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Post by Joliette Thorne on Aug 24, 2008 2:20:26 GMT -5
Ain't none ever seen the face of his foe, no He ain't made of flesh & bone He's the one who sits up close beside you An' when he's there you are alone
Every man is evil, yes an' every man is a liar An' unashamed, with the wicked tongues sing In the black soul choir
Yes an' no man ever seen the face of my lord, no Not since he left his skin He's the one you keep cold on the outside, girl He's at your door, let him in
lyrics, "Black Soul Choir" by 16 Horsepower
-- Where Angels Fear -- Arysel fidgets and skips and all around shuffles to the view. Pre-occupied as she is, she'd not notice if any one was there and the threat from the Ho-oo was met with a blank stare. Somethng was definitely off about the avian, dark circles had begun to form beneath her eyes, and her skin had become deathly pale, "Find the girl, the one..the one who belongs to it." she mutters "give it to her..the one who feels too much..knows too much can see so much.." Finally standing at the edge of the cliff, the bard stares out over Hollow, not really seeing it. Kandrim glided from one massive pine to another, making his way out to the view cautiously. When he lacked trees to travel on, the fae stopped at the last one, looking down at the cliff from his high perch. The woman with wings was noted instantly. Yes, this must be fate! Once more he can be with someone like himself. The wind wasn't too fond of the love Kandrim was giving off to the air, giving an 'encouraging' shove to get him out of here as soon as possible. The fae let out a girlish scream as he fell from the pine, eventually catching himself mid-fall with his wings. The beauty... has faded a bit, the avian not looking too well. This didn't please Kandrim much, making him worry for her. Hoping to cheer her up, he flew over to her. "Lady Arysel! Hello!" he called out as he neared the avian. Arysel turns slowly at the calling of her name. Such a sweet tinkling sound that voice made..somehow familiar, "Are..are you her? Or do you know where I can find her?" Blinking owlishly, it took a moment for Arysel to recognize Kandrim. "Oh! Kandrim!" She smiles wanly, "How good to see you. I was just..looking for something." Kandrim circled the woman twice, finally deciding to land on her shoulder. His wings were pulled in close to his body as he readjusted the ribbon around him. "A pleasure to see you, too. Erm, what are you looking for? Maybe I could help." A chance to show the avian he was of use made Kandrim beam, the glow he emitted growing slightly. Arysel winced and turned her head from the glow. It hurt her eyes, glassy as they were from lack of sleep. "I don't know what I am looking for, Cousin. I know I need to find her though..the stones tell me so. They are getting strong while I get weaker." She doesn't object to being used as a resting place for the pixie, it was rather comforting. Kandrim curled his wings infront of his form, making it look like he was a ball of snowy feathers as he took a seat, content with the woman's shoulder. As he calmed, so did the glow, lessening till it was barely noticeable. "Stones..? What kind of stones? I've never heard of stones that talk to you. Sounds like good company, besides the 'draining' part... You really don't look too well. Do you need rest?" His concern for her was obvious, changing his jovial expression to that of caring. Arysel shakes her head. Rest? There was dark when she closed her eyes. Not even the golds and silvers of her symphony chased away the dark. "N-no. No rest. I need..to find her." It seemed to be an obsession with the avian.finding a person. "Before he..he gets her.." A frown furrows the womans brow, even Arysel didn't know what she was talking about, even though it seemed entirely logical at the time. Arysel's head snaps up as though hearing something. Just as suddenly, her wings snap open, grabbing an updraft and lofting the woman sky-ward and towards the dead city of Vailkrin. ~Fountain of Blood~ Arysel's eyes scanned the ground below, shifting uneasily over the silver sparkle of what had once been a fountain of blood. That was the place she was looking for however. Often the one Arysel searched for had been seen there with the male vampire. The with children who wanted the world and then some. Pushing the thoughts of the male out of her head, the Avian concentrated on finding the woman who was always with him. It wanted her..it told her so. No..wasn't there, but perhaps she was close. The fountain was the clearest place to land. Beginning to desend, her flight pattern circling the area, Arysel looks for a spot to place her feet that isn't overly close to the quicksilver decoration. She almost wished for the vitae that had previously flowed. Belatedly, she looks at her shoulder, wondering if the birdwinged pixie had clung on or fallen off. Kandrim was worried about the avian so decided to stay with her, hoping he could be of some help on her search. The fae wasn't used to flying such as this, so instead of making an attempt to follow her in the air he held onto her shirt for dear life, feathered wings pulled as close as possible to his tiny form. The sunflower that was in his hair was lost to the winds, which disappointed Kandrim, but it was an easy sacrifice for his 'cousin'. Once they landed, the fae pulled on a strand of Arysel's hair to get her attention. "Lady Arysel, what are we doing here? Is this where the person you're looking for is?" Wile drew from an alleyway, emerging from the shadows as if he'd birthed himself from it. The flicker of his eyes that haunting green, pale and unearthly as it danced within acutely focused orbs. It was staring at the pair, watching them, tracking their movements intently even as it made its way toward the Fountain's granite-carved edge. His preoccupation was coupled with the endless turning of a toothpick between deft fingers, a steady trolling tumble that suggested an easy way about him. Truthfully, it was impossible to tell. His features were still carved into that empty, unworldly grin that stretched his thin lips wide over white teeth. Arysel had been searching, visually, around the base of the fountain. Maybe she'd hid there. Maybe she too felt the shiver that ran down her spine, feeling eyes on her. Attention drawn back to the little cousin, Arysel nods, "Sometimes." The shadows beneath her sunken eyes seemed to have gotten darker, the grey shiney like a new silver coin. Her cheeks now too were hollowed out. It looked as though the bard was starving, becoming a skeleton as time passed. Not finding the woman she was looking for, she turned, ready to leave again. And there he..it..was. That grin a sick mock-up of humor, the eyes unnatural even for a city such as Vailkrin. "You.." Vague images of darkness and light, a fight, flickered through her taxed mind. Kandrim shifted uneasily when his attention too was brought to the man; if that was the correct pronoun to use. Those eyes... Fear grasped hold of the fae, stiffening his body as if he were a marble statue. "A-Arysel, is this a... friend?" His voice shook, unsure if accompanying the avian was a good idea. This 'man' didn't seem like a friend, though the fae prayed for him, it, to be. Near-angelic wings were pulled even tighter, Kandrim hoping such a subtle measure of defense would be enough. Wile said to Arysel, "'ello, lovely." The words were carried on a cadence that mocked the very essence of humanity, ethereal and unnatural in the depth of that baritone. It passed beyond them to the fountain's edge and claimed it, hitching a leather-clad leg onto it and posting there. The stretch of his bare-chest revealed sinuous, but unimpressive musculature. A rangy thing clad in leather and shoddy sandals, his black hair unkept atop his head. "Pleasant evening?" Arysel said to Wile, "It was" Bravado, real or faked, laced the alto tones with strength. Weak as she was, she was not about to back down. Oh, if only her mind would quiet down but the shards would not shut up and give the woman peace. It took a bit of effort, but they finally became silent. To the pixie, she'd merely shake her head in the negative. This was no friend. This was a deciever. The last time she'd seen him, he'd been more human and limping. Oh if only she could see him limp again..away in defeat. Oh if only she could see him limp again..away in defeat. Cold flecks of flint stared at Wile. It was better to keep the danger in front of you and never lose sight of it. "What do you want? Kandrim kept silent, letting the two have their conversation. It wasn't his place to be, and he wasn't going to dive deeper out of place by speaking. He wanted to help, but how? The fae was barely five inches tall, lacking the norm ability to grow in size, and he only knew basic healing magic. Acknowledgement of his weakness shifted his emotional scale to hate, nearly tipping over. Yes, for now he would just sit there on her shoulder, silent and still as a statue. Wile abruptly twisted his fingers and sent that toothpick into the Fountain's waters, watching as the mercurial liquid inhaled it mercilessly. That smile wavered momentarily as he adjusted his perch upon the water's edge, watching Arysel as she drew still as stone before him. "The most common and predictable of questions, lovely. Have you nothing more interesting to ask?" Arysel shrugged. A feather fluttered to the ground. Not a flight feather this time. Her own lips pulled into a tight line as she smiled coldly. Her eyes flickered briefly to the toothpick, "I suppose I am just common and predictable then. And very, very uninteresting." Forcing her feet to move, taking slow and steady steps toward Wile, Arysel edges a bit closer to the fountain, careful not to touch it or the liquid spewing from it. "However, my question stands. You see, I have heard talk. I have seen..things and ended up places. I do not like my friends being threatened. I'd ask who you are, but I doubt highly that I would get anything more than a riddle and I do not like riddles." Kandrim didn't wish to be near the 'man', and the woman's approach didn't sit well with him. He only wanted to leave this dark place. Though, what of Arysel? The fae couldn't just abandon her; he rather liked his perch on her shoulder. Shifting closer to her ear, Kandrim spoke softly, though loud enough for the avian to hear him. Kandrim whispered to Arysel "Please... Let's find this person and leave him be; I am not fond of the aura I see from him..." Wile opened his palm and revealed his toothpick, slick with the mercurial waters residue and laid passively in that palm. The deft fingers took it into a sharp rotation, rolling it over his knuckles as he answered with a query of his own. There was nothing expressive about his features, that same haunting grin held strong upon them. "What is your favorite animal? Arysel's smile, if you could call it that, turned into a frown. Unease clouded her gaze for a moment before their expressions were shuttered, "A hawk.." The answer was given hesitantly. What harm could be done by knowing her favorite animal? Of course it would be something that flew. "What has that to do with anything?" A slight step was taken backwards, a consession to Kandrim though it is clear the Avian is not leaving anytime soon. A consession to her own fear as well. It was hard not to feel trepidition around this creature that looked like a man. Wile turned his eyes skyward, the pale green dimming faintly as they search the clouds. "I've not seen one in many years." The reply was simply offered then, his fingers closing about the toothpick once more. As they opened it would be gone, and so the game with them continued. Arysel gave a sharp, high pitched whistle. From above came a reply and a shadow passed over the ground. That of a rather large bird. Balthan perched himself on the roof of the shop just to the west of the fountain, his golden eyes watching with quiet interest. Soft trills rumbled in the Dire Hawk's throat, questioning the safety of his mistress. "They are not all gone." Bolstered by the presense of her lifelong companion, the avian waited. Surely there would be a point to this meeting? Wile didn't seem to appear to anyone just for the hell of it. "I tire of games." Wile answered the lingering question with a snap of his arm, the rangy length jerking harshly toward the side in a stunning blur of movement. All at once his hand melted, what had once been fingers rippling with the movement and extending as massive, silvered tendrils. They detached entirely from his hand, leaving a shimmering stump at the wrist while the lengthy ropes of mercurial liquid sailed through the air with unnatural celerity. Three missed the Hawk entirely, slapping wetly onto the roof's wooden shingles and pouring down onto the street. Two, however, caught it across the wings and belly and wrapped about it. The animal gave a shrill, piercing cry and fell from the roof and out of sight. Arysel screamed watching her beloved companion fell, his shriek echoing down the street as well as her denial, "Nooo!!" She'd have run to Balthan, but anger took over her concern as she turns back to Wile. Her lips pull back in a feral snear, hate pouring from every shaking inch of the Avian. "I will kill you when the time is right. I will have a hand in your demise, and it will come." Her satchel hummed as the stones within, crystals not yet revealed, hummed, vibrating in harmony with the bard's seething rage. As quickly as her strength came, it vanished, leaving Arysel to waver, swaying on her feet before falling to the stone ground. The impact jarred her, making her knees ach on contact. Wile let his smile fade, or found it drawn from him. That inhuman collection of human features failed to tell the tale entirely as they settled into a simple stare. A sharp lean back and he was gone, lost in the weighted waters of the fountain and the toothpick sitting in his stead. And then the horrors unfolded, an awful shriek that could perhaps have once been an animal's cry. What stumbled from the building's alleyway was a monstrosity, a perversion of the one-proud kite. One of its wings was featherless, the flesh paper-thin and unnaturally weak. It revealed shrivelled veins that coursed through it in spiderwebs of inactivity, struggling to pump what had once been blood through its twisted body. One leg was broken from the fall, but had mended itself to hold a twisted shape. It walked on the stump of that fractured knee, crowing helplessly. One of its eyes had been blotted shut by a massive, sickly green tumor. The other was out of the socket entirely, hanging from a bloodied ocular nerve. It's upper beak was grotesquely exaggerated, hanging well over the lower. It waddled, unable to fly on those misshapen wings. Twice it turned its head and vomited, a sick green fluid that sloshed on the cobbles and stunk terribly. And then, before it could manage to come closer it fell upon its side and gave a great shudder. Black fluid poured from its mouth and its chest stilled, and the thing that had once been Balthan died. Arysel watched, helpless to save her friend. One hand outstretched as Balthan came closer. No..it couldn't be Balthan. Not that thing that had emerged from the alley. Closing her eyes, Arysel willed the image away, prayed and pleaded to the Gods for it not to be real, yet when she opened them again, it was still there. The grotesque charicature of Balthan, on the ground and dead. If her arms and legs would have supported her, she would have crawled to him, to comfort him in his last moments. As it was, she ended up heaving, spewing what little food she had consumed onto the cobbled floor. "Kill..you..for that." she gasped out when she could finally catch her breath. Dry heaves threatened to overwhelm Arysel. No amount of healing would fix what Wile had done. When Arysel looks up again he is gone. The corpse of her hawk was still there, slowly turning into a puddle of silvery goo. Choking back a sob, Arysel gains her feet slowly, stumbling down the road towards the only place that could be safe. The Corpse. No..things were alive that shouldn't be in there. It wasn't safe either. Unsure what to do, Arysel curls up into a ball, falling into a deep sleep.... _______________________________________ She would wake in the midst of a dream, something pleasant and familiar. There is a tremendous and unmistakable comfort In a good dream, something beyond the many concerns and heartaches of the world. It is a rare moment when the ethereal and foreign are comforting to us, a moment when goodness shines through all the many mirrors and glasses that fog it through the course of our lives. Intentions define many actions, brand them starkly in one light or another. The most consuming thought in all men is the nature of another’s intentions, the reason. It is always the reason that drives people into their own minds, leaves them racking their brain again and again until a fissure appears on the surface of their thoughts and emotions seep in to corrupt them. In search of reason many a brilliant man has lost his mind entirely, and so it seemed to be the case with the Cabal’s misguided leader. What follows Arysel’s dream is a palpable wakening, followed by an oppressive and dynamic weight. It is a vile touch that falls upon her, lays upon her like a blanket and settles. The physical sensation is akin to being paralyzed, lacking places of pressure where a grip could be perceived. Instead, there’s merely this terrible and inexplicable weight upon her limbs. Her muscles are simply not strong enough to force them into motion. She is not asleep. She is helpless. “Evening, lovely.” It’s a chilling voice, a familiar voice. Arysel couldn’t turn her head against that crippling feeling, but she could –feel- his inhuman eyes crawling over her. The lantern-green flicker of light that dwelled where human eyes should have been was almost surely dancing now, taking a certain delight in how prone and helpless she was. The foot of her bed suddenly settled, and she could feel his weight beside her foot. Her head couldn’t tilt down to look at him, and so she could only feel as the weight settled along her side. She saw him through the corner of her eyes and looked to that half of the bed, finding his face turned toward her own and poised on a bent elbow. It was an awful thing to be so close, to feel nothing but his eyes on her own. She could not have seen his hand splaying across her smooth belly, but she’d feel those deft fingers crawl across her skin and rest there. They were clammy, inhuman. He was smiling. Always smiling. And then he spoke again. “We’ve to talk.” It was conversational, but his voice was deceptive. A hard glint fashioned briefly in the green flames of his eyes, caught in the room’s dim light. “You see, perfect or not, the wild one is a little too shocked to make any use of what I gave her. But you, you I could have use for. It’s not so bad, you know. Especially if you relax and let it happen. Fighting it is… well. I hope you’re a bit too sharp for that.” He began, dragging the tips of his fingers in an idle circle around her naval. “Ready then?” All at once his face opened up, as if it had been split down the center and peeled away. Great tendrils of flesh extended and silvered, reaching down toward the woman’s eyes and prying them open. Then, with a stiffening, one thin and long tendril drew back and jabbed deeply into her eye. The penetration was stark and sudden, a stabbing thing that shot pain through every synapse and ignited every nerve. She did not lose sight, but it was filtered now. And she knew, right away, it was not her own. The tendril snapped off of the Herald’s face and immediately fell upon the ball of her eye, crawling snail-like across the soft surface until it had hidden behind the ocular. He drew from her then and rose, and the weight left her. The window parted and he dropped from sight, but Arysel could still feel him. He was crawling behind her eye, and she knew he was looking through it. Seeing what she was seeing. Maybe even “hearing” what she was hearing. At rare moments she would be able to “hear” it think, to “hear” it as it talked to her. And it offered commands, and shrieked within her mind until they were to be aided.
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Post by Joliette Thorne on Aug 24, 2008 3:16:58 GMT -5
Deilakrion struggled up from the cellar. Blood coated her thighs, and dried vomit flaked from her skin. She was a mess. Her eyes were shot through with red, as though she'd been crying, and indeed, tear tracks marred her cheeks. She made it up from the trap door, and stared inward at the tavern as she blinked vapidly -- she scarcely had a thought within her head that wasn't marred with fear, panic and shame.
Descending the stairs, Tenebrae carried the ghost of that same haunted look in her own demeanour, if less palpably. Pale beyond the means of even vampires, her hair a scarlet rumple and all appearance of having neither fed nor rested for days, she would make her way with care, each step seeming too deliberate for one normally keen and sure of sense and synapse. Until her eyes rested on her clansmate, and horror welled from her mind to congeal in a sudden and awful reality. "N-no..." She took the rest of the steps three at a time, saving herself from a fall only by grace of a white-knuckled grab for the timber finial at the rail's end. Her feet met stone flooring, and her face contorted with rage and denial. "Creature." No question was needed; she -knew- what he'd done. The necromancer had seen it, all of it. Unwilling to offer the elf any more reason to flinch, she did not approach, but offered what little comfort she could, a clarion knell of her unbending intent, if a little inarticulately pronounced: "D..destroyed. He m-must be.. obliterated."
Freiya canted her head and turned to the sound of the... woman coming up the stairs. No matter the things she'd done in her past, nor what and who she was, she was a nice person and when Deilakrion came up the stairs, her first reaction was to help her. With fluid movements she turned and stalked over to the woman, though she stopped a few feet shy, not wanting to press things to far, "What’s the matter dear, do you need help?"
Freiya jerks and takes a few steps back as Tenebrae enters the scene.
Deilakrion could agree with that, though for the moment she only turned that same bewildered gaze onto Tenebrae. For a moment, there was no comprehension or recognition there, only a strange and blank stare that did not acknowledge the others' presence as anything more than a moving object. She didn't really straighten as she stood up, only unfolded herself as she wavered and the stare deepened into a parody of her normal buoyancy. "Good hunting." The words were faint and rasped, as though her throat had endured some particular hardship or another. She'd totter a bit to her right and the bar, though it was done without any deliberation. She stared towards the bar for a second, then she was nodding as the stare intensified. Her demeanour was entirely flat as she agreed with Tenebrae. "Yes. Yes."
Ayras apparently had fallen asleep at the window he had taken up residency in, as he suddenly jerked into as close to an aware state as he could...though, he found himself falling to his arse on the floor. Grumbling about such an event happening twice in one day, he rose to his feet, brushing off the back of his strange, ankle-length coat, a pair of brows as white as snow furrowed in frustration. "What did I ever do to deserve this fate? I blame that damned woman..."
Tenebrae's vision snapped to the stranger, an abrupt and violent warning glare given that preceded more careful, measured words, "Do not touch her." She stepped gingerly, making an arc about the elf, unsure of how to proceed. Tene was no stranger to this particular fate, though had never deigned to care about it falling on another before and thus would have been miserably unequipped to help even were Deilakrion not such a remarkably singular being. "Creature..." She felt, then, a vast emptiness before her and swayed in her boots as though on the edge of that internal precipice. Ever her comfort, her rock, she clung to practicalities. "We must get you away from here. Can you travel?" Her eyes shifted briefly to the male elf, in a manner that suggested she may have reached for a weapon, were her eyes slower to translate his reality to her brain. But just for a second.
Deilakrion would turn and look around the tavern with that same blank gaze, as though the heat had once more been leeched from her. Freiya received no comprehension, and Ayras little more than a blink. It was more words from Tenebrae that had her turning, syrupy slow, and a facade of a smile crooked her lips into something dastardly. "Yes." The word was wholly stupid, as though she was merely repeating what Tenebrae had said. Yet, for all intents and purposes she was whole -- lycanthrope having its benefits after all. She jerked in motion closer to Tenebrae, though she shied away at the last moment as though she'd hit some invisible barrier.
Freiya looked between the woman, her kin so to say, and the being obviously not well, she did as told and did not touch, though that had been her intention till welcomed forward. Her hands came up and tied her hair back, she had every intention of helping, all thoughts of keeping the appointment to talk with Tenebrae banished from her thoughts, her only goal now, to help, "You know me not, but my intentions are kind, just name it and I'll assist in any way I can."
Ayras wouldn't have blamed Tenebrae for reaching for a weapon, really. He was unnaturally tall for an elf, standing at nearly six feet, and his hair was more akin to a drow than an elf. Add to that his muscular build - comprised of more muscle mass than most elves could dream of - and the twin long swords that hang at his hips, and he'd not at all look a friendly sort, scowling as he does most of the time. But regardless, an absent nod of acknowledgement was given to the vampire, even as he adjusted those very weapons...along with his strangely shiny outfit.
Tenebrae knew only too well that in the face of disaster it were best folk had something tangible to do. She nodded toward Freiya, "Get us some whisky. There's three bottles, under a cloth behind the bar." Special reserve moonshine. Useful or not, it'd make the woman feel she had done something. The same implacable voice delivered Ayras' order. "Stand by. Allow none to approach us lest it's the woman with the bottles." Gentler, now, and she would spare Deilakrion that smooth, predator's tone that she'd so often used to manipulate the will of others. Creature had seen enough of manipulation. "Away, somewhere far, where there's flowers and clean sand. Think of it, Creature. Think of that clean place. We shall go there, tonight."
Deilakrion wavered for a moment, features crumpling inwards at some inner turmoil before denial ultimately won over. She drifted to the side, feet slapping the stone even as her head tilted in flippant disquiet. "No where. This creature will make it dirty." That was spoken in a carelessly crass tone, even as her eyes roved across the floor as if to escape whatever haunted her. She settled at the other end of the bar, muscles tensing as she concentrated inwards, to be as small an unobtrusive as possible.
Freiya raised an eyebrow at Tenebrae, knowing exactly what she was doing, and knowing she was far more useful than someone to fetch whiskey, but without any protest she slipped behind the bar and rooted out the bottles, lifting them and the cloth up to set on the bar, Her right hand was held palm facing up, and suddenly a see through platter, obviously an illusion, appeared above her hand, centered above the sapphire disk held to her palm. With a smile she set the bottles upon the illusion platter and let go, and they stayed as if it were solid, which it shouldn't be. With that she approached the other two and held the bottles, a smile stretching her lips, this was the closest she'd get to implying that there were better uses for her.
Ayras wasn't exactly fond of being assigned bodyguard duty, himself, but he had nothing better to do, so he decided to accept the role. Of course, his task was made much easier from a closer seat...so he took up a chair at a table not too far from the trio of women. Of course, just what he was keeping away from them, he didn't know. But considering the way his day's gone, that was little relief.
A scant moment after Deilakrion spoke, Tene responded in near-whisper. "No, you won't. You will not take that filth with you. Now, have a drink. We have much work to do." The drinks were removed from Freiya's platter, which no doubt would, at any other time, have been deemed a suitably impressive feat. Right now, she merely took the 'shine, a bottle in both hands and fingers extended to make her grip on the three at once. These were set to the bar, the woman offered a curt nod. "My thanks to you." She glanced to the elf, "And to you, sir. Creature.. listen." Her attention was shifted fluidly to that unkempt and visibly shattered female. "You must come with me to the cellar." Her hand shook slightly as she took one of the bottles up, uncorked it, drank a quarter of it without pause. "There, we will make you clean again."
Deilakrion flinched at the word 'clean' even as she blindly nodded to the other words. She took the drink and shambled over to the cellar door, still crookedly open from her recent trespass. She did not down any of it, though likely before the night was through she'd be asking for more. Instead, she ambled down the stairs without waiting, eyes downcast and somber.
Tenebrae turned to follow her clansmate, a worried eye turning to the others. "Make sure we are not disturbed. You'll be rewarded. You..." She glanced to Freiya. "Take the bar. And you..." This, to Ayras. "I may have need of you, beyond guarding the door. It'll be your fortune if you'll indulge me." She did not wait for their respective replies, but took to the stairwell at a brisk pace.
Freiya let illusion drop as soon as the bottles were free of it, and one could see clearly the odd piece of jewellery that encompassed that hand. If one were to take a quick look at her they'd see not a weapon upon her form, but as an illusionist, her favorite saying was, appearances can be deceiving. Once free of her burden she stepped back and leaned against the bar, on the other end from the lycan. She was there, and she was willing to help, that was known to her kin, to Tenebrae, and that was enough, if she didn't want it, then she would not push it upon them, though sapphiric hues followed each and every movement, her ears picking at every sound.
Ayras cocked a brow. He wasn't sure if that was intended to tell him to follow or not, but he figured it would be better to be told to come back upstairs than to be needed downstairs and not be there. And so, he followed after the pair of women with a shrug.
Tenebrae said to Ayras, "Stand by the stair. No, on the stair. Let no-one enter. Close your eyes and ears to us." She'd prevent his descent with arm barring the well, if necessary. "I'll call upon you, if needed."
Ayras simply nodded, crossing his arms as he stood at the top of the stairs. His eyes closed, and just where his mind went, only he could really say.
Deilakrion waited below. Belts and weapons remained affixed to her, though they appeared to hang upon her as though for dear life; as if she'd forsaken them and they were merely a casualty. She stared out at the cages, and shivered as though a stray draft chilled her. She wouldn't turn as sounds erupted behind her. Without focus, she was merely an automaton, waiting for the next command. She didn't want to think again.
Tenebrae drew out a chair, and struck the tinder on the table to relight the stump of a candle before slowly shifting another, swinging it so the seat faced Deilakrion. "Come, sit." Again, that gentle tone, no hint of guile discernable in it. "Sit, and warm the darkness away. The flame is bright enough to begin it. Do you see?"
Deilakrion blinked at the candle. She'd built herself a fire before the whole thing had begun. Her muscles were screaming exhaustion at her, but she barked a gruff laugh that rasped from her ruined throat. "Yes." Again, she spoke as a simpleton. She moved to the table and sat, staring at the fire as though it was her only purpose for the moment.
That deadening she observed in the once-vital elf seemed far worse than any vision the Trick could throw at her, real or illusory. Tenebrae was sickened by it, beyond measure. "Watch it dance, the way it shimmers. The flame is pure, Creature. Inside it, in its heart, is found only more flame." Subtle now, the tone shifted to something endearing, calming. "It is like your own heart, that little candle-light, burning fierce within its own measure and span..."
Green eyes slid from the flickering of the stub, to rest a steady gaze upon the scarred elf. "Creature, do you know this to be true?" The elements of the distraction thus in place, she flinched her cheek against the wetness that trickled there from one eye, the necromancer sparing no more energy now to quell the grief that rose in her body.
Memory was bile. She'd taken the thing in. She'd given it a haven. She'd let it use her body. She hadn't been able to stop it. Her walls had broken. She remained silent in the face of that one easy question, as she eyed the candle and thoughts rose unbidden within her shattered mind. "It burned out." She finally grated the words from between dried lips, and her eyes dropped to the table. Shock was wearing off and despair was too thin of a wall against the horror that waited within her. "Poof." That single word was brittle and hard, but empty of any real emotion. Her hands twitched against the tabletop, and she pressed her legs together. "There is no end."
"That is not so." Tene waved a hand before the flame, breaking Creature's focus on the table. "Look at me, and listen..." Truth shone in the reflections shimmering off the whites and greens of her eyes. "Nothing but the power that made that fire can extinguish it." The acute edge of the fact gave way to something else, then, drawn from the core of the vampiress' being; an unfathomable compassion that like Creature's flame had been missing, presumed dead.
"Please... forgive me."
And then, vicelike, her hands clamped upon either side of the elf's face, and Tenebrae's own was thrust forward, lips parted as if to bestow on a lover a sudden kiss. Wile was not the only vacuum in this equation; something he had, or had not, forgotten. Whatever the case, that unending abyss that Fate had once bestowed on a little girl's soul dropped open its vast and demanding maw. From it rose the Darkness, weak as it was and starving, tainted with a foul glimmer of some alien otherness. But it was -her- Darkness, for all of that, the first and only thing she knew to draw the poison from this wound. And the sin-eater began to feast.
Ayras shifted in his position, leaning against the wall. It wasn't hard for him to block out what was being spoken of below; the nicknames and conversation was hard enough to follow, really.
Deilakrion spasmed, and thrashed under this new assault. It was then that touch became a secondary horror, as comprehension flowered into being with the force of a rampant stallion. She would have screamed at Tenebrae, denied her that. She had held onto Wile's vile instrument with the knowledge that if she did, no other would have to take it. And here, one of her beloved pack. . .Her voice rose in a wail, rough and jagged around the edges. It was a horrible sound, filled with despair and grief, horror and passion. Her hands rose to clutch at Tenebrae's, though for all her grasping efforts she could not keep Wile's miasma from the sin-eater. She could not prevent a second infringement, a worse fate. She had taken it from Wile, and now it would unfold its venomous petals inside of Tenebrae. She couldn't do anything else but scream, her body spasming in denial and a darker rage. She would act. She pushed forward from her chair, knocking the table to hell as she attempted to shove Tenebrae from her, rip her off before it could be completed.
She was the fierce hunter, the vampire who's stalked the centuries and their races, the towns and their nights like a sleek, invulnerable beast. Tenebrae was the Darkness; she had never been denied and would not be so now. Compassion was swallowed down with the first wave of foulness and swept deep into the chasm that lay beneath her fractured soul. She was the fierce predator and she would have her meal; time enough for sorrow later, when she may weep for this travesty she'd caused. Her grip was sure and strong, and she would bear the wounds of splintered wood and raking nails, and flying fists and feet, as badges, medals earned in this small battle that presaged the real beginning of the war. On she drank and on, a gush of silver liquid engulfing her features entirely at one point, leaking into her eyes, her ears, nostrils, sinking into her pores like water to humid earth. Something rose within her to greet it, but she sensed it with the same colossal unconcern as that with which she clung to Deilakrion now. The Darkness fed-- but not on Darkness, though it wrenched and twisted the very vessel that would contain it.
Ayras may have been ignoring the going-ons for the most part, but a shriek was something he couldn't drown out. Down the stairs he rushes, those mithril-and-adamantite longswords of his pulled hastily from their sheathes. The scene he finds, however, leaves him speechless and confused. Just what -was- going on? Who was attacking who? Who was he supposed to be defending? Hells, this night just kept getting more confusing as it went on...
Deilakrion fell silent, and quiescent, as it passed through her and into Tenebrae. When the deed was done, she'd pull back from Tenebrae and the revulsion to touch that she had no hope of controlling. She sat there, and wept bitter and unfulfilled tears, shaking her head. "Fierce hunter. . ." The deeds of the night could not be undone and unfelt, and they would remain an open, festering wound for time. But this was salt, stinging and hurtful, and ultimately it would heal the wound faster. Deilakrion couldn't know that then, as she turned away from the woman. She had no words for it, for the betrayal and the danger Tenebrae had bypassed her to take. She'd failed the vampire, and her pack, and the self-pain she inflicted upon herself would be worse for the long run. She'd sit there and quiver, and snarl at herself in her mind when she wondered at the cessation of inner physical pain.
The entrance of the swordsman was just another flicker of motion before eyes that swam with molten metal. Teeth, clamped against the urge to vomit out what had been swallowed, could not unclench to speak but the shaking arm that extended, the forefinger struck forth to indicate the direction to which the elf should pledge his concern, would make it clear that it was not Tenebrae who needed him. The vampiress screamed, then, though no sound bubbled from her clogged and agonised throat. Her belly felt as though she'd drunk a bowl of boiling lead; something beyond horror, beyond what sanity would deem as horrible, crawled like an insistent slug up the slick walls of her insides, perhaps seeking escape. Perhaps. One glance to Deilakrion, that could spare no feeling unsquashed before this vile tide, and she fled up the stairs in a mad lurch of motion.
"No." Her lips and tongue had found the will to exact the precise implications from her, as her head wrenched back to full conscious awareness. She swam with all the wrong emotions and she screamed it after Tenebrae, though her exhausted body refused to move. "NO!" The ragged cry would flee up and into the night, a sick sound from the dredges of Deilakrion's nighttime horrors. She'd crawl partway after the vampire, though her body would simply give up from lack of nutrition and drink. She was weak. She was useless. She was used. She'd curl up then, and become the very anti-thesis of what she'd been all those long years. She sobbed and moaned and wailed and screamed denial to the events and morbid things that she could no longer deny existence of. Weapons were useless against the tide of emotional chaos. She'd been naive to think them as a hidden power, a hidden source of triumph. She'd thought perhaps they would be her bulwark, a wall against the cruelties of Wile and herself, a way of holding it separate. Her innocent notions had broken, and they leaked like so much blood across the barren scope of her mind.
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Post by Deilakrion on Aug 24, 2008 4:48:50 GMT -5
It was bleak. Her eyes were the shattered windows, vague and jarring against the pale expanse of her face. They were a yellow-grey, the two colors a queasy representation of her elven and lycan heritage, but the soul behind them was vacant and ragged. Her scars stood garishly against that tight skin, as bones jutted from beneath to form the impression of a skeleton escaped from some quicksand limbo, garnished with a hide as a joke. Her muscles were tarnished things, clenched tight and useless. She was painted horribly with vomit and sweat, streaked in smelly strands as though some terrible piece of art displayed to shame the painter. Blood coated her thighs, black and tarry as if it too were ashamed of its presence and the violence it depicted. Worst was the damage to her aura, once a robust and healthy thing. It had shrunken, caven in and lay in tatters. She was no longer fit to be an alpha. Her dominance, and the arrogant certainty that had once made her had burst like the most fitful of notions, leaving her in ruins. There was only the flicker of a guttering flame left to her, as she lay in a pitiful heap upon the floor, hunched into herself against the pitiless world. Yet, that single remnant of her former self was proof of her strength and perserverence. Flowers would bloom again in the damaged hulk of her mind.
Caeryph laughed at himself. He really had to at this point. Why the hell..was he back here? Didn't he make a slew of oaths to himself that never again would he step a single foot into this place again? That he'd avoid even the town, and stick mainly to the dark forests of Vailkrin. 'Why am I here again?' He thought to himself as his hand drug behind him along the tunnel wall, eyes straining in the low light to manuver through the tunnel. The dark didn't bother him as it should have, especially in a place like this now; whose walls bore the manifestations of unholy creations; furniture, rotted animals..people. He flinched as his hand touched the large tapestry again, the likes of which that had hidden the secret tunnel from veiw. It was how he had escaped, after hearing Terra speak about it, and now it seemed it was how he was getting back in. Why was he here again? The scream echoed in his mind once more as a hazy visage appeared in his mind. That was right- he was looking for her again, just like he always seemed to be doing when he came into the civilized areas. He leaned in forward, pushing the tapestry aside and placed his back to the wall, eyes straining in the dim lighting, hoping to find it empty of anything..not expecting to find Deilakrion, of all people, a mess on the floor.
Deilakrion wasn't doing much moving. She was trying not to think, to breathe, to focus on any one of a myriad of things that had brought her here, now, in that time and place. Somewhere along the line, her decisions and intentions had been skewed aside, and now she was just. . .there. Her eyes were blank as they finally opened, and her gaze merely grazed along walls and floors. Would Tenebrae die in her errand? Would she suffer as Deilakrion had suffered? Selfishly, the creature did not want to be responsible for such a thing. Wouldn't be. She would see precisely how much her body could suffer in such an event, and she would make it pay for the deductions inflicted upon her clan. Her pack. The only group of people in the entire world who actually did matter. Who saw her. Who still --- she cut off that thought as an unwanted smell was registered, barely. Again, the choking sensation of guilt rose up within her, and she cowered upon the floor. She wished to remain unseen.
Caeryph had no doubt, seen her, even with as much as she didn't wish to be. If sight, smell and hearing had failed him to begin with, he would have eventually found her by an accidental step placed on her as he made his way to the stairs. Thank god it didn't have to come to that for he'd probably have sent her into a chaotic frenzy of fear, pain and suffering more then she already was in. Caeryph was afraid. Typical really, he'd seen much from the time he had came here. And really, it was mainly Creature that had scared him the most; what had happend to her? She was normal when they first met in the forest..and a few times after that, even when he made his first venture into the Corpse that was (oddly he thought, normal), and never was she like this. Would this happen to him as well? Would the same fate of corruption, suffering and dilusion warp his mind as it did hers? He was afraid, but still he walked forward. He was slow, not wanting to spook her had she known he was in her presence anyways, and would crouch to all fours. Bit by inch he slid across the stone floor and made it to her side, no even dare touching her. "..hey." Much wearyness could be traced in his voice as it cracked.
It was as if the very sound of his voice was a touch upon her hearing that she didn't want to hear. She was weak. She was vulnerable. To the instinctual rise of her wolf, it was the very worst situation. She was glad to simply delve into that haven, and let the wolf take over as she'd never before let it do. Her control had been too good, developed over a near century of years and trials. Yet that had been broken in the span of an hour, or two, and as she suffered relapse the wolf found its teeth had merit now, and a blinding reason to surface. It was a low, broken growl that surfaced from between her lips, as the sobs gradually ceased. The wolf took over, and Deilakrion let her: unfed and dangerous, it was one hell of a lot better than waiting for death to take her. She knew not what to do, but the wolf did.
Caeryph took a step back, still on his toes, knee's, and hands. As if he wasn't weary and nervous as is, this only seemed to add more to the problem on his end. He didn't know what to do. He'd never been in this kind of situation before, nor did he ever think he would. If he would have known any of this was to happen, this slew of events that caused only pain, fear and cofusion, he'd have spat right in her face at her invite to the pack. This wasn't what he wanted, this wasn't what anyone wanted. But there was nothing he could do, and in the end he grew frustrated. He slouched his posture even more, eyes nearly glowing in the dim light as he watched her. "Stop it.." He hadn't realized his spoke this thought out loud, and it even made him flinch. He waited, a deep heavy lump growing in his stomach, fear- that paralyzing fear. He didn't like the way she growled, and thought to himself, would she attack? She wasn't in her right state of mind, obviously- so it was a possiblity. He wouldn't fight though, never. He couldn't fight her, he would just run; run from the Cabal pack, run from the wolf pack..even run from her. He wouldn't come back this time.
The wolf was unimpressed with the deluge of emotions running through Caeryph, and Deilakrion turned away from them. She was unable to cope with the black wolf's needs and fears, and had she truly felt that despair she would have crumpled under its weight. Her wolf continued to growl, whether or not Caeryph stayed or moved. It was her rant against the world at large, a tirade against the forces that would cage her within herself -- a promise to be free no matter what the cost, free to tear and ravage the thing that had desecrated -her- body. She would start to get hairy as the wolf battled for ascension, bones twisting and cracking despite Deilakrion's last pitiful efforts against it. She would be violent very, very soon.
Caeryph eventually had risen to his feet, where he had backed up a great distance from her and was now with his back to the large cage. He stepped to the left..then the right, as if not sure what to do at all. He knew it would be nothing in the end, for if she became as violent as she sounded..she was going to attack, and he would -not- attack back. And the thought of defending himself against a feral beast in this cellar did not really appeal to him. Still, as much as he screamed in the back of his head to leave- he couldn't. His hands bumped against the latch over the barred cage, and slid about, catching his attention. He glanced to the side behind him, and saw the open door, and his confused steps soon began to carry him towards it. He walked backwards into the thing, watching her transformation for every second that it was worth, his hands with a mind of their own now. They closed the cage door, and fumbled around with the locking mechanism (not knowing what he was doing) and by sheer luck, it clicked in. Caged like an animal, he continued to slowly back away, bit by bit till he reached the other side of the cage where his scarred back would flinch against the cold steel. He was traped now, but maybe..just maybe, safe for the moment.
Emotional trauma was as good an excuse as any, and the wolf took it and held it with tremendous pressure until Deilakrion grew and howled into some inarticulate, clumsy, raging thing. She didn't have to think any longer. She didn't have to feel anything but anger and the knowledge that she was -safe-. She was safe, the wolf told her smugly, and she would remain so as long as the wolf was given control. Deilakrion let her. There was no wolf, and no elven shape, but some twisted deformed beast between the two. She howled her rage to the sky, and rose to oddly shaped paws that supported her humanoid form. Caeryph was there, and afraid, and that fear drew her like a moth to flame. She slammed herself into the bars of the cage. It deserved to crumple beneath her weight, and fall to her glory. Bam. She rammed it again, body unhealthily unstable. Her drink rattled, and candles jittered upon tabletops as the cellar met its match. Teeth, large and drooling were shown to the other wolf as she rammed the bars again, and again, the horrible sound of her fury rising until it would be deafening to anyone sensitive to sound.
The only thing that changed each time she struck the cage, was his eyes that flinched. His body stood firm, and still, there was no need to move now, no point to move now. Running or stepping around the cage wasn't going to change the mind of the beast now, and frankly, he didn't know if anything would. He contiued to stare back at her with those gleaming topaz eyes of his, which now shown neither fear or anger, but an odd sense of disappointment. He had messed up, by locking himself in this cage, he had either saved his life, or sealed his fate, which would end in death by the maw of the Creature. By the way she was hitting the bars, he figured it would be death most likely. Slam, slam..slam! She continued, shaking everything insight; his life now rested in the strength of the bars, gods he hoped they held.
The rage burned at her, licked her insides and cauterized the wounds inflicted upon her by Wile's demonspawn. The rage ate what few reserves were left to her, of a night that had drained her body's ability to cope. The wolf grew impatient with this, and pushed as only an animal might push when backed into a corner. With a roar of defiance, she -slammed- one last time, muscles bulging, and the bars perhaps moved just one tiny bit. Then, bruised and broken, she simply collapsed, hitting the floor with a solid thud as her body threw in the towel.
Caeryph watched as the last heave of her body slammed the cage. He could almost feel it like a rock concerts speakers- thumping inside his chest, wracking his body. This was almost too much for him, he couldn't watch her tear herself apart like this, inflict damage and pain upon herself. Still, like a child watching his mother get beaten by his father..he couldn't tear his eyes away, he wanted too, he tried too, but alas, to no avail. His knee's bent and let him slide down the bars slowly, resting on the ground with his thighs pressed to his stomach. He wouldn't be moving for a while, but simply sit there, waiting. He would be there for her when she came too, when she would loose this psychotic rage, even if he was behind bars. Why was he here again?
Deilakrion was out cold. She would be for awhile, the damage done over the course of the day and night extreme for a lycan without food.
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Post by Caedan on Aug 24, 2008 22:55:46 GMT -5
The calm before the storm.
Caedan paces down the stairs, a blanket trailing behind her, barefeet gliding silently down each step. A cursory glance is curbed towards the furniture, wariness still etched into a slate stare, and once content the stuff isn't up to its usual tricks, she'll pad towards the bar and easily climb atop, legs dangling listlessly below her.
Arysel sleeps, not well, but it's sleep. Caught in the midst of a dream, her feet kick and jerk beneath the table, the heel of her boots scraping along the floor. A dream had it's grip on her and her back, hunched as it was over skeleton arms, spasmed in reply. Small mewling sounds emerged from cracked lips and spittle slid a slimy trail down her cheek. Glassy grey eyes flew open then, unseeing for a moment as the night-terror held the Avian in it's grip. Was that something..swirling in her right eye? Or maybe it was a trick of light. It had to have been a trick of the light. Blinking once..twice...three times, Arysel wakes up. Her tight skin should have split open over the sharpness of her bones, yet for some reason it remained intact. Though she had slept, the dark circles under her eyes would suggest otherwise. Rising to her feet,Arysel had to grab her pants, lest they slide off the boney hips and reveal equally bony legs. "Damn that woman, where is she..need to give it to her." the words are mumbled as she turns towards the bar. Everyone else should have been sleeping as well, so the Avian thought to make herself something to eat..just a small bite of something. The dream, like the death of her hawk, was pushed into a compartmented section of her psyche. To be dealth with later. Preoccupied with her own worries, Ary didn't seem to notice the girl on the bar, or if she did, perhaps didn't feel the need to acknowlede her..yet.
Caedan said to Arysel, "I'm sorry. I knew you'd wake up hungry, so I sent Steadman to fix something. Don't be angry." She casually pushes a matted, dark curl behind her ear with a sleeve-covered hand, which is instantly replaced in her lap. The psychic regards the avian as she had regarded the furniture, warily, with caution -- a certain taint on her that she couldn't determine was real or illusion ... or imagination. Her brows furrow in concern. Steadman emerges from the kitchen, carrying a tray filled with the closest thing they have to the bard's favorite food -- supplies are a bit scarce as of late, granted. A glass of warm milk is set down before the teen, which she disregards for the moment to watch Arysel's expression as the meal is presented. She chews absently on her lower lip, and mutters a brief, incoherent, " ... trade lentils for fennel and back again. Blackness turning silver. Isn't right."
Arysel startles and looks up sharply at Caedan, perched so comfortably on the bar-top. The wafting scent of food made her stomach rumble, half in anticipation, half in protest. "No, I'm not angry, just tired." Long sender fingers wrapped in flesh reached for the plate, drawing it close only to stare at the offering layed out on it. Arysel blinked rapidly, trying to clear her vision as it seemed to slip out of focus for a moment. " No..no it isn't right and it needs to be fixed." With her free hand, Arysel picks up a utinsel, eyeing it a moment, much as Caedan had earlier and pokes at the food, moving it around aimlessly on the plate. "Have you seen who I am looking for?" The words slip out absently before a forkfull of food was shoved into her mouth and loosening teeth ground it into mush to be swallowed.
Caedan props one foot up on the bartop, chin soon resting on her knee. "Only reflected as you see it," she answers, shoulders rolling in a dismissive shrug. "Maybe you shouldn't look. Maybe it will come to you." She snags her glass of milk and takes a prolonged gulp before daintly setting it back down again. Her nose wrinkles slightly as the aroma of the meal fills her nasal cavaties, and a wave of nausea shudders through her. Her blanket is tugged closer, and pulled around her shoulders and over her head like a hood as she blinks down at the famished avian. Lips move wordlessly and slate eyes scrutinize, though she says nothing audibly.
Spawne trudged down the stairs, his vision minimised by his squinted eyelids. Ever since the tavern kept deciding to wake him up at all hours his sleep patterns and consistency had become somewhat irregular. And that made fora very, very grumpy man.
Caedan glances over to Spawne, silently appraising him. With a frown, she mumbles a few words to Steadman, who disappears back into the kitchen, where a few pots and pans are slammed about. She'll pull a bottle of rum from under the bar and perch it on the end, a silent offering, along with a subdued, "I asked him to make some coffee as well." And then she sneezes all over the bottle, and whatever unselfishness she may have just displayed is instantly null. One step forward, two steps back.
Spawne juggled glances between Caedan and her offering, The mere presence of booze and the established questionable hygenic conditions in which it was brewed trumping the teens thin film of mucous. He popped off the cork, rubbed the opening on his forearm, and drank hard at the contents, "That's m'girl..."
Arysel ate rather like an automiton, not really tasting the food. When she'd finished, she simply pushed the plate away and took a seat. Her stomach rolled in protest from the food, extending slightly as it digested with no small amount of gurggling. It'd been quite a while since Arysel had eaten so much, and what little she'd had in there had been expelled the night before. Bile rose in her throat as an image of Balthan sneaked into the forefront of her mind. No, it was wrong. Balthan wasn't dead. He was off hunting for sheep, or cattle. With the quiet affirmation of her delusion, Arysel eyed the girl a moment, "I remember you, though you aren't the one I need to find. Are you cold?' A glance was given to the hearth, to see if it was lit. "Sneezing has it's own reward," she mumbles, turning her glazed over eyes to Spawne and watched as he drank from the bottle.
Caedan shoots a transient glance at the hearth and shivers. "So cold. You have no idea." A hard glare is spared Red's direction which softens minutely, as if pained by his expression until she returns her attention to Arysel. "You need to find her. She'll come soon. She's changed. What you fear most is now in her. But better find her, than him. As for the other," she pauses, glancing up into the rafters for a prolonged moment, tension hanging heavy in the air. "... it will return when the time is right." A feather wafts down, not an ashy gray or a snowy white. It is a hawk's feather, mottled with burnt sienna and streaks of darker colors. She extends this offering to the bard while Steadman emerges from the kitchen carrying a tray with three steaming cups of coffee, and a few morsels of Arysel's former meal for the recently appeared Catastrophe.
Spawne stared at the two drinks in front of him, trying to work out the best way in which to combine them,
Caedan said to Spawne, "Don't ruin a good bottle of rum. Put it in the coffee, don't smell or breathe, just swallow."
Arysel simply reached out with knobby fingers to wrap them around the neck of the bottle, pouring a generous amount of the fiery liquid into her own coffee, then offered it to Caedan, "Might warm you some," she offers by way of explination. "If that..thing has tainted the one I need, then she is of no use and can't take it." Her teeth, bleeding now at the gums, worried at her bottom lip, nearly shredding the paper thin. With a sigh, she took a sip of the strong brew, gulping it down as the added fire warmed her from the inside out, bringing a semblance of color to her sunken cheeks.
Spawne obliged, adding rum to coffee and promptly downing the two. His eyes slammed open as the flavour nearly kicked him out of his seat, "Ugh! G'morning!"
Caedan won't touch the stuff -- not after the last fiasco and proceeding massacre which involved a pair of grabby hands, and the Cenril militia. It's pushed back to Spawne, and her blanket drawn tighter about frail shoulders. "Give her a chance. No one knows how it has ..." she trails off, unwilling to divulge such private information, even amongst family. "You aren't well. Eat, sleep. Regain your strength. If we are to beat --" she sneezes violently, and coughs up a mouthful of phlegm which is promptly swallowed again, and the rum eyed enviously, "... just get better. Things will work out. Have a way of doing so."
Arysel shook her head. Food, nourishing as it is was not what was needed most. A lifting of burdens would have been nice, welcome even. The modified satchel was unhooked and settled onto the floor, a slight clunking inside giving a hint to what was insided. "Good morning," she replied unnecessarily to Spawne's decleration. A name, she needed a name..searching her memory she tried to find one for the woman..the pond in the desert, David and.."Terra! That's the one..the one the stone needs." Finally! Finally she could get help locating the woman. "It wants, Terra." Rubbing the heel of her hands against her eyes, she takes another slug of the coffee. She had a direction now, "Not supposed to have two..two is too much."
Spawne said to Caedan, "Y'feelin alright?"
Caedan folds her hands neatly on her lap, and stares hard at the avian before mumbling a garbled, "Hrm." As synapses slowly begin to fire and links are made, she turns to Red and murmurs offhandedly, "That must be why I gave you the second. Too much for one." The psychic turns back to the bar, a slow smile creeping across pale lips. "Yes. I can feel it now too. Does it sing for you like it sings for me? If you desire, I will give it to her. Her mind is very clear, not muddled with silver taint like the rest. I can find her easily." Spawne's ever-so-thoughtful inquiry is met with a heated stare, and curt, "Well. I was until you froze me. Now I can't seem to stop my nose from perpetual leakage, and that's the nicest of things. I'm also very cold, but hot. I feel tired, but all I've been doing is sleeping, and I feel like I've fended off a full regiment of Duranian soldiers. Hurts, y'know?" Foolish human maladies; she kicks the back of the bar in disgust, which shakes a few bits of sentient silverware to the floor.
Spawne said to Caedan, ""No" Would ahve done fine, dearest."
Caedan said to Spawne, "I wanted you to suffer. Forgive me?"
Arysel looked back and forth between the two. Caedan's sniffles and shivers brought a well of compasion and sympathy in the bard. "Mine sings.humms and talks to me. You have one?" To Spawne, "And you?" Reaching for the satchel, she brings out the two pieces she has. She'd had three before and had just given one to it's chosen, David. "I don't know. I think I should.." Eyeing Caeden, it was wondered if the girl could handle both. Surely Arysel was having a hard time of it. Physically, emotionally, and mentally.
Spawne said to you, "It'll cost you."
Caedan said to Arysel, "Oh, it's fine. They like me something fierce. I had two before I gave one to morning glory here. And I think they sing beautifully. Only things that don't have horrible voices, y'know?"
Caedan said to Spawne, "There's more rum under the counter."
Arysel relief was a palpable thing, pulsing from the avian as she thrust her hand with the extra towards Caedan, "I have a decent voice," she says rather pridefully. As soon as the shard was taken into the promised capability of Caeden's hands, she slumps as though a great weight had been lifted. Soon, the glassiness leaves her eyes, even still, she blinks and rubs at the right one. That dream, as strange as it had been, still seemed so real. It would take some time for the Avian to regain what had been lost in flesh and feathers, but she could be patient.
Arysel gave 1 shard-of-first light to Caedan.
Caedan accepts the shard, leaving it in her open palm for some time, if only to assure Arysel she wasn't going to implode on impact or somesuch. It's toyed with for a moment, threaded between her knuckles and eventually removed from sight in a pulse of blue and slight of hand. With her opposite hand, the teen reaches for the avian's shoulder, palm hovering just off making actual physical contact, in effort to offer some sort of comforting gesture. Spawne was an easier creature to satisfy than her own ilk; men and their base needs. She flashes a wane smile at the avian. "I'm sure it's lovely. But I meant on the inside. Voices are never so pretty on the inside. They speak of things that shouldn't be heard." The psychic shrugs dismissively, and takes a sip of her lukewarm milk, promptly sneezing again once she's put it down.
Spawne sipped at the remainder of his rum, for now content with his own meager thoughts, though he'd have some pressing questions for Caedan later.
Arysel watched, reassured that Caedan was not about to suffer the same as she had in holding the second. "What is your name?" Already her voice is stronger, almost her normal self again. "I am Arysel, my friend's call me Ary." Having never heard an inside voice, the bard can't relate, though she understands the concept that not all is what it seems on the outside. The quiet and enigmatic, Spawne is given a sidelong glance. For all his appearance, Arysel didn't feel uncomfortable around him. It was clear that the two were close and Arysel shifted a bit in her seat.
Caedan tosses a frown Kaine's direction, displeased that she'd have to wait, but is easily distracted by the much-improved Arysel. Her smile broadens, and she'll extend a hand in introduction, though even if the avian moves to grasp it, she won't actually let her touch her hand. "Caedan Navarre, mostly. I have a ton of other ones, but I can't keep them all straight anymore. Touched in the head, they say. Foolish, bumbling ponces." She won't offer an introduction of Spawne to Arysel -- not because of any dislike or jealousy, just for the mere fact that she's learned long ago some people just don't like to let a whole lot be known about them. Leo's to thank for that gem. "Will you come here to eat every day? Our feelings will be hurt if you won't." In the background, Steadman groans.
Arysel offers a toothy smile at Caedan and keeps her own hands in her lap, not wanting to subject the girl to the skeletal appendages. "Well met, Caedan Navarre. For all the names you could have given me, I think I like that one better." She chuckels at Steadman's groan and leans forward, peering at him with a twinkle in her eyes. The old Arysel emerging, "Don't worry, I eat like a bird." To Caedan she says softly, "This is the only place I come to anymore. The walls stay put for the most part."
Caedan said, ".... for the most part." The mantle earns a derisive glance ere her glare softens and turns to Arysel. "I'm glad you come here. S'good to be close to the others."
Arysel understood. It was comforting to be around other holders. "Do you know what they are, Caedan?" she queries after a moment.
Caedan said to Arysel, "I do. I'll explain when you've had some sleep."
Arysel said to Caedan, "Good idea. I think I can actually sleep now." with that she pushes away from the bar and heads towards the stairs, pausing a moment before going up, any of the rooms would do for the exhausted Avian "I hope I have better dreams at least."
Caedan said to Spawne, "Achoo!"
Caedan said to Spawne, "Rather, I'm ready to go to bed now."
Caedan said to Arysel, "You will."
Spawne said to Caedan, "I suppose I'll be giving you a ride then?"
Caedan said to Spawne, "I don't like to disrupt routines."
Spawne wasn't sure how he'd wound up as Caedan's keeper, though with the current state of his memory he remained silent, lest he remind her of a nonexistant wrongdoing. "Yuhuh. That works." He gently hoisted the teen up onto his shoulders, and together they ascended the stairs, "Gotta be interrogating you on some matters anyhow."
Caedan said to Spawne, "Oh goodie."
Caedan wards off a fork from the back of Spawne's neck as they ascend, and doesn't bother to tell him about it, aside from the rough bit of momentary commotion on his shoulder. Aside from that, the trip seems relatively uneventful.
Spawne dumped Caedan in her usual resting place, and draped himself over the end of the bed. He spoke to her, though not at her, staring up at the ceiling, "Some broad was talkin' to me today... Had it in her head that we've been romancin' each other."
Caedan said to Spawne, "What's that supposed to mean?"
Caedan quirks a brow at the ceiling.
Spawne shrugs, "She said we were a lovely couple..."
Caedan said to Spawne, "I'm not entirely sure what you're suggesting."
Caedan turns length-wise on the bed so that she can rest on the pillow. She snags her blanket, but half of it is stuck under the man, so she shoves a foot against him and pulls until it comes loose. She tucks it around her and huffs a sigh of contentment.
Spawne 'oof's a few times at the barrage of feet, eventually relenting so the lanket is freed from under him, "Just had me confused, is all... We're not at all coupley, are we?"
Caedan eyes the catastrophe skeptically, brow arched to an impossible height as she props herself up on an elbow to deliver said look. In a very matter-of-fact tone, she relays, "Listen here. The last fellow who tried this romancing business ... I stabbed him in the back of the neck." A beat. "He was a ghost, so it didn't really do much, but that's not the point. And I'm really not sure what the point here is. I'm very tired and very, very cold." She tugs the blanket closer around her slight frame and pounds the pillow with her fist a few times to fluff it, all the while grumbling under her breathe, "All coupley ... for Sven's sake ... never heard of such a thing in all my days ..."
Spawne said to Caedan, "It ain't me you gotta convince, girlie."
Caedan said to Spawne, "What makes you think I need to convince anyone at all?"
Spawne said, "'cause right now you got 'em convinced of the opposite."
Caedan said to Spawne, "Me?! Hardly. You're the one galavanting about, carrying strange women into your bed. Honestly."
Spawne coughs a few times, and slaps his chest as it'd fix the problem, "I'd hate to break routine." He smirked to himself.
Caedan said to Spawne, "Routines are comfortable." She snuggles into the bed more, lashes fluttering against her cheeks. "I wouldn't have pegged you as one to be embarassed. Don't worry. I'll tell them.""
Spawne laughs, "Embarassed? Naw... Could do a lot better than you though." His cheeky grin was followed by a firm yank at the edge of Caedans blanket, to free it from her and spread it over himself.
Caedan said to Spawne, "Oh, that's it. I'm not playing nice anymore." She pulls herself into a stand, and kicks at a bed post, which splinters on impact. Using the dislodged half as a spear of sorts, she'll threaten him quite menancingly, poking at red flesh with increased pressure until he surrenders her blanket. "Do better than me. Ha. Laughable. Give it back."
Spawne shook his head, "Nope, y'warmed it up and everything."He'd flinch a little at the pointed jabs, but simply swat the sharp object away each time it returned.
Caedan uses a foot to pin down the defending arm, and resumes her friendly stabbing, this time gunning for more ... sensitive ... areas.
Spawne raised his knees to pitch turn the blanket into a barrier to prtect from her jabs, now his other hand raised to bat at the wooden object.
Caedan's got what she wants, so she retreats, yanking her blanket away for good measure, and leaving the haphazardly fashioned stake in Red's hand.
Spawne moved himself into his couch, "Worst lover ever..."
Caedan said to Spawne, "You really have no idea. And you can have the end of the bed if you want. And I can see your dreams, you know. And stuff that's going to happen, sometimes. So don't try anything."
Spawne yawns, and pulls his coat over his head, "Ain't your lap dog..."
Caedan said, "We'll see."
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Post by Deilakrion on Aug 25, 2008 11:30:20 GMT -5
Meanwhile, in the cellar. . .
When the sock puppets arrived, it was as if by sheer chance. Or illusion. Or a random and unwelcome magic show that just so happened to be caught up by a stray bolt of Fate on an off day and was cast into the cellar of the Hanging Corpse Tavern by complete unlucky life. In any case, it would be there, across from the bars of Caeryph's prison and Deilakrion's stone-cold body. It was propped up by some form or another of scrap wood, and some scrap material that formed a lush velvet curtain. It was dusty, as though it had hidden under the stairs and come out only when it was sure of a contained audience. Still, it was there. There was shuffling behind it. Maybe Fate was being mean after all. Finally, the sock puppets peeked out from behind their velvet adoration and stared quite blatantly at Caeryph, as though blaming him for their mishap. "Wut?" The thing would say in a squeaky falsetto, loud enough to make even Deilakrion twitch. "Ye're it?"
Caeryph was dreaming. That was it. It had to be- there was no other plausable explanation. Yes, there had been reanimated, death seeking furniture- morbid, rotting ex-pets, and even men made of mercury about, but this..this just wasn't happening. There had to be a line drawn somewhere- puppets? It was official, he had lost his mind. Probably the same thing that happend to Deilakrion. Would he now be turning into the rage-incuded psychotic killing beast she had became? Would he be covered in vomit and blood? He dearly hoped not, for he had a sensative nose as it was. "...eh." It was all he could muster in his slumped sitting position behind the bars near Deilakrin.
A second sock puppet peered out from behind the curtain. "Well? Spek oop, m'boy!" The accent could be placed as Cenril's gutter crowd, though the influence from Larket's darker streets was there as well. "I dun be thinkin' that one's quite there, sah." The first puppet, Squeaky, shrilled to the second. Both darted behind the curtain, where muttering could be heard. Finally, both reappeared with several smaller puppets behind them. "Will naw, we cin't be puttin' on a show fer jes' you." The second, deeper voiced puppet informed Caeryph grimly. "Not 'less ye be pooten' out more coin?" The uplifted voice was hopeful, though not entirely greedy. The smaller puppets began to sob.
Caeryph began to burst out in laughter. He laughed his arse off, eventually rolling to the side where he would quietly stare at her unconsious body for a bit of time, then back to the puppets. Soon, the laughter chided and was nothing more then a stiffled giggle here and there. This was silly, he had lost his mind, was locked in a cage- and out cold was his pack leader. What else was going to happen, he wondered to himself. Would it at least bring him to more laughter- as queer and obnoxious as it was? "Can I die now?" It was a serious question too- whether the sock puttets took it that way or not. He didn't want to rot away, festering in this dillusional state of mind, sitting in a cage while his leader slept away. His sanity was one thing he never thought he'd loose, but well, never did he ever think he'd be fighting chairs, dead poodles, and silver men as well. This was enought now, it needed to end.
The smaller puppets responded to Caeryph's laughter by sobbing harder. Their chorus was a dismal one, and Squeaky worked hard at quieting them. Eventually they disappeared behind the velvet curtain. "Die?" Gruff asked him, the rough button-eyes and hand-lipped mouth rolling in disquiet. "Die? Wit'out coin?" The note of that tone lifted on a querelous note, before the sock puppet mock fell onto its face. When it lifted, it wore a grumpy expression. "I be 'avin' these chilluns, you ragamuffin! Ya languish, and I pey gud manies ta keep ya in there!" It hopped about, clearly disquieted by this latest of news. "Bah. Clar these cartains. Thar be no show 'ere, marm." And then Squeaky reappeared, and did as Gruff bid. Deilakrion shifted in her unconsciousness, as if she too was affected by that strange appearance. "Well, at least I be in a clean place f'the night, yeah?" Her voice was almost painful to the ears.
Caeryph began to chuckle, a wry and morbid sound coming from him. He -never- laughed, -never- chuckled, and -never- was like this. But, well, he was insane now (at least he thought),and this was to be quite normal of him. The man slowly leaned forward and crawled the last few steps so that when he lay forward, he was resting his face in the bars, arms hanging out, and sighing as he did so. This was rediculous. All he wanted was to be in the pack, and live life the way it should have been- not this. This was madness, chaos, insanity- nothing for a wolf. Caeryph tried to reach out and graze her shoulder, to try and rouse her from her deep slumber, but could do nothing but fail. She was out, she was out of reach, and most likely still wanted to kill him. He did nothing wrong, nothing at all. All he tried to do was find her, and aid her though this sickness that polluted the mind, just as it was happening to him now. "Wake..up." He spoke out in that low, gruff voice again, wanting to just talk to the woman like he had the first day he met. Normal. The sock puppets were ignored, for they were nothing more then a tool of his mental descruction, ripping away and ravishing at his mind and mental psyche- they made him insane.
Squeaky shrilled. "'E KILT 'er!" She bombarded the smaller puppets --curious despite their loud sobs -- away from the opening in the velvet curtains, not before loudly commenting on domestic abuse. Gruff was muttering something about unruly women, and then there was a quiet scuffle behind the curtain. Gruff hopped down from the podium, sans a friendly arm to display his puppetness. He inspected the area, hopping closer to Deilakrion as though dreadfully curious to see if she wasn't indeed dead. From behind, yet another puppet popped up, though this one had perhaps more of an insufferable and poppy air. "You there!" His tone was clipped and precise. Brisk. Brisk pointed an indistinguishable arm towards Caeryph. "Are you the cause of all this racket?" Definitely insufferable. Likely beaten between scenes by the more popular puppets of the underclass.
Caeryph sighed. He couldn't do anything, nothing at all to help her what so ever. She was damned to this eternal state of madness which had plueged his mind as it did her..at least that's what he thought. "Go'away.." He snipped back at the Gruff, trying to get him to hop back up to his lil' stage and disappear. Disappear..that's what he wanted to do right now. Leave, just go away to somewhere peacefull, quiet- away from this madness and insanity. He once lived like that..in that place, the forest- but now, his fate was sealed here. In this cage, with his mind and body rotting away, infront of Deilakrion. Was this punishment? If so, for what? What had he done to deserve this kind of treament. Nothing. That was right, nothing. He didn't harm anybody, he didn't strive to break any law or code of ethic, he just lived how he should have. With is wolvish brethren, hunting, sleeping and striving to live another day. This was rediculose. Sven be damned for this madness, he sure in the hell didn't deserve it. But well, as it seemed, that was the cards he was delt, and those would have to be the cards he'd have to play (as much as he was in the loosing favor). He truly had lost his mind -- so he thought. "Wake up!" He yelled at her now.
Deilakrion didn't stir, or move the slightest at Caeryph's noise. Perhaps the wolf wasn't shrill enough. As if on cue, Gruff snorted to himself. "Doot ye've ped a single show in yer life!" It was dismissive, as the puppet hopped up to Deilakrion and hovered perilously close to the unconscious woman. "Not ded!" He shouted, and soon enough one. . .two. . .three. . .a gaggle of small puppets were dashing across the floor. Sobs forgotten, they were shrieking in tandem with the shrill complaints of Squeaky, who wasn't far behind them. Gruff muttered something and gave a sympathetic look to Caeryph. "I dun be blamin' ye for knookin' this one." He sighed in miserable empathy as the herd of small puppets drew near. Meanwhile, on the stage, Brisk was having a mini tantrum. "You there! Have you no manners! No wonder you're behind bars you. . .you hooligan!"
Caeryph was getting angry now. "Get away from her!" He had became quite territorial all of a sudden, feeling that they had no right to be near her. There were not part of her pack, both of them, and they didn't strive to help her as he did...they were just there. "Leave!" His voice was rather angry, and had risen in tone, trying to make his point. Which really..what was his point anyways? He was just frustrated, annoyed- he had just lost his mind, and didn't know how to cope with it. "Please...wake..up!"He was begging now, on his knee's, arms trying to nudge her body from behind the bars. Stupid. It was such a mistake to lock himself behind these things, for now he was stuck! He couldn't just have left like a normal person, he couldn't have just sped up the stairs, no. He had to lock himself in a cage. With puppets speaking to him. Making him go insane. He would eventually begin to break down, his mental psyche finally at fault for all this damage done, he just wanted to help..that was it. Not be punished for his efforts. Damn them all..damn them all to hell- "Wake! Up!"
Gruff stilled, and the smaller puppets as quickly ran away from Deilakrion screaming, with Squeaky screaming too for them to behave. It was chaos. It was mayhem. It was -disaster-. Gruff was nudging Deilakrion with a sock-hand, while Brisk was still going on about how ragamuffins remained in prison due to their sheer lack of manners and proper behaviors. It was then that Caeryph would not be so alone in his cell, though the presence was more of a mild and shifty thing, full of shadows and moonlight. "I thought you might like a distraction." Monster's form and voice were only slightly wavery. It sounded as though insulted to the point of crying itself. Brisk started shouting insults about distractions.
Caeryph didn't even have to look at Monster to know he was there now (mailny because he had spoken to the poor lycan). "Make them stop..please." What was this? Compasion? Careing..a want for her pain to end (even if it was only socks poking her with little arms). Well, he couldn't really deny it..he did care for her, she was his leader, part of his pack, a friend, rigth? He slowly turned to Monster, his face contorted in frustration and distraught. "Please..just..wake her." He slumped back down, his arms hanging from the empty space between the bars which had given up trying to rouse her form her unconscious slumber. Caeryph was no dobut, out of it. He was an animal, and only an animal. Nothing more, nothing less- a being that live by the one simple rule; survival of the fittest. So...-this- had nothing to do with him. It wasn't his buisness, it wasn't his problem, it wasn't his fight. And sadly, he'd been caught right in the middle of it all. Monster was not ignored, but simply not given a second glance while he closed his eyes, trying to wish this all away.
Brisk had had it at that point. The little puppet hopped indignantly up past Deilakrion, using her still body as a launching pad to take him right into the barred enclosure. "You listen to me, heathe--" The sentance was cut off as Monster mournfully flicked the pupped out and away into the darkness, where it landed with an 'Oomf-- you BAS--" Cut off by the inhumanly long sigh of Monster. "You need to loosen up." The shifter grumbled, propping up a near-invisible head with an indistinct hand. It looked out towards Gruff, who backed away from Deilakrion with puppet-hands up in surrender. The smaller puppets were hiding out behind the stage, while Squeaky lambasted male-kind in general for their inability to coexist peacefully in an accetable state. Behind the stage, one tiny voice lifted in a wail. Of course, where one started, the others had to join in, and soon a miniature din was creating quite a racket until Brisk shouted at them from the darkness. This of course prompted a shouting match between Squeaky and Brisk, and well, it was destined that the shriller voiced puppet would win.
Caeryph blinked- and slowly glanced up to Monster. "Me?" He didn't know who that man(?) had been talking to, and so just to make sure (so that he didn't become anymore insane), asked. He gazed at the being for a moment before his gaze, and attention was torn away from the shifter, and onto the somewhat empty stage. What..why were they wailing? He did nothing to them, he said hardly nothing to them, they had nothing to be wailing for. He obviously had missed the flick of Brisk by Monster, and thus had no idea why the hasty..wailing..retreat. Again now, he glanced down to Deilakrion, sighing pitifully as he did. He couldn't remember now; things were just a haze, a blur, and nothing more. Did he do this? No, he couldn't have..he'd never seek to harm her- but well, he was insane now (again..at least what he thought), and couldn't even trust himself. No. He'd never harm her- she was his leader..his pack mate, his friend- there was no reason to lay a finger on her. But..he asked himself, why was she on the floor, blood..vomit-covered and unconscious- paying no heed to his calls. "No no no!" He cradled his head in his arms, slowly slinking back from the bars, trying hard to collect his thoughts, to try and regain his sanity.
Monster flapped a hand at Caeryph even as Brisk hopped from the darkness to confront Squeaky. "Yes. Yes yes! You are -such- a bore." The barely-seen image of Monster flickered as though his effort was the only thing keeping him present, and that same hand flapped towards Gruff. "You! Do I pay you to poke at innocent dames? I think not!" This indignant statement was met with a blank stare -- blank particularly because of the button-eyes that were largely incapable of most forms of expression. "Boot. . .sah, ye don't pay me at ool." The words were completely deadpan, and serious, as the puppet could not resist one more sock-hand prod at Deilakrion. At Monster's glare the thing put those same hands behind its back, and started a slow hop away from the creature. Brisk, meanwhile, was busy trying to keep his button-and-thread face on as Squeaky tried to rip it off to the accompanying cheers of the smaller sock puppets. Monster sighed again, more dramatic this time. "See what you encourage? At least you could have paid them." The last was a sullen mutter.
A boar? He was not a boar- he was a wolf, not a filthy boar! "Help..her?" He once again chided to the being, Monster. It was all he ever seemed to come here for now, was to see her. And well, in her painfull, unconscious state, he only wanted one thing; for him to help her. He surely couldn't do it, he was stuck here, so Monster would have to be her aid. "please?" He even used manners in witch he picked up from light conversations from the patrons of the Corpse in his first few days there. (before they became a living hell afterwards.) The puppets were just ignored completely from her forth- they were noting but a problem, one he didn't need to add to the list of growing ones already.
The monster scoffed, even as Brisk fled screaming from Squeaky's completely ungentle ministrations. The smaller puppets streamed after him, shrieking more laughter. It was enough to give a sane person a headache. Monster scowled after the smaller puppets, muttering about rabbits and puppets. "She needs sleep, you boorish man." He dangled a hand at Caeryph in disgust. "Why do I have to pay them, in any case?" That last was more an incredulous murmur, as Squeaky turned to pin him with a beady-eyed gaze. "-You- should pay them, vagabond." It poked a trembling finger at Caeryph before tucking it away, scowling at Caeryph's apparent disdain. The Monster struggled to its feet, and walked nearer to Caeryph, the phantom shape making an odd pattern against the solid-ness of Caeryph. It'd pat at the other's back awkwardly. "You do have coin, right?"
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As she slept the sleep of the exhausted and the injured, the woman known as Deilakrion became aware under all of the layers of sleep. Within her bestial state, she faced her wolf amidst all the thin trappings that separated them. Deilakrion had pushed the wolf under a severe level of control, but in her weakened state the wolf had come out. The wolf was angry. She was not a separate entity, or a new being within Deilakrion, but rather the curse that ran and twisted within her veins. The wolf was the wildness and the instinct of Deilakrion, the embodiment of lycanthrope and the wildness within Deilakrion herself.
They were on even ground now, and the wolf was bold and demanding. She would not stay hidden any longer. She would be Deilakrion, and Deilakrion would be her. No longer would the two remain separate, for that would only weaken them. The harder Deilakrion struggled to remain an elf, the harder the wolf would struggle to take Deilakrion and -make- her be wolf. The two needed the symbiosis without resentment and without control. They needed understanding and completeness. They needed to be one.
The wolf saw Deilakrion's anguish and hurt, and with a chilling fire the wolf offered to take the pain from Deilakrion, and use it as a wolf would. Deilakrion could become stronger. Wiser. Whole. For if she had been truly broken, the wolf would fill those spots and change her as only a curse could. For the better. The change Deilakrion had begun herself would be finished with the wolf, and by the wolf, until the two would become so completely entwined with each other that there would be no end and no beginning.
Only one.
Deilakrion accepted the wolf, then, and the freedom represented. All the parts of her that were ragged and maimed were healed, and the mental anguish and scarring was if not healed made easier to bear. She would not feel whole for a long time, and she would have many demons to banish. . .but she had her chance now to become Deilakrion again. The creature could become greater. She was truly an elf no longer. She was lycan.
She was wolf.
And she, the wolf, wanted to hunt.
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