another time have made her extremely wary. What of the black wolf, Caeryph? She'd need to see him, too. She groaned, and turned to look for the elf. She didn't dare switch forms, hadn't since the piece of Wile had taken up residence within her. She scowled at that, and started sniffing to determine where the elf had gone. She could smell blood, and that decidedly was what got her moving to find the other.
Ayras would simply be laying upon his back when the woman found him, blood staining his white linen pants, though no wound would be visible. Pale and shaking, the elf was in no condition to move. The healing spell would still take a few moments to replace his lost blood, and what with the lessening potency of it as he took up his other spells, who knew if it would at all, after a time. But regardless, there he lays, his swords set to either side of his form. His eyes were shut, and he fought to control his breathing. His hearing was fine, however, and he heard the woman approach. "I do hope that taking a bolt to the leg was of use to you, woman," he stuttered through chattering teeth, though the ire is only slight.
Deilakrion stumbled upon Ayras and regarded him silently after his few words. She shook her head at him. "Get up."
Ayras waited until his body stopped trembling to even bother attempting to aquiesce such a demand, but it wasn't at all a long moment. And so, naturally, he was soon on his feet. "You could be more grateful," he snapped, sheathing his swords.
Deilakrion grunted, and started walking in a southerly direction. "Follow." She'd say, and walk without looking back to see if he did. If he did, she would lead him to a small trail that wound throughout the forest. She'd point in a direction the man would need to take, if he'd followed, and tell him to wait for her in Vailkrin's lone tavern.
Ayras did follow, and was soon on his way to the Corpse. Apparently he was at this woman's beck and call. He was disliking it more and more with every command.
Deilakrion made her way to a spot that, apparently, only she'd known about. She had never smelled any other person within the small grassy knoll, and so it was there that she'd hide the stone away. She knew she had three days at the least before the thing degenerated, and would have to find a mage able to handle it before then. She knew she could. Yet, it was then that the corresponding chaos within her took the initiative to attack her. She froze. ____________________ It began in the middle of the evening and spread, an invisible touch that radiated from Deilakrion’s muscled stomach and stretched on through every finger and toe. One might envision that tiny strand of silver spreading itself paper-thin beneath the surface of her flesh, coating it and pressing at it. Like a hundred-million times it had grown the most tiny of bristles and scratched at her from within, taunting her. But it did not linger as a nuisance for long. Unfortunately. When it changed itself within her it did so in the most corrupt of ways, rushing at once to the essence of what made her feminine. A nature in her that she’d rejected and, perhaps, loathed for many long years.
The vicious thing would crawl from her core, emerging from between her thighs, shiny and alive. The cold, liquid-metal feel of it beginning to spread its silvered tendrils over her naked skin, coating the inside of her thighs.. The Creature had a brilliant and blinding moment of hope as she felt it crawl from her, a foolish second where she allowed herself to think it would finally leave her. Like a second skin it spread, undaunted by her fingers as they fell to claw at it, coating her from knee to hip before it abruptly and painfully clamped down upon her.
“Out! Get out! No! No more!”
What followed was the opposite. It was an awful, ominous thing as it presented itself to her in the most grotesque of ways.
“No!” Deilakrion screamed now, the word a sharp plea in the darkness of the night. The realization had dawned too quickly, came too fast as that metallic abomination continued to swell and gather itself. The horrible anticipation consumed her, devoured her, broke some of the strength she’d held within her.
She knew what would occur by this horrible thing. All at once the twisted thing planted pain within her. The unworldly cold of that metal claimed every part within her, but served nothing to numb the shocking hurt of it all.
The pain was mind-bending, an agony that flashed white-hot behind her eyes and sent her reeling. All at once her legs lost their strength and she fell upon her back, trying desperately to close herself against the very realness of the thing.
It was mercilessly fast, meant to break her entirely and leave her a shattered and all-together ruined thing. There was no mocking laughter from it now, nothing in her mind but this bestial desire. It was enjoying itself, pushing itself to move faster. It was all a blinding, melting moment of Deilakrion’s agony and the terrible Thing’s intense pleasure.
She felt part of herself dying then, some wall crumbling against the sheer force of the attack. And then, wailing it to the night, Deilakrion begged for death to claim the rest of her.
It had tormented her for over an hour, tearing at her until the pain had eventually faded to a numb ache. She had not forced herself to look down as it had crawled its way back inside her. She had forced herself to lay in the grass and look into the black sky for nearly an hour now as it found some place within her and slept. It was doing that more frequently now, though. She –had- noticed that, as if it was tiring or growing too comfortable living within her.
Deilakrion’s entire body ached, but her center pained her in a way she could not have imagined it capable. Nothing, -nothing-, had ever hurt like that had hurt. Her body was covered in a slick of blood and her own vomit, a reaction she could not have fought even if she had the strength left to try. It coated her in a sick paste that had dried against the night’s cool air.
When it had finally finished she had collapsed, helpless without its support now that it had released her. A streak of blood stained the grass beneath her, and she tried to gather herself. Tried to ready herself. And then she looked down.
The skin was split, swollen, and mangled. What remained was hardly recognizable, a horrid scar that she’d carry with her. The only dubious comfort was in the vision of the abused flesh sealing itself slowly. Her healing may save her from wearing its mark on her for the rest of her years, after all.
Groaning, the Creature forced herself to roll onto her stomach.
The ache returned with a vengeance, deep in her belly. She imagined it all looked similar to the rest of her, tattered and abused. It was a feeling she’d become so intimately acquainted with. Utterly, and completely aware of.
There, beneath the night sky. Deilakrion broke down. Her great and miserable sobs broke across the grass before her as she let her fingers crawl over her stomach and cradle herself, all at once bringing the violation she’d suffered to the surface. Overwhelmed, she broke down once again, wailing at the night as the horror of it crept through her.
And Tenebrae would hear and see the aftermath. For her dreams that night were the same cinematic nightmare, over and over. Her dear friend, the Creature, being mercilessly corrupted by some inhuman thing that she had unknowingly released.
____________________
Deilakrion gasped and choked upon her sobs, mind a broken record on playback as her flesh crawled with the wrongness of it all. Thought had no bearing as her mind told her to -move-. She had to meet someone. She needed to, right? She couldn't remember why as she whimpered something with a rasping voice. The intensity of her screams had hurt something in her throat, but the diminishing ability of her lycanthrope to heal without food was unable to fix it at the moment. She didn't care. The hurt was something deeper than physical malformity or pain. It had been a trust, a trust forged with herself that there would be some things that she would never allow to happen. And she had. She had let herself get into the mess, had encouraged it with the very first action she had taken to destroy Wile. The Hanging Corpse. She had to move. She got up, though it took her longer than it ever had before. She did not walk, but could only accomplish something of a shambling shuffle that would somehow take her where she needed to go. Several times she collapsed, and would weep her agony out against the ground. Time would pass, and she would collect herself and move on. She was shamed. She could not look at those upon the path to Vailkrion, nor did she want to. She had been marked. She had been touched. Finally, she stood in front of the secret entrance into the Tavern. Dared she? She must. Her mind was full of ineptitude as she made her way into the Cabal's den. She was not quite herself.
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